I almost never tell people I know that I write. I think I’ve mentioned this before on the humble blog. In part it’s because the writing is my thing. I don’t want to have to share it with my immediate cohort. I also tire of the “advice” people (who know nothing about the process of the craft or the industry itself) feel they can beneficently bestow upon me to better my effort. (I get enuf of this from couch potatoes about running.) And there are probably plenty of other reasons that I’m not self aware enuf to know.
But I surprised myself some months ago after a Wednesday night group run, when the gang was busy rehydrating, as I confided to a fellow runner that, yes, I did write and that, yes, I wrote fiction and that, yes, some of it was even published. I blame the carb-loaded beer for my lapse in judgment. She immediately asked to read one of my stories, and since I had my usual supply of tiny slips of paper showing links to them (see my guerilla marketing post), and since, well, beer, I got brave enuf and gave her the slip for “The Lonely Road”, which I consider my best work to date. (I felt like I was baring my soul by sharing that.)
I think a couple of weeks passed before she showed up again at our Wednesday night run, and I asked her what she thought of the story.
She said she had lost the slip of paper with the link.
I gave her another slip.
Weeks passed before I saw her again, and she told me that she couldn’t make the link work. (It turned out that she’s not that computer savvy — she kept referring to the story as my blog.) So I took her iPhone and linked to the story on it to show her that it did exist. She subsequently confessed that she was not really much of a reader. I can see why she might not have pursued my story online.
Weeks passed, and I knew enuf to stop asking about my story. She didn’t bring it up, and I figured it was a lost cause.
But last week at our rehydration session, when most of the crowd had already staggered home and only a handful of us were left rehydrating, she said that she had actually started reading my story.
She said it was too hard core for her to get through!
Have you read “The Lonely Road”? I admit that it starts out coarse, but I did that deliberately to contrast it with the tenderness of the ending. Coarse, though, is not the same as hard core. Yes, the words “pussy” and “balls” and “hung” occur, and some frank innuendo passes between the rough characters and my innocent protagonist, but I think we all know people like this and have found ourselves in situations as I depict in the start of the story.
Still, I was surprised at her reaction. Granted, I don’t know her very well (she’s a much faster runner than I, so we don’t exactly chat on the trail as we trot along). Still, hard core?
She also confessed that she’d once again lost the link to my story. So I emailed it to her (as well as the link to “Velvet Elvis” that I consider a comic work — and thus not hard core). That was last Wednesday. I hope to find out this week what she might have read since then. Or not.
Honestly, though, I am grateful for her initial reaction. Just about everyone I’ve spoken with about that particular story has said “nice” and generic things about it. Some of you have made discerning comments (especially you!). And while that is nice itself, it’s not visceral the way my runner friend’s reaction was. Does that make sense?
“Hard core” suggests to me a lack of experience in this part of life for my runner friend. “Hard core” suggests an innocence and a fresh eye to the universe of my story (which is odd given that she’s a mother of teenagers and has been through a difficult divorce). But “hard core” is honest and even spontaneous. It is a gut reading by someone who is not a jaded reader.
I figure that, eventually, the fact that I write will become common knowledge among my running friends. Most of them, I’m sure, won’t give it a second thought, but a few (we have a disproportionate number of librarians and school teachers among us) may, perhaps, take up my stories and give them serious readings and then take the time to let me know what they think of them. But they’re going to have to pursue me and my stories. I’m just too shy to put myself out there.
Update 2OCT14: My friend told me the other evening (at our post-run rehydration) that she did finish reading the story and that she thought it had a good ending. It warmed my black and shriveled heart to hear this.