Canandaigua, NY

10:22 PM

Today I felt like a writer. In a rectangle, there we all were, close to 20 of us, focused in on the front of the room. On Alison, the author from Rochester who now lives in Brooklyn who now has a book on the shelf. The writer’s for the roundtable varied in ages, but I was near the youngest and the majority were my parents age and older. Alison, in her mid 30′s, with her short blonde hair and genuine smile, was in front, with her father. She fielded questions from us about her writing and writing in general. Each answer was off the cuff, but very well thought out. And very informative. The woman sitting next to me, with grey hair, talked about how her writing was not being received by the audience she wanted it and expected it to be. Alison told her to write for her. The audience will come. There were questions on what perspective she was taking when she wrote her book, why she chose the prologue she did, how she chose her title, and a lot of other ones.

I sat and listened. I surveyed the room. After about ten minutes I lost myself in the front of the room. There was Alison, talking about her book, and about the death of her brother and how it affected her and her family. There was her dad, supportive and adding barbs here and there. And behind them was an easel, with the cover of Name All the Animals blown up and resting on a high perch. I think all 20 of us in that room wanted to picture ourselves in her situation, as a published author who could pass on words of wisdom.

Then I heard her talk about her 6 year struggle to write her book. Her periods of asking, “What am I doing?” Her periods of working as a dishwasher to make ends meet. Her 18 drafts. Her friends wondering if she would ever finish. And that was my question. I wanted to know about the struggle. How she kept on persevering even though she questioned what she was doing. Her answer did not floor me, it was that she felt she had to. That she had it in her to make it happen. That she had a writer’s group that kept pushing her. The group shared her what am I doing feeling. It made it not seem so rough.

The session lasted a quick hour. The vibe in the room was that we did not want it to end. We wanted to pick the brain of someone who was where we wanted to be. We hoped it would rub off on us. We hoped the book gods would smile down upon us as they have Alison.

And then the room went from a rectangle to all of the tables being broken down and the chairs lined up pointing to the podium up front. She would be doing a reading and a Q&A for the next hour. I went out to the car, content that I belonged in this group, and knowing that what I envision is possible. It was 2:45 PM and I was at my car. I checked my 3 voice mails. Should I stay or go home? I hadn’t fully read the book, but I wanted to see what a reading was like. I went back in I sat down amongst a group of close to 50. There were maybe 5 males. And she read. Eloquently. The detail of her writing is amazing. You are there. And we all were there, listening, laughing, and feeling. More questions, now more focused on the book. I stayed silent.

I did not get a book signed. I did not meet Alison. But she gave me hope. She showed me sacrifice. She showed me possibilities.