Last
month I spoke about The Tainted Legacy of Bertha Gifford at the Moreno
Valley Public Library. It was a last-minute engagement; another speaker had
cancelled, and they needed an author to fill in. I didn’t mind. I will do most
anything to accommodate librarians.
Because
I agreed to speak just a week before the event, there was little time for
publicity. Only three people showed up to hear my talk. Two were resident
librarians there. The third was on the library commission, and he had just
released his own book, so he wanted to see how this sort of thing was done.
Still,
it was a wonderful evening. I got to make three new friends, and I got to share
Bertha’s story. Ain’t nothin’ bad about that. Well, actually, one thing was
bad. In agreeing to speak on that date, I missed the opportunity to see Susan
Straight speak about her new memoir, In the Country of Women. I’d been looking
forward to it for weeks, because I’d read the book and loved it, and also
because I’ve been a fan of Susan Straight’s work since 2002.
Funny
story about that:
Back
in 2002, I facilitated a small writer’s support group which met bi-monthly at
the Barnes & Noble in Rancho Cucamonga. Occasionally, the PR rep for the
store would book authors who wanted to promote new books, and our little group
would welcome them. When I learned that Susan Straight would come speak to us
about her new book, Highwire Moon, I was excited. She taught at my alma
mater, and I’d heard good things about her first novel (I Been in Sorrow’s
Kitchen and Licked Out All the Pots). But I was also conflicted. Rapper
Eminem had a show at the Blockbuster Pavilion on the same night, and I had the
chance to get good seats, and yes, I am a fan of that particular poet’s work,
however he delivers it. But… as leader of our little contingent of writers, I
felt I needed to be present for Susan’s talk.
While
I believe I would have thoroughly enjoyed seeing Eminem live, Susan’s visit
with us was absolutely memorable, on several levels.
She
showed up to speak to us despite having experienced profound personal tragedy.
Her brother had passed away that day. We told her she didn’t have to stay, that
we would understand if she left and returned at a better time, but she told us
she needed to be around writers, which made us feel as if she regarded
us as equals.
In
her soft, articulate manner, she read a beautiful passage of Highwire Moon, and
I fell in love with the book. (It is truly a stellar read, and was nominated
for a National Book Award.)
Weeks
later, I decided to write about missing my chance to see one troubadour in
favor of being in a more intimate setting with another. I sent that piece of
writing off to the Los Angeles Times and sold it. It was my first sale
with the Times.
Driving
home from the Moreno Valley Library talk, I mused on all of this, how all those
years ago I missed Em to see Susan, and now I had missed Susan to talk about my
own book, and how life is often less linear than it is circular, as we complete
the slow but meaningful revolutions in our individual journeys.
