I received an email out of the blue from the partner of one my coaching clients. The client is relatively new. He has plunged into a big, messy, meaty memoir, after what appears to have been many years of hemming and hawing about his ability as a writer, the worthiness of his story, all the usual writerly doubts -- and he has plunged in with great gusto.
It is a testiment to my fragile state of mind (two teenage girls? a novel in the final throes of completion? August???) that my first thought upon seeing the subject line was that my client had died. How sad, I thought, that he died before he could complete his project! How awful that the partner has to go around informing everyone from his writing coach to his hairdresser that he is gone!
My client hadn't died. The email was the partner informing me that I was going to be part of a birthday present. "I love that Fred** has been concentrating on his writing," the email said, "and that he seems to click with you as his editor. I get a kick out of his enthusiasm to write his stories, and you are a big part of that. Even though he isn’t sharing the details of his stories with me, I can at least be a part of the support process."
I sat at my keyboard with tears in my eyes. What a perfect gift. What perfect love. How lucky am I to be able to do what I do?
**Not his real name, of course.
2 comments:
Very lucky, indeed! And how nice to get that pat on the back.
Yes we do love Fred***. And I know that all little Jeffie wanted for his birthday was a big completed novel! Way to go, all three of you.
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