Months ago, in conjunction with a librarian, I made plans to read from my book "Save Send Delete" at her library. She picked the date – September 11. She also bought ten copies of the book to distribute to her book club.
Usually, when I read from "Save Send Delete" at a library or other venue, the people in the audience have never heard of me or the book. It is my job to introduce me and the book to them. I read from it and take questions.
Today is the first time I was in a room of about twenty people who had read the book. It was the first time in my life I'd ever been in a room with twenty people who had read my writing.
I normally have no fear of public speaking. This time I was nervous. What would these twenty readers, dedicated, serious people who care about books, think of my work? I was sure that they'd see nothing but flaws.
I entered the room and saw that the book club consisted mostly of folks in their fifties, sixties, and seventies. They looked at me in a no-nonsense way.
The librarian introduced me, and I kept my eyes down, while I blushed. Then I read an excerpt from the book that was pertinent to 9-11. It's the passage where I describe a self-identified "Muslim terrorist" who proposed marriage to me. Then I spoke about how I think it's important for us to critique jihad and gender apartheid, while not hating – indeed while continuing to love – our Muslim brothers and sisters.
I really had no idea how to assess the group's response to anything I was saying. They looked at me with no-nonsense time-weathered faces. By the way, to me "time-weathered" is a compliment. These were folks who had been around the block. No one was going to pull the wool over their eyes, or prevent them from speaking their mind fully and unashamedly.
A tall, very grim faced man brought up the Albigensians. I was prepared for that, and I said exactly what you might expect to say about the Albigensians.
A beautifully put together woman looked at me with SUCH penetrating "no bullshit zone" look and said, "I read your book. I think I understood it."
I wasn't sure what that meant. I still had no idea, really, what was going on.
We chatted more and then the librarian broke us up because she had to drive me to campus. She said that people who want my autograph on their book could come up and get it.
These folks who had lived full, long lives lined up.
They spoke to me one-on-one. They told me their personal stories. They showed me their copies of "Save Send Delete." One woman said, "I read the book really fast. Then I went back and reread it to savor it."
One woman's copy was full of multi-colored post-it page markers.
One woman had crumpled pages of paper with tiny handwriting in pencil. She had copied out by hand passages of the book that she liked to keep with her.
It was mind boggling. To see how these folks had been moved by my work.
Readers kept saying over and over, You are such a good writer … your command of language … I learned so much … so much to think about …
Here's the thing. I am alone. No family. Live alone. I spend the average day writing something that I send out for publication and getting back rejections. "Save Send Delete" was rejected six hundred times. I love my job but higher-ups insist I am unworthy of full time work because I don't hate Western Civilization enough.
I feel, and I am, invisible and worthless. Please don't be "nice" and contradict this. I am invisible and worthless. Visibility is a function of human eyes and nobody sees me. Worth is a product of human assessments and I am worthless.
As these readers unburdened their hearts to me and made evident how much my work meant to them, I felt *visible* and *worth something.*
It was unlike any other experience I've ever had. Ever. Ever. This is a first, for me.
There's a quote that goes around a lot, paraphrase, "Always be kind because everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about." It's sometimes attributed to Plato but there's no way it came from him; it doesn't reflect the worldview of Ancient Greece. One website attributes it to Rev. John Watson, who went under the pseudonym Ian MacClaren.
I don't think anyone knows how invisible and worthless I feel, and how much evidence – the hundreds of rejection letters on my writing, the hundreds of full time tenure-track jobs I've applied for that I've not gotten, the lifetime spent in burdensome solitude.
I know this about myself, though, and so I assume that others, just like me, are also fighting hard battles I know nothing about, so I strive to be kind, but of course I blow it frequently.
I know people who feel worthless, just as I do.
I want for those people the moment I had today. Where I received face-to-face recognition for my writing, something I always do alone, writing that usually goes unread, and, indeed, rejected.
It is very good to feel visible, and worthy.
So that is what I wish for you, gentle reader. To feel visible. To feel worthy.
And know that even if you haven't had that moment yet in your life, you will have that moment when you met with your creator. You will encounter a God who will say to you, I know how hard you tried. I know how much you accomplished. I appreciate it. Well done!
Until that day, do this for me, gentle reader. Tell someone how much you appreciate something he or she has done. Be like God: make another person's day.
Usually, when I read from "Save Send Delete" at a library or other venue, the people in the audience have never heard of me or the book. It is my job to introduce me and the book to them. I read from it and take questions.
Today is the first time I was in a room of about twenty people who had read the book. It was the first time in my life I'd ever been in a room with twenty people who had read my writing.
I normally have no fear of public speaking. This time I was nervous. What would these twenty readers, dedicated, serious people who care about books, think of my work? I was sure that they'd see nothing but flaws.
I entered the room and saw that the book club consisted mostly of folks in their fifties, sixties, and seventies. They looked at me in a no-nonsense way.
The librarian introduced me, and I kept my eyes down, while I blushed. Then I read an excerpt from the book that was pertinent to 9-11. It's the passage where I describe a self-identified "Muslim terrorist" who proposed marriage to me. Then I spoke about how I think it's important for us to critique jihad and gender apartheid, while not hating – indeed while continuing to love – our Muslim brothers and sisters.
I really had no idea how to assess the group's response to anything I was saying. They looked at me with no-nonsense time-weathered faces. By the way, to me "time-weathered" is a compliment. These were folks who had been around the block. No one was going to pull the wool over their eyes, or prevent them from speaking their mind fully and unashamedly.
A tall, very grim faced man brought up the Albigensians. I was prepared for that, and I said exactly what you might expect to say about the Albigensians.
A beautifully put together woman looked at me with SUCH penetrating "no bullshit zone" look and said, "I read your book. I think I understood it."
I wasn't sure what that meant. I still had no idea, really, what was going on.
We chatted more and then the librarian broke us up because she had to drive me to campus. She said that people who want my autograph on their book could come up and get it.
These folks who had lived full, long lives lined up.
They spoke to me one-on-one. They told me their personal stories. They showed me their copies of "Save Send Delete." One woman said, "I read the book really fast. Then I went back and reread it to savor it."
One woman's copy was full of multi-colored post-it page markers.
One woman had crumpled pages of paper with tiny handwriting in pencil. She had copied out by hand passages of the book that she liked to keep with her.
It was mind boggling. To see how these folks had been moved by my work.
Readers kept saying over and over, You are such a good writer … your command of language … I learned so much … so much to think about …
Here's the thing. I am alone. No family. Live alone. I spend the average day writing something that I send out for publication and getting back rejections. "Save Send Delete" was rejected six hundred times. I love my job but higher-ups insist I am unworthy of full time work because I don't hate Western Civilization enough.
I feel, and I am, invisible and worthless. Please don't be "nice" and contradict this. I am invisible and worthless. Visibility is a function of human eyes and nobody sees me. Worth is a product of human assessments and I am worthless.
As these readers unburdened their hearts to me and made evident how much my work meant to them, I felt *visible* and *worth something.*
It was unlike any other experience I've ever had. Ever. Ever. This is a first, for me.
There's a quote that goes around a lot, paraphrase, "Always be kind because everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about." It's sometimes attributed to Plato but there's no way it came from him; it doesn't reflect the worldview of Ancient Greece. One website attributes it to Rev. John Watson, who went under the pseudonym Ian MacClaren.
I don't think anyone knows how invisible and worthless I feel, and how much evidence – the hundreds of rejection letters on my writing, the hundreds of full time tenure-track jobs I've applied for that I've not gotten, the lifetime spent in burdensome solitude.
I know this about myself, though, and so I assume that others, just like me, are also fighting hard battles I know nothing about, so I strive to be kind, but of course I blow it frequently.
I know people who feel worthless, just as I do.
I want for those people the moment I had today. Where I received face-to-face recognition for my writing, something I always do alone, writing that usually goes unread, and, indeed, rejected.
It is very good to feel visible, and worthy.
So that is what I wish for you, gentle reader. To feel visible. To feel worthy.
And know that even if you haven't had that moment yet in your life, you will have that moment when you met with your creator. You will encounter a God who will say to you, I know how hard you tried. I know how much you accomplished. I appreciate it. Well done!
Until that day, do this for me, gentle reader. Tell someone how much you appreciate something he or she has done. Be like God: make another person's day.
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