On the heels of Bliss' series about how technology has changed the relationship between readers and writers, I've been thinking about my own interactions with writers I admire. The first and therefore most memorable of these came back in 2001, when I stumbled across an e-mail address for the poet Diane Wakoski.
At the time, she was a Writer in Residence at the University of Michigan and her university e-mail address was there on the page, plain as day. With all the gall and gumption of a slightly-off-kilter fangirl, I sent her the following:
Diane,
I found “The Motorcycle Betrayal Poems” when I was sixteen. I broke the spine within six months, carrying it everywhere, bending back pages as I hid it beneath textbooks in classes that didn't deserve my attention, copying sections by hand into love letters and diaries. I've loved it near to death. I bought my first copy of “Emerald Ice” the year I turned 21 and of all the books I own, that battered pink hardback it is the one I would run screaming back into the house to rescue, even as flames licked the shelves. I actually own two copies of it now because I've highlighted, underlined and dog-eared the pages of the first copy to the point of distraction.
I call myself a writer and struggle forward with baby steps, publishing a story here and an article there. Sometimes I even write a beautiful line or two, tangling precisely the right words together on the page to capture a particular moment or thought. But I am always awed and humbled by the stark beauty and intensity with which you have spilled your words onto the page.
Thank you most of all for the following poems:
- I Have Had To Learn To Live With My Face
- The Pink Dress
- The Moon Has a Complicated Geography
- Love Letter Postmarked Van Beethoven
- Dancing On The Grave of a Son of a Bitch
They have caused me to dance and cry, to rage and shout, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” in short, what I means to say is that you are a most amazing poet – woman – soul and I wanted to thank you for sharing your gifts with us/me.
- Jules
The next day, I found the following e-mail in my inbox:
Dear Jules,
You made my day. This has been one of those weeks where I felt like an aging Cinderella, a hag in rags and soot. So thanks. Your generous words made me feel at least bathed and aglow even if no longer a potential princess.
- Diane
A copy of this exchange now resides between the pages of my dog-eared copy of Emerald Ice. For all the times her words moved, soothed and strengthened me, the thought that I could (even for a moment) give her back a tiny bit of that makes me feel incredibly blessed. In the years that have followed, I've become more accustomed to having occasional interactions with writers I admire, but I've yet to lose that sense of wonder at the luck of living in a time of unprecedented access to our artistic and creative heroes. I hope I never do.
*You can read more about Diane Wakoski and her work at The Poetry Foundation.
See that's just so freakin' cool. The first writer I ever actually emailed was Joe Conason a journalist writing for Salon at the time. I was feeling very frustrated about a particular conversation I had recently had with a friend of mine because I didn't have enough information. So I wrote to Joe asking him one very big question and I almost died when he wrote me back this absolutely lovely, thoughtful and helpful email. Years later that response from Joe was the reason I emailed Neil Gaiman a question…again absolutely floored me when he responded again with thoughtful kindness and some really wonderful suggestions. It's really a magical time and I hope we don't screw it into the ground. Great post Jules.
Loved that! Sometimes we put people on pedestals and don’t realise that inside they (some of them, probably most of them) have the same mass of insecurities as we do! I think it’s wonderful that we can interact and I wish everyone would use the privilege respectfully. After all, no matter who we are, encouragement is always a blessing!
Yes. I have a couple of read to dog-eared death volumes of Ms Wakoski’s work and feel exactly the same.