My friend L-train (or L-money, or The L____anator, or any number of endearing things I’m thinking that day) has a friend that worked as an editor for one of my favorite magazines of all time. I will not mention which one, but if you know that David Sedaris is in the stable, you’ll get there quickly. He’s a spirit writer/reviewer, so I was talking on L-train’s thread about whiskey and ran across him myself and got to have a bit of a conversation. Whether or not it goes anywhere, I introduced myself to a working writer/editor and felt like we each had something to offer each other. I am comfortable enough in myself to say that I will enjoy his writing and he will enjoy mine, which is a far cry from hoping that someone notices you. It’s not a feeling of dreaming up, but knowing I have the skills to climb there on my own and hope that the world agrees with me.
I told him to read “Home in a Single Sip,” because it weaves wine tasting into communion. I also told him that I didn’t know if he believed in God or not, but it didn’t matter because good writers know good writing regardless. Maybe something will happen with my agreement with myself to contact him personally; maybe not, but you don’t hope for that, because it puts your hope in other people fulfilling your expectations instead of fulfilling them on your own.
I originally asked L-money to pass on the article TO him, but then I realized that was kind of sixth grade of me and messaged him privately with a link to my blog (forgot you could do that without being friends), then messaged L-train to say she didn’t have to be the middle man anymore.
If something is going to happen, it begins with my agreement, not L-train’s or anyone else’s. I put my writing into rareified air. I hope it sticks. It has so far. Why should I be worried from here on out?
I already have a lawyer in my family (wink, wink- nudge, nudge- Know what I mean?)