Wow, you people sure know how to come out for a giveaway! Tuesday was a personal best in visitors to this blog. Maybe I should do this more often…
Congratulations goes out to The Reluctant Homefront, whose name was pulled out of my cowboy hat (my new black cowboy hat, mind you) by my children. She’ll be receiving an autographed copy of L.L. Barkat’s Stone Crossings. Hope you enjoy it. I know I did, and still do.
And speaking of L.L., she left a little note for you and me. It was a very kind gesture, and also typical of her personality. In an earlier email, L.L. had called me “cool” (and even added an exclamation point). She also called my readers cool as well.
I agree. No doubt about it. I have the coolest readers in Blogdom.
So while I brew a few pots of coffee and spend the night going over a manuscript that will be sent to an expectant agent in the morning, I’m going to turn the rest of this post over to L.L. I’m sure you’ll see why I think she’s pretty cool in her own right…
Dear Billy,
I’m so flattered that you want to be writer-me when you grow up. That’s pretty cool. Really.
I just have this… well… this concern… I’m kinda wondering (quietly, see) if you could stand the pressure to sometimes wear a dress and heels (personally, I don’t mind dresses, but I can’t stand high shoes; they hurt my knees and make me feel like a wanna-be giraffe). The way I see it, you’re more the cowboy-hat type–spinning tales by the fire. Tales that could make a man weep into his coffee or lose his chewing tobacco in a moment of pure hilarity. I guess you could push the issue, but then there’d be the sticky dilemma of publishing competition… you and me vying for the same spot on the shelf. No, I’m thinking your best bet is to be Mr. Billy Coffey.
But I understand. I used to want to be Annie Dillard or Anne Lamott. Some days I still catch myself wishing I was the Miss Ann Voskamp of the cyberworld. I never wanted to be John Grisham, but that’s because I’m the non-fiction type. Good thing. I don’t think I could stand having to churn out murder-he-wrote.
And see, that’s the thing. If I were any of those writers, I’d have to tell their stories in their ways. Then I couldn’t tell mine. I couldn’t write about what it’s like to be the child of parents who tallied eight marriages (I think they’re done now, thank goodness). I couldn’t explore the oddities of having 18 siblings, picked up along the way, marriage by marriage. I could still be funny if I wanted, but I’d have to cuss if I was Lamott; after the way I grew up, I don’t really have the heart for that.
Anyway, as far as I can tell, your readers like you just the way you are, telling stories that belong uniquely to your life in a way that opens things in their own lives. So let’s make a deal. You be you and I’ll be me. You wear the hat and I’ll wear a silver bracelet. And together we can lasso the world in grace.
Warmly,
L.L.
To which I will humbly reply: “Deal.”
