Furore and Frenzy

One of the positive things about leaving home for several days last week was that the conference I was attending was riddled with authors. Most of them were geared for the K-12 school market since the conference was designed for School Library Media Specialists.

I was familiar with the books of Richard Peck but not overly so, not to the degree I should have been given my chosen profession. I’ll be the first to admit that I had considered Richard to be rather ‘old school’ and not nearly new and flashy enough for me to take much notice of as a young librarian.

I was totally caught off guard by his speech during our dinner on Saturday night. There are some who can write, yet stumble over their words. I’ve sat through their speeches before. The world famous authors who have so little public speaking ability that you begin to question their intelligence in total. Then there was Richard. He was older than I had expected. I guessed that he was about the age of my father and later learned that he was. They were both born in 1934. He was not only an author, he was a storyteller. He could weave the word with such passion and such truth that I sat there stunned with tears in my eyes threatening to fall down my face and give away how moved I was to the rest of my table. He spoke of depressions, and wars, the problems with education today, the differences in kids today. He spoke of writing and reading. He spoke so truthfully that he made people squirm, made them uncomfortable. I was reminded in a lot of ways of George Carlin, the same directness, that when we hear it, we know what he is saying is true, despite how painful to hear.

‘Writers do not write about what ACTUALLY happened,” he said. “They write about what MIGHT have happened, what COULD have happened, but not what ACTUALLY happened.”

I thought about blogging and how I was using it as a means to begin to tap into my creative juices and write again for the first time in years. But I fear that the fictional pieces that I used to write, the 20 page stories are lost, and instead have been replaced by blog entries about the mundane trappings of life and my potty training two year old.

I heard so many people in my head as he spoke. I heard stories that were so familiar, they reminded me of my father’s tales of childhood in so many ways. I heard my high school English teacher reminding me over and over again that writers read and that I wanted to be a writer that I needed to read more books for pleasure. I heard college professors and employers, all who had offered advice. I was reminded of where I had been and forced to ask myself where I expected to go.

I was moved, to say the least.

The next day as I was leaving my hotel I threw open a hallway door and almost hit Richard Peck! I apologized, excused myself, and he held open the door for me and I thanked him. As I was walking away I felt like turning around and running after him, I felt like telling him that I loved his speech the night before and that he had really made me consider so many things.

But I didn’t. I figured he’d think I was a crazy stalker if I gave chase. In my usual fashion I let the opportunity pass and let myself wonder if the moment was placed there purposely because I was supposed to do something more with it. Perhaps I will….perhaps I’ll write about what COULD have happened.