The Reunion
May 15th, 2012I did not go to my high school class reunions: not the picnic at five years, the bash at ten, nor any subsequent ones. Like many who avoided high school reunions, I argued that back then I was not truly me, not yet, so I had little interest in revisiting that insecure kid and hearing stories about how he overcompensated.
“Oh god, remember the time you…”
Thanks, but I’ll pass.
But after re-friending high school classmates on Facebook and getting to know them all over again, I discovered that they actually do know me damn well, better than I remembered. And I *was* fully me in high school – that was my most of my true personality shining through back then. But I had not found my inner glow or maybe just lacked confidence in that flicker of who I would eventually become.
Crap. I wish I would have realized this before my ten year reunion. I probably would have gone.
Maybe I have another chance.
Ever since publishing King Perry, my life has changed in a significant and wonderful way. I now have writer friends. I email them and complain about lack of time for writing. They email back. We end up having long email discussions on publishing, marketing, how we develop characters, comment on specific details in our book, share amazon.com news, and more.
I love it.
For many years my only writing friend has been the very awesome Jenna, and she’s been super busy with her burgeoning career. We do talk once in a while and have great conversations when we do catch up. Our last three-hour Skype session included me threatening her with a giant, silver, kitchen knife and her pretending to be choked by hands off-screen.
She gets me.
With new friends, I guest blog on their site, which is high school equivalent of catching up at a friend’s locker between classes. Through emails we chat about common friends we mutually admire, sharing each delicious stories of what we like about that person. On Facebook I’ve met dozens of these new friends, and each time we start commenting on each others’ posts, it’s the high school equivalent of lingering and chatting at your locker, walking away thinking, “I could really see myself being friends with this person.”
I met Jo first (clever, British writer), and then L.C. whose sparse prairie descriptions perfectly matched her cowboy leads. I loved critiquing Lou’s vampire story. Kari answers every business question I throw her, freely giving of her time as if chatting with me is her top priority. Anne and I have a million stories to share; we learn from each other.
I’ve met “upper classmen” in this high school of writers, folks who I emailed and said, “May I ask your advice?” They have said, “Sure. What’s up.” And though we do not automatically become best buds, I am grateful for this exchange and feel respected. We shake hands and pass through the hallway, and I end up thinking, ‘I could really see myself being friends with this person.’
Lance and his partner showed up at my book release party. Alix is a writer who I enjoy running into on Facebook. I have threatened to move into a shed in his backyard so we can hang out and he can make me mac & cheese. Joyfully Jay is someone whose website I liked and wanted to meet. We did! She loved King Perry and we got to chatting. Again, if this were high school, at cafeteria lunch I would sit at her table or invite her to mine.
Last week, I met Fen and AJ and after one or two emails, I said to AJ: “Let’s be friends. Or friendly. I’m not asking for a commitment.” and now we’re friendly. He and Fen came over Sunday afternoon to talk shop (and drink sangria). Before my book was published I contacted a near-stranger, Lloyd, and said, “Will you talk to me about marketing.” He arranged a Skype session for the next day.
This October I’m going to my first writers’ conference: GayRomLit.
Already, I feel like I’m attending a ten-year reunion where I will meet all my old/new friends. Like an actual high school reunion, we may not recognize each other as first (having only exchanged emails), but we’ll take a moment to be pleasantly surprised.
I will say, “Oh god, is that you, L.C?”
She will laugh and say something funny, and we will hug this big, excited hug. Or, I should say, I will try to hug her.She has the option to put out her hand and say, “Boundaries, mister.” But honestly, L.C., you should probably just give in and let me hug you. I don’t like to brag, but I’m pretty good at it.
I can’t wait to catch up with these old friends.
But it could be challenging, too. I get nervous around big crowds.
My new friend Dawn and I have confessed our mutual fear of not knowing what to do and where to go. We have agreed to hang out in the corner holding hands, which will make this awkwardness bearable. We may or may not hide behind a large, potted fern. There will be snarky giggling behind the fern, I know. I suspect we will attract the other people who don’t know what to do with themselves either, until we are a mighty force, laughing hard in the general vicinity of the hotel bar.
I find I’m even looking forward to the awkward parts.
It’s odd that I think of this conference as a reunion, but I do.
These are the people from high school who discovered weird kinks about themselves and learned they saw the world differently: women who spend time wondering what gay men think and do. Men, who as boys thought, ‘Oh shit, I’m gay. What should I think and do?’
And these people now dare to write their answers to those questions in fiction. These are probably high schoolers who never quite fit in. But we celebrate that now. That weird kink is now power and that not-fitting-in creates a vision for storytelling.
We now love that queer sparking light, wherever its sturdy glow comes from.
So thanks, new writer friends, for welcoming me, a freshman. That was cool.
I’ll see you guys in October for the GayRomLit reunion.
Until then, stop by my locker after class and say ‘hey.’
