Obsessions of a book nerd

I would never call myself star-struck, but truth is...I am. My mind refuse to reinforce the fact that I was sitting next to a human being. A human being who won the Pulitzer...a human being whose books I devoured and whose books have inspired me to write...a human being who overheard me talking about her work to my partner as I showed off my newly signed book, her book, not realizing she was sitting right next to me the entire time, smiling!

This person was Jennifer Egan. Of course I was forewarned in a good way by neighbors who know my love for her work. "She's in the neighborhood, you know," they'd whisper like wise ogers who could see right through the mechanics of my stimulated mind. Just like when they whispered the sighting of Jhumpa Lhairi, another favorite author of mine. I would force nonchalance with a shrug and say, "Nice," when in fact I wondered where they hang and do their shopping. Are they like the phantom Kerri Russel who everyone knows lives in Brooklyn but never sees? Then I'd go to the bookstore and someone would say, "Jennifer Egan was just here doing a signing!" A sigh would escape me, but not before I give the side eye: "When?!"

"People are people!" I'd say to anyone who panic at the sight of a celebrity. Yet, I freeze up at book signings. I clutch the books of my favorite authors between sweaty palms. I'd let everyone go by me to have their conversation with the author, and then when it's my turn I'd take deep breaths. "What's your name, love?" They'd have to strain to hear me stutter my name. An awkward silence would pass before they say, "Thank you for reading." I'd mutely nod and smile when really I want to let them know how much they've inspired me, how uncanny it was that they dug deep inside my thoughts with their pens, how incredibly-fucking-awesome I think it is when someone reads people that way and bring characters to life, how I think they're the gods and goddesses of the worlds they create and how they can re-write the book of Genesis and call it truth and I would believe!(OK...you get the point); but my partner would come up behind me and say, "She writes too, and she has all your books!" The conversation between author and I would turn into "What do you write about?" This is a question I dread. I scratch my head and avoid the expectant smiles awaiting me. "I--uh--write--uhm." It's a question that makes my heart beat faster and my lungs tighter as I think of the piles of unfinished manuscripts on my desk. After all, I'm not there to talk about my writing and how many times I've ripped out pages and throw them in the trash when I feel my work doesn't compare to what's being published. Rejection letters tend to do that to a person.

I never act this way when I spot celebrities. In fact, meeting writers is different from meeting celebrities. With celebrities, one swoon over whether or not they look the same in person as they do on tv; with writers, you stare at the homely looking person (except for Stephen O'Connor, Tayari Jones, and Mary Morris) dressed in something you'd see on the hangers at Target who shyly looks out at his/her fans. But as a reader you know that this person is the most powerful person in the room because they have the ability to look right through you, see things, shadows, a flicker of candle burning light into any given situation, your eyes, windows to your soul.

Once again I have to remind myself that people are people. Edwidge Danticat uses the potty too. Collin Channer, Junot Diaz, Marlon James, Kei Miller, Raymond Carver, Alice Munro, and my most recent favorites, Tiphanie Yanique and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. So what's the root cause of my intimidation? I imagine my therapist asking this. Hm...I believe it has to do with my first interaction with an author at a Buddhist retreat. I had just turned 21 and still naive and fearless. I walked up to Miss "Pulitzer" and told her how much I loved her book, how much I identified with a certain character, how much I hated another character. Miss "Pulitzer" looked at me as though I was speaking of another person's book. In a barely audible voice, she responded, "That was a long time ago, dear." My eyebrows must have shot up to my hairline because my skin stretched and stung with embarrassment. I almost uttered an apology, but at 21, I had no idea that I could offend someone with what I thought was a compliment. I vowed never to be that forthcoming with compliments again.

Fast forward to this year. I met two Pulitzer prize winning authors, Elizabeth Strout and Jennifer Egan, who have managed to erase the promise I made to myself years ago. I went up to them (well, pushed up to them by friends who thought I was being ridiculously shy) and voiced how much I love their work. I paused and waited for the razor sharp words laced with nonchalance. When all I got were wide smiles and a gracious "Thank yous" and "Tell me about yourself", I exhaled with relief. So not all accomplished writers are caught up in the clouds after all, I thought to myself. Although I still get anxious about approaching them given flashbacks, I am often pleasantly reminded that it's OK to be a book nerd and worship the people who made it possible.

Nicole © 2011

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