Tuesday, March 08, 2005
The Perfect Writer Moment
We've received several requests over the past several weeks for reprints of a piece first published in The American Society of Journalists & Authors' ASJA Monthly, last November.
Why the recent interest is beyond me. But we're grateful.
Here 'tis:
Much of a writer’s life is filled with lack of sleep, isolation, eye and back strain, seven-day work-weeks, temporary poverty, querying, researching, returning phone calls, rejection letters, and 80 zillion deadlines. There are, however, perfect moments. They’re rare, but we’ve all had them. And they’re, oh, so sweet.
I experienced one recently that lasted for nearly an hour.
My perfect moment began on a Wednesday morning, a little after nine o’clock, when I turned the key on my post office box – in downtown Columbia, South Carolina – and opened the little door. Inside I found two pieces: a letter-sized envelope containing a nice fat book-advance check from my agent and a package-pickup card for the postal window.
Whispering a quick prayer of thanks, I blew a kiss above, and folded the check into my wallet.
At the window, I was presented a box with an unfamiliar Virginia return address on it. I knew I hadn’t ordered anything, so the image of a “bomb” briefly crossed my mind. Perhaps, I thought, I had written something that had angered some whacko up in the “Old Dominion;” and that whacko figured the best way to get back at me would be to take off my head and an arm or two.
At any rate I took a deep breath, whipped out my trusty penknife, and carefully began cutting into the tape on top of the box.
I was floored by what was inside: It was a beautiful, hand-painted model of Philadelphia’s old “Tun Tavern” building - the 1775 birthplace of the U.S. Marine Corps.
The model - quite an expensive piece I might add - was a gift from a retired Marine who was so moved by an essay I had written about the Corps for NATIONAL REVIEW ONLINE that he felt the need to send me something.
The gift included a note, a portion of which read:
Moved by the gift and thrilled with the advance check, I decided to postpone returning to my office. Instead I would treat myself to a cup of coffee at a nearby Barnes & Noble bookstore before depositing the check in the bank.
In a few short minutes I was strolling the aisles at B&N, sipping a perfectly brewed cup of their house blend, and admiring the latest magazine covers. There I came across the May 2004 issue of The Writer. I picked it up, leafed through a page or two, and turned directly to a quote from me about my working with U.S. News & World Report. Wow! Pardon the cliché, but it was literally a bolt from the blue.
My quote was part of an article about best magazine markets written by Moira Allen. I had forgotten she had interviewed me months earlier for the piece, so it was a complete surprise (not to mention the fact that The Writer had quoted me the previous month in a piece written by our own Sharon McDonnell).
“Quoted two months in a row?” I thought. “Good gracious, this is as good as it gets.”
On my way to the register to pay for the magazine, I stopped by the history books section to check out the new releases. There I spied an elderly, well-dressed black man reading Encyclopedia of the Central Intelligence Agency – the first of my three books, all of which had been published during the previous ten months. And all were there on the shelf in front of the man. At that point, I simply could not contain myself.
“I wrote that, sir,” I said, pointing to the book in his hand.
The man turned to me with a smile so broad his face glowed. “You did?” he responded. “Well, that’s wonderful! How about that. Did you make a million dollars?”
“no, sir,” I said.
“But you’re working on it, aren’t you?” he continued.
“Always.”
“Well that’s fine, young man. That’s just fine. Congratulations!”
It was all I could do to get my swollen head out the door of the store, and into my car.
There, I tossed my copy of The Writer on the passenger seat, next to my gift from the retired Marine in Virginia. I glanced at my watch – it was 10:00 a.m. – and then my phone. I saw I had a voicemail message. It was from my editor at U.S. News & World Report.
“Tom, someone just dropped a copy of The Writer on my desk,” the voice said. “Bless you for saying those wonderful things about us. You’re the greatest!”
I took another sip of coffee and drove to the bank.
© 2005 W. Thomas Smith Jr.
WTSjr
Why the recent interest is beyond me. But we're grateful.
Here 'tis:
The perfect writer moment
W. THOMAS SMITH, JR.
W. THOMAS SMITH, JR.
Reprinted with permission of
The American Society of Journalists & Authors
New York, 2004
The American Society of Journalists & Authors
New York, 2004
Much of a writer’s life is filled with lack of sleep, isolation, eye and back strain, seven-day work-weeks, temporary poverty, querying, researching, returning phone calls, rejection letters, and 80 zillion deadlines. There are, however, perfect moments. They’re rare, but we’ve all had them. And they’re, oh, so sweet.
I experienced one recently that lasted for nearly an hour.
My perfect moment began on a Wednesday morning, a little after nine o’clock, when I turned the key on my post office box – in downtown Columbia, South Carolina – and opened the little door. Inside I found two pieces: a letter-sized envelope containing a nice fat book-advance check from my agent and a package-pickup card for the postal window.
Whispering a quick prayer of thanks, I blew a kiss above, and folded the check into my wallet.
At the window, I was presented a box with an unfamiliar Virginia return address on it. I knew I hadn’t ordered anything, so the image of a “bomb” briefly crossed my mind. Perhaps, I thought, I had written something that had angered some whacko up in the “Old Dominion;” and that whacko figured the best way to get back at me would be to take off my head and an arm or two.
At any rate I took a deep breath, whipped out my trusty penknife, and carefully began cutting into the tape on top of the box.
I was floored by what was inside: It was a beautiful, hand-painted model of Philadelphia’s old “Tun Tavern” building - the 1775 birthplace of the U.S. Marine Corps.
The model - quite an expensive piece I might add - was a gift from a retired Marine who was so moved by an essay I had written about the Corps for NATIONAL REVIEW ONLINE that he felt the need to send me something.
The gift included a note, a portion of which read:
Thanks for taking the time to so clearly communicate the uniqueness of the Corps and what that uniqueness can mean to what is an increasingly confused and chaotic world. Hope you have a prominent place to park this small piece of the history of our great Corps!
Semper Fi.
Semper Fi.
Moved by the gift and thrilled with the advance check, I decided to postpone returning to my office. Instead I would treat myself to a cup of coffee at a nearby Barnes & Noble bookstore before depositing the check in the bank.
In a few short minutes I was strolling the aisles at B&N, sipping a perfectly brewed cup of their house blend, and admiring the latest magazine covers. There I came across the May 2004 issue of The Writer. I picked it up, leafed through a page or two, and turned directly to a quote from me about my working with U.S. News & World Report. Wow! Pardon the cliché, but it was literally a bolt from the blue.
My quote was part of an article about best magazine markets written by Moira Allen. I had forgotten she had interviewed me months earlier for the piece, so it was a complete surprise (not to mention the fact that The Writer had quoted me the previous month in a piece written by our own Sharon McDonnell).
“Quoted two months in a row?” I thought. “Good gracious, this is as good as it gets.”
On my way to the register to pay for the magazine, I stopped by the history books section to check out the new releases. There I spied an elderly, well-dressed black man reading Encyclopedia of the Central Intelligence Agency – the first of my three books, all of which had been published during the previous ten months. And all were there on the shelf in front of the man. At that point, I simply could not contain myself.
“I wrote that, sir,” I said, pointing to the book in his hand.
The man turned to me with a smile so broad his face glowed. “You did?” he responded. “Well, that’s wonderful! How about that. Did you make a million dollars?”
“no, sir,” I said.
“But you’re working on it, aren’t you?” he continued.
“Always.”
“Well that’s fine, young man. That’s just fine. Congratulations!”
It was all I could do to get my swollen head out the door of the store, and into my car.
There, I tossed my copy of The Writer on the passenger seat, next to my gift from the retired Marine in Virginia. I glanced at my watch – it was 10:00 a.m. – and then my phone. I saw I had a voicemail message. It was from my editor at U.S. News & World Report.
“Tom, someone just dropped a copy of The Writer on my desk,” the voice said. “Bless you for saying those wonderful things about us. You’re the greatest!”
I took another sip of coffee and drove to the bank.
© 2005 W. Thomas Smith Jr.
WTSjr
# posted by W. Thomas Smith, Jr. @ 4:42 PM 
