Recently I attended a workshop with a friend. It was hosted by one of my favorite authors, David Sedaris, and the purpose was to help him with the final edit of his upcoming book, Theft by Finding, which will be excerpts from the daily diary he’s been keeping since 1977.
Talk about some mad promotional skills! He was in Seattle all week, in a theater that seats 250 people, and the workshop sold out each night. We each paid 50 dollars a pop to help this man with his next book.
Does anyone want to pay me 50 dollars to help me with my next book? Because I’ll take it. Just saying.
In fairness, this was not some dry proofreading event. He read portions of the book and basically gauged the success of those portions by how hard we laughed. And oh, did we laugh. The man is hysterical. I can guarantee that this book will join the pantheon of all his other bestsellers.
Afterward he allowed us to ask questions. And that’s why I know he’ll never read this. He said he never, ever reads anything written about himself. As a matter of fact, he allowed an author to interview him so that the man could write a book about him, and he’s never read the book. This is probably a mentally healthy way to live your life, but personally, I could never be that incurious.
David Sedaris inspires my writing a great deal. I love the way he can be forthright about his quirks. He exposes himself, lays himself wide open as a matter of fact, the good, the bad, and the ugly, for your reading pleasure. I find that incredibly charming. That’s one of the reasons I tend to expose myself so thoroughly in this blog. Let your freak flag fly!
When my friend approached Mr. Sedaris for his autograph, I went with her, and gave him a copy of my book. He actually noticed it in my hand and asked about it before I could even say anything. I told him that he inspired my writing. He was very gracious and thanked me for it.
Now I have this fantasy that he’ll peruse a few pages of it while sitting in his lonely hotel room, or while on the long flight back to his home in France. I would love to know what becomes of that book. It will probably sit on an airport bench somewhere until someone else picks it up. But the fact that one of my writing heroes even touched it, even looked at the cover, is enough to make me smile.