The write stuff

I went to a reading tonight as part of the Thin Air 2008, Winnipeg International Writers Festival. I picked tonight's session because it was called Matches and Misses, and was supposed to feature works on the theme of relationships, one of my favourite topics to write and read about.

I almost forgot that I had planned to go. I had pilates tonight until 7:15 and the show started at eight. I needed to stop at the bank to take out money to get in. Short on time, I considered running home and just grabbing a jacket to throw over my workout get up. I heard my sister's voice in my head, "you never know who you're going to meet so you should always look your best". Yeah but really, who was I going to see at a book reading?

Practically tearing my clothes off at the front door, I burst into the house and at least changed into my hot jeans.

I got downtown in time and sprinted to the venue, but slowed my pace when I saw other people leisurely walking up to the doors.

"One please," I said to the guy at the ticket table.

"Student?"

I did, briefly, consider just nodding, but who can cheat a writers festival out of two dollars? I can't.

"Regular," I corrected him and forked over my twenty for the full-price, $12.00 ticket.

I walked in and scouted out a seat. I kind of wanted to sit near the front, so I picked out a spot in the second row. I was about to sit down when I spotted my friend Kerri, who had also just come from our pilates class. Kerri was checking out the books for sale on stage. She at least had had the smarts to leave the class a bit early.

"You should come sit with us, we're just up there some where," she said. Truthfully, my plan had been to take in the show incognito and alone. I didn't unzip my jacket for fear of Kerri discovering that I was still wearing the bright pink top, layered over a black tank and sports bra that I had worn to pilates. But I did join her at her seat several rows up.

The first reader was surprisingly, well, amateur I guess. I liked the story, just didn't much care for the words. Who describes a book cover as "peacock blue" and calls that imagery? Well, at least she wrote a book. At least she's published. I am not.

Someone else better read after her, and then another guy read some poems. He was pretty good, although I've always struggled with finding my appreciation for poetry.

They had an intermission. I was not expecting this. I didn't get up to stretch or visit the bar. I just scanned the room and tried to pick out the cute guys. There was none, of course. Instead I saw mostly women. Mostly older women. Mostly women with big, poofy, curly hair. I don't know why, but that's the image that sticks out in my head.

Aha! I spotted one, a guy, finally. He was on stage, on one of the couches. At first we thought he was just some random guy who decided to sit down on the authors' couch, but then Kerri recognized that he was one of the authors who would read in the second set. He was wearing faded jeans and a brown jacket over a darker brown shirt. He had nice glasses. My favourite part was his hat--one of those newsboy type hats that just left his ears sticking out. His name was Pasha Malla.

He read first. When the host introduced him she noted that he was from New York. Of course he was. Put me in a room of any number of guys and I will be automatically drawn to the one who lives 2000 km away.

Actually, he didn't read first, he told us a story first and it was funny. I could tell right then that he was a story teller. The piece he read us was delicious. Not pretentious, not trying too hard, his writing voice was natural and very likable. He was, by far, my favourite of the whole night.

Two more authors stepped up and gave readings before the performance part of the evening was done. When the lights came back on there was a rush of people moving to the book table. Everyone was grabbing Pasha's peacock blue coloured book. (I kid you not. Remember the Peacock Blue pencil crayon in your package of Laurentiens? Exact same. I'm not calling it imagery, I'm just calling it as I saw it.)

I picked up his book, The Withdrawal Method, and held it for a moment. I turned it over and looked at the price sticker--$29.95. The budget does not really allow for $30 hardcovers right now. I looked at Kerri.

"If we buy the books here, it means the authors will autograph them for us, right?"

"Yeah," she said.

I pulled out Mr. MasterCard. This was going to be worth it.

After paying, I walked over to the couch where Pasha was sitting and chatting with David Bergen. I, politely, interrupted to ask Pasha if he would sign my book.

"Sure," he said. He looked up at me and then I noticed his (what the hell, let's try it) peacock blue eyes. (Now that I think of it, that pencil crayon was always the shortest one in the package by the end of the year.)

"You're the cutest author here," I said with a shy grin. And then I felt my eye twitch. And I thought, did I just wink? I never wink. I've tried it at home, in front of the mirror, and I look like a total ned (that's ned, not nerd) doing it, so I just don't have it in my repertoire. Usually I am a pretty smooth flirt. Tonight I was tripping all over myself like a thirteen-year-old at a Jonas Brothers autograph session at the mall.

He took a long time to write the inscription. I peeked but didn't want to read it as he wrote. Mostly I just checked to see if he was noting any seven digit numbers. I waited until I got home to read it.

And now I'm reading it.

"Hi Jill--
Thanks so much for your support. Certainly no shame in being "cute" either. Hope you enjoy the stories!"

OHMYGOD I'm sleeping with it under my pillow tonight.

And I, Pasha, hope that you too enjoy my stories (y'know, someday).