This summer I got to hang out with a lot of writers, right?

And, you know, writers are regular people and all that, even the ones that are really good.

Really, I tend not to care so much about writers as people. I mean, unless they're friends. If they're not friends, I'm usually most interested in the work they produce.

If I happen to meet certain writers whose work I admire, as I had the opportunity to do this summer, then that's cool and all, but it doesn't, like, make me nervous or anything.

Because, as I said, writers are just regular people.

Most writers, that is.

There are still a few who, to me, are not really regular people at all. They're superhuman. And these writers, I don't really want to meet them, because I know I'll just stare dumbly at them most of the time.*

Tonight, I am having dinner with one of those writers whom I consider superhuman.

I know I'm being a tease, but I'm not even going to type the person's name.

Instead, I'll give some hints. If you want, you can see how many hints it takes you to figure out the person's name.

1. His initials are the fourth and tenth letters of the alphabet.

2. His most famous book is a book of short stories, but he's published volumes of poetry and novels, too.

3. After he leaves Galesburg, he's flying to New York to attend the National Book Award ceremony, for which he has been nominated this year.

Yeah. Him.

Here's hoping I don't spill wine down my shirt, say something too stupid, etc.

*This happened to me once, about five years ago, and I'm working on an essay about that experience.


J.C. said...

Just take your Beano, sweetheart, and you'll be fine.

Avery said...

How'd you arrange a dinner with Denis?


There. Damnit, someone had to say it. I mean, write it.

Chad Simpson said...

J.C.--I hope I can find my Beano. Did you use it last?

Steph--He's reading here tomorrow, and the professor who's bringing him kindly asked if I'd like to attend the dinner. So I said yes. Usually, these dinners have seven or eight people at them, but I think this one's going to be more intimate, like four or five people, which is why I'm more nervous than usual. If there were eight of us, I could just stare at my napkin all night and no one would know the difference.

Oh, Steph--The other author meeting I had that didn't go so well--the one I'm writing an essay about--was with the guy you just got for issue number two. Quite a coincidence, no?

Avery said...

Can't say his name either, huh?

Isn't that such cool news, though?