So at long last I was invited to attend an event where I was fortunate enough to meet with published authors. It was inevitable, I suppose, but wholly unexpected at the same time. Unexpected also was the treatment an unpublished writer received when in the midst of a few award-winning/nominated authors. This is my story:

The Utah Humanities Council rang in their tenth year of Book Festivals on the last weekend of October. To celebrate, there was a reception on the Friday preceding. This literary soiree was held at the Salt Lake Main Branch Library — a stunning building with those glass-walled elevators that I would’ve loved to have ridden in as a kid. (Ignoring the fact that I was giddy while riding said elevators, even as a twenty-seven year old.) Guests included ambassadors from any bookstore within a fifty-mile radius, as well as notable authors who were to be featured the following day.

Among them, there was Sara Zarr, front-runner for the National Book Award; Terry Trueman, author of the award-winning Stuck In Neutral; Gordon Campbell, mentioned in a previous post for Missing Witness; and fellow King’s Englisher, Ann Cannon.

Sara Zarr, who is currently in NYC for the NBA awards ceremony, was the first author I met that night. A very approachable young woman, Sara is not at all what one might expect from a person whose debut novel is queuing for a prestigious award. Her second novel, Sweethearts, is due out next year — but you can read a review on the popular blog, Advanced Reader. For young adult audiences, Ms. Zarr’s work is a must-have. (And I’m not only saying this because she’s a great person; she’s a damn fine writer, too.)

I didn’t meet Terry Trueman until about a half-hour before the party wound down. He was exceptionally tall — though coming from a five-foot-seven source, I’m guessing that’s a bit misleading — and he was, in a word, hilarious. Not five minutes into a conversation with him and I felt that I’d actually made a professional acquaintance in the book world. He confessed that he was terrible at correspondence — as many writers do — and yet handed me his card, an open invitation to email him whenever I pleased.

Most interesting to me about that night was that each time I encountered a new author, the immediate (and obvious) question was, “So, what do you do?” (The coveted Blue Nametag betrayed their own professions, of course.) My response was invariably, “Oh, I’m a writer, but I work for the King’s English.” Now, this response generally elicits the following question: “Do you have anything published?” One might even expect this question to come more readily from a published author, and yet not once was this the case. Both Sara and Terry simply said, “Really?, what do you write?”

Perhaps it was that they spied the extreme lack of a Blue Nametag dangling from my neck; perhaps not. Who can say? All that I know is that when I entered, I was asked the most important question of the night. A kindly, diminutive woman seated at a long table said, “Are you an author?” She meant, “Do I give you one of these wonderful and priceless Blue Nametags, or just the regular, boring old white one?” And to be honest, folks, I actually stammered at her. I almost came right out and said, “Yes, I’m an author.” Why not? It wouldn’t have been a lie.

The reason all of this strikes me as odd is that I’ve never been so comfortable announcing that I am, indeed, a writer. For once in my life, it didn’t seem like a joke to be proud, though unpublished. And the fact that this feeling occurred to me in the most unlikely company is a mystery. Like my father always said, “It’s not what you know, but who you know.” Well, fine — I’ll give him that one. But it seems that I finally have a chance to “know” a few of those “who’s.”