Letters in Time, Reiss Susan [read me a book TXT] 📗

I cocked my head to the side and began to wonder about this elegant woman sitting in my living room. “Maureen, how do you know so much about the creative process?”

She took a deep breath. "I've spent my life with creative people, just like you. They had hopes, dreams, and visions of success. They put in a lot of hard work to learn their particular craft. And many relied on me for guidance and support.” She looked down at her hands again. “I spent a lot of years guiding and nurturing a creative department of a major New York ad agency.”

Again, I was surprised and impressed. I realized this woman had broken ground or destroyed glass ceilings for the women of my generation. "That was very unusual back then. I mean…"

Maureen laughed and waved my gaffe away. “Don’t worry. I know I’m old. As they say, those were the days. I loved every minute of it. It was so much fun to work with such talented people and to manage the stuffed shirts, except I think today you call them suits.”

I nodded with a smile. “What did you do?"

"I played with them." She sat up straighter in her chair. "Look at me. I'm almost 5'10" tall. That was considered very tall for a woman back then. Did I slouch? Did I try to hide my height? Absolutely not! I always wore high heels so that I could look them straight in the eye or even tower over some of them." She cocked her head and looked off to the side, remembering. "There I was in my three-inch heels, watching them squirm as I stood next to them before a meeting or at a reception. It was one of my secret weapons to get us on a more even playing field."

We broke out laughing.

"I know what you mean,” I said. “I naturally tower over the kids, but it works when I have to deal with parents and administrators." I gently rubbed my leg. "Do you have any other secret weapons?"

A smile like the Cheshire cat spread across Maureen’s face. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll share a few as we get to know each other. Thank you for reminding me about those years at the agency. We were one of THE best, at least according to our Wall of Shame.”

“Wall of Shame?” I asked.

“At least that’s what I called it. We had shelves that ran from floor to ceiling and along more than one wall.”

“For what?”

“Our awards,” she said softly.

“And you called it a Wall of Shame?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe it was more of a Wall of Embarrassment, because the industry, our very talented peers, thought our work was terrific. I got the idea of calling it that because one of the kids, for some reason, I always thought of the young staffers as kids, said that when he was little, his mother said he should be ashamed of himself for being so much better than the other kids in sports. She wanted him to play nice, not beat them all the time. We didn’t play nice. We knocked the competition on its ass and gobbled up their clients. It was fun. So, dear Emma, keep working on something, anything creative, but do something every day. Every Day! You have to prime the pump. Then you have to keep working. Then you'll have a different problem."

“And what will that be?” I asked, intrigued.

“When the ideas and the words start flowing, you have to keep up!”

We laughed together again.

"I wish I had that problem of keeping up. I don't know where to start and I'm getting frustrated."

"Then let me give you one more morsel of advice. Stories are about people so, that's where you should start. Think about the hero of your story, even a children's picture book. Then you have to do something even more important.”

She smoothed her gray silk slacks with the palm of her hand. That subtle gesture made it easier to listen to her wisdom. I felt like I was sitting at the knee of a mentor.

Maureen began to share. "This is probably one of the most important bits of advice about writing a story that you will ever hear. I know that sounds pompous, but it's true. Once you have a basic idea of the hero or heroine, work on your antagonist, the bad guy. But it doesn’t have to be a person. For a children's book, it could be a serious challenge faced by the hero.” She took a deep breath and took out her keys. “I think that might be enough for you to chew on for one day. I know you’re convalescing and I fear I’ve worn you out with all this conversation.” She stood up.  “We’ll talk again if you’d like.”

"I'd like that, but you don't have to leave." I wanted her to stay. I felt nurtured by her compassion and kindness, not pity. She wasn't trying to control me like my sister. She wasn't ordering me to just sit, like my lawyer. Maureen was calm and supportive. All attributes I needed and appreciated right now. But she was determined not to wear me out and moved slowly towards the front door.

I reached for my walker.

“No, don’t get up. Let me leave you with one more thought. If you try, you may succeed. If you do nothing, you are guaranteed to fail.” She patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll let myself out. Use your strength for something worthwhile. Your story.”

"Now that you found your way here, don't be a stranger," I