Years ago, when I was a young associate editor, I went to the national SCBWI conference in Los Angeles. I wore my favorite outfit: A black skirt, a top with a bunch of pictures of vegetables on it (dishtowel chic), and a bubble watch filled with water and sparkles (like a snow globe) that I had purchased at a toy store. (I’ve always had a “unique” sense of style.) At the conference, I met a well-known author who was charming and funny, and when he saw my watch, he said, “Oh, that’s so great! We have to show Paula!”
“Paula” was Paula Danziger, author The Cat Ate My Gymsuit, The Pistachio Prescription, and many other of my favorite novels from adolescence. Her books had a permanent place in my heart; I badly wanted to meet her, but I felt shy. Too shy. For the remainder of the conference, I carefully avoided both her and the author who had offered to introduce us, escaping before I could meet her. In the back of my mind was the thought that I would meet Paula another time. Maybe when I was more influential. When I was “somebody.”
But Paula died tragically and unexpectedly at the age of 59. I never met her. I never had the opportunity to tell her how much her books meant to me, or to simply enjoy being in her presence. For years, I have regretted missing my chance. But that missed opportunity taught me something, and so, this past July, when Vermont College of Fine Arts hosted an auction and put “Lunch with Katherine Paterson” on the docket, my friend Heather Demetrios and I jumped to bid on it. Heather is a fellow writer, and we both felt too shy to chat with the author of The Great Gilly Hopkins, Bridge to Terabithia, and Jacob Have I Loved by ourselves. Between the two of us, though, we felt we could manage to prop up our end of lunch and conversation an icon.
Yesterday, I had the pleasure of sitting down to sushi with Katherine and Heather. We chatted about life, writing, family, life abroad, the publishing industry, art, and poetry. We talked for two hours, and only got up when our cars were about to be towed. Katherine was charming and funny, honest and generous. To say that she was down-to-earth would be an understatement. I know I will always treasure that meeting.
It turns out that waiting around to be “somebody” was a terrible decision. I always was was somebody. And now I’m somebody who had a terrific lunch with a really fascinating person.