Kevin Brennan Writes About What It's Like
Heavens no. But sometimes it feels like she’s a recurring motif. For instance, yesterday my wife and I were out on a hike with our dog (above) when, who should we encounter coming down the hill that we were going up but… Anne Lamott. Yes, there she was, probably out on her daily constitutional: the author of Rosie, Rosie II, Rosie III, Rosie IV, and Bird By Bird. (I kid Anne Lamott.) I recognized her by her hair before I could even see her face. As we went by, I said, “Hi!” and she said, “Hi!” The dog forged ahead. A few feet along, my wife’s eyes were bugging out as she asked, “Was that –?”
“Yep,” I said.
I’ve now been half-a-foot away from Anne Lamott three times, which is why this is starting to look like a theme. The first time was when I attended a three-day writers retreat; she critiqued one of my stories and wrote on the first page, “I love this!” The second time was at an event for a charitable organization where I was invited to read from Parts Unknown. I was basically the opening act for… Anne Lamott. We exchanged books (hers was Blue Shoes, inscribed, “For Kevin, with all best wishes.” I can’t remember what I wrote to her.) On the advice of my editor, I made a pitch to her for a blurb to go on my paperback cover, but — alas — it was not to be.
I had half a mind when I saw Anne Lamott on the trail to ask if she’d like to read a delightful novel called Yesterday Road. Decided against it.
I can always hit her up for a review or something next time I run into her.