True Confessions

“Where do you write?”

The man steps in front of me as I make a beeline to the ladies’ room. I shake my head, not understanding a word he says since “I have to pee” drowns out all other thought.

Undaunted, he asks again, “Where do you write?”

I still don't get it.

With more animation than you’d expect, he tries one last time, hand scribbling mid-air. “You know. Write.”

He waits expectantly for my answer and with good reason. I speak English and we are at a writing show, for god’s sake. It just takes a second for his query to click because no one has ever asked me that before.

“Um, my dining room?”

He insists that he recognizes me from somewhere, and maybe he does, but it is definitely not from where I write. Many writers go to Barnes and Noble, Starbucks, Panera, Denny’s, the library, a rented office…anywhere to get away from the distractions of home or to find a place that tells their mind, “this is where we get down to business.” Not me. When I get home from work, the last thing I want to do is go back out again. The simple act of turning on my laptop tells my brain all it needs to know. And if I am free on a Saturday or Sunday, I’m not wasting precious writing time making myself presentable for public consumption or driving somewhere that’s not as comfortable as my home.

I’ve never been the drop-by-anytime kind of friend because I’m too proud to let you see how messy I am. I have a Ph.D. in ignoring distractions. But it’s not just the dog hair on the floor and the dishes in the sink that make me lower the window blinds, lock the door and turn off all the outside lights like I ran out of Halloween candy. At the risk of sounding like an ass, when I’m writing I don’t like to be interrupted. I’ve become very selfish of my free time now that I’m working forty hours a week and if I’m not left alone to get the ideas out of my head and on to the page, I will suffer withdrawals.

I am sitting at my dining room table even as we speak, mustering up the courage to jump into the freezing cold pool of my blog instead of just sticking my big toe in the water. It’s a hell of a lot easier to get the shock over with, to let my whole body adjust to the change instead of torturing myself inch by inch.

So I’m diving in.

Oh, shit, it’s worse than I thought. If I had balls they’d be up inside my body right now.

Adam Lambert:  It’s difficult to admit out loud how much he means to me. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of chatting with me about him, you’ll get why I’m always tempted to do a little damage control afterwards. You tell me I glow when I talk about him. You ask if my passion verges on obsession, if there’s a bit of hero worship going on, if I’ve put him on a pedestal so high he’s bound to fall off and crush me. Okay, maybe you, personally, haven’t said all of those things but I know you’ve thought them and someone else has actually said them.

You probably don’t mean to look at me like I’m delusional or adorably naïve, but you do. And quite frankly, it hurts my feelings. I may backtrack a few steps in your presence to protect my ego, but I’m proud that I let you think what you will. As a recovering people pleaser, resisting the urge to justify my feelings takes more effort than you can possibly imagine.

I’m standing my ground because I know what I know…and what I know is this: I need to get the hell over my embarrassment if I'm ever going to write Adam Lambert’s biography.

There. I said it and I can’t take it back.

And you read it.

As far as I can tell I’m still breathing.

If I say I feel better getting this confession off my chest, that's just me telling a lie.* The truth is the second I typed ‘write Adam Lambert’s biography’, my heart and stomach fled, but with nowhere to go, they flapped in place like birds desperate to escape a locked cage. Maybe I should clip their wings so they’ll settle the fuck down. I don’t know why announcing my dream to you has caused such a commotion. I wasn’t nervous at all when I told the man himself what I had in mind.

I swear to God I'm not making that up. It's the god's-honest truth, as Randy can attest.  It was his idea to start with which makes him the best friend and husband ever, even if he’s the one still giving me the adorably naïve look. 

When I met Adam in Rockford, IL I allowed myself one little internal OMFG flail before striding confidently towards him with my right hand outstretched and my beauty-pageant smile plastered on my face. There was no way I looked natural because where in the natural order of things would I be shaking hands with this sweet-hearted, amazing singer?

I introduced myself, and making the most of my sixty seconds, gave him a business card with my picture and contact information on the front, “writer” printed boldly underneath my name. 

What? I never said published.

On the back of this laminated card I wrote a short note: Adam, the way you live your life inspires me so much that I want to write about the defining moments that influenced & shaped you. I’m interested in what lead up to each experience, how it impacted you & the insight you’ve gained in the process. I envision a biography that reads like a novel with you as the main character. Respectfully, Jody

Adam took the card, flipped it back and forth a few times and said, “Oh. Thank you,” as I launched into my spiel. “I know this may be presumptuous and premature, but when the time is right for your biography, I hope you’ll keep me in mind.”  (Thank you, Marian, for this digital record!)  http://sharing.theflip.com/session/3b298d2063b1b8f38608a38c3bde5eab/video/18111739

Unfortunately there was no quickly signed book deal before my time was up and our picture taken. Good thing I had no expectations for his response. I was more concerned with getting up my nerve to actually say what I said. I considered the act of handing him my pride on a platter the true success.

But maybe I planted a seed…or maybe he took one look at me and thought, “Oh, god, here we go again. Another crazy, middle-aged fan.” Maybe my card went into the trash after the meet and greet was over. But what if it didn’t? What if he’s using it as a bookmark because it's so sturdy? What if I meet him again two or three or five years down the road and hand him the same card and he has a flash of recognition?

What if, what if, what if, how I love you. You keep the dream alive.

Until now hardly anyone knew about the card. I’ve only shared the book idea with a handful of people whose reactions, for the most part, haven’t exactly been encouraging. If you’re the exception, thank you. You know who you are. For the rest of you, no offense, but I read faces and body language like a pro.

I’ve learned over the last year that even published authors fear rejection and need reassurance from friends that they trust. They worry that no one will like what they’ve written, that their well has run dry, that people won’t ‘get it.’ So I’m not ashamed to share with you a text/email conversation I had with my real life** writing partner last night as I debated writing this edition of my blog.

I asked: Will I make a complete fool of myself if I admit my dream book in my blog? It seems ready to come out of the closet.

And she replied:  I don't think you'll make a fool of yourself admitting your dream book. It's YOUR DREAM BOOK. You are being true to yourself. You know how hard that is???? That takes courage, baby!!! You are going to put that out into the universe and something wonderful could happen. Something unexpected, something that can lead you somewhere else! Also, one day, when you write that book, you'll have those writings to look back on, to get inspiration from.

And it's true some people will get it and some people won't. But do the one's who won't, matter??? I say fuck 'em! What would Adam say to those who are negative toward him and his music?

Send it out there with the attitude, this is who I am, this is my dream and I'm going to make it happen.
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Sending massive waves of POSITIVE ENERGY to you!!!!

Every single one of us, no matter what our passion, needs a cheerleader like you, JoLynn! Thank you for that perfect reply. I hope someday to return the favor.

As for you, gentle reader.  Please do me a favor when you next see me. Keep in mind that it’s my Alter Ego being all bold and ballsy here. I hope to match her bravery in real life someday soon.


*Adam fans will recognize this sentence as an adapted quotation from his song, “Loaded Smile.”


**I have an online writing partner, too, who knows me better than I know myself even though we’ve never met! I’ve learned more about writing from her than any book I’ve read. Thank you, bb!