I\u2019ve often written about how the University of Arizona\u2019s Creative Writing program remains steadfastly focused on Literary Fiction as opposed to, horror of horrors, Genre Fiction. So during the of 2014, I offered a two-week long Genre Fiction workshop, sponsored by the U of A Library\u2019s Special Collections.<\/p>\n
One of the attendees. Ricardo, was someone I\u2019d met briefly once before. He was a vet, back from doing tours of duty in the Middle East, and he was clearly using writing as a way of processing some of his difficult experiences.<\/p>\n
Occasionally someone I\u2019ve never met will send me an email blast offering to provide \u201ccontent” for my blog\u2014for a price, of course. I\u2019ve never bitten on one of those offers.<\/p>\n
This week, however, I heard from Ricardo again, and, with his permission, I\u2019m sending along what he wrote:<\/p>\n
Journal Entry: How I Accidentally Met J.A. Jance<\/p>\n
The truth is, I had no idea who J.A. Jance was when I won that raffle. The University of Arizona Alumni Association called to say I\u2019d won lunch with a bestselling author, and I nodded politely, trying to sound excited\u2014then immediately turned to my girlfriend like, \u201cWho the hell is J.A. Jance?\u201d<\/p>\n
We raced to the bookstore that day, grabbed a handful of her novels off the shelf, and started skimming. \u201cShe\u2019s kind of a big deal,\u201d my girlfriend whispered. I felt like I was cramming for a pop quiz in a class I hadn\u2019t signed up for.<\/p>\n
When the lunch came around, I walked in nervous but curious. J.A. Jance had that presence\u2014sharp, calm, a storyteller even in silence. She looked me dead in the eye and asked, \u201cSo, you\u2019re a fan of my books, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n
I was trapped. I could have lied, but something in me said don\u2019t.\u201c<\/p>\n
No, actually,\u201d I said. \u201cI didn\u2019t even know who you were until I found out I won. Then we went to the bookstore. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughed.<\/p>\n
And just like that, the pressure dissolved. She could just be herself. I could be myself. No bullshit. No fanfare. Just two people from the desert, sitting down to share a meal.<\/p>\n
That honesty set the tone for everything that came after. I gave her a tour of the Veterans Memorial project I had poured my soul into. She saw it\u2014not just the site, but the meaning behind it. She wrote about me on her blog afterward. Not as a raffle winner. Not as a fan. But as a fellow human being trying to make sense of the world through service, scars, and story.<\/p>\n
Over the years, we’ve stayed in touch. Quietly. Kindly. I send her my work now\u2014essays, op-eds, ideas set on fire\u2014and she sends back brief, powerful notes that say more than paragraphs ever could. She recently told me that the fiction writing workshop I took didn\u2019t make me a fiction writer, \u201cbut it was a small first step on the way to where you are now.\u201d<\/p>\n
She\u2019s right.<\/p>\n
Meeting J.A. Jance wasn\u2019t some cosmic literary fate. It was awkward, honest, and absolutely perfect. I\u2019m better for it. She\u2019s a friend now. A quiet mentor. Proof that you don\u2019t have to pretend to be anyone else to find your people. You just have to show up and tell the truth.<\/p>\n
Even if that truth is: \u201cSorry, I just Googled you yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u2014R.P.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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