It was my great pleasure to meet Octavia Butler a few years ago, shortly after I became serious about writing. She was part of a book signing at Vertigo Books in College Park, Maryland (along with authors Tananarive Due, Steven Barnes and Nalo Hopkinson). I had read Kindred years earlier and loved it so much I made my wife read it. (She loved it too.) I remember how captivated I was by the wonderful characters, the marvelous situations they were placed in, and the problems they faced. After I finished it I realized that the ideas and implications presented in the book are huge, covering relationships between men and women, racism past and present, and the human condition. I felt like I was reading about real people portrayed with brutal honesty in situations with no easy answers. Before Kindred, I really had no idea what science fiction could do. Needless to say, Butler rocked my world by showing me hers.
I'll never forget meeting her that evening. She was one of the first science fiction writers I'd ever met, maybe the very first. She spoke to the audience that night about how she traveled to Baltimore to do research for Kindred at the Enoch Pratt Free Library. She told of her struggles to get Kindred published and how she overcame not only reluctant publishers, but also her own doubts as a young writer. I admired her honesty and the courage it took to get the book published, realizing it was a book that probably made a lot of editors nervous.
Maybe it was because this was the first time I'd actually met the author of a book I'd really enjoyed, but I felt drawn to her. But not knowing what to expect from one-on-one contact with a published writer, I approached the signing table with fear and trembling, nervously grasping my copy of Kindred until it looked like a blue and white streak. And to make things worse, Butler had an imposing presence, even seated at a table. She had a very deep voice and looked like she could easily slap you silly if you got out of line with her.
When my turn came, she smiled pleasantly and said hello. She asked me about myself and somewhere in the conversation I told her that I wanted to be a writer and that attending Clarion was one of my goals.
Then her smile stopped.
A look of sadness spread across her face, like I'd just told her I wanted to throw myself into the tiger cage at the zoo. "Oh," she said, "are you sure you want to go to Clarion?" She told me some of what I already knew about the workshop, how intense it can be, how some writers come away from the experience in a state of utter despair, never to write again. She asked me several questions about the writing goals I wanted to accomplish. I don't really remember exactly what she said; I was too busy standing there in front of her, in front of Octavia Butler, flabbergasted that she was taking an interest in wanna-be writer in his writing infancy. But she was genuinely interested.
People stood behind me, waiting for her to sign their books, but she kept asking me questions, asking me why writing was important to me. I guess I told her; again, I don't really remember.
She signed my copy of Kindred (and the copy of Wild Seed I'd just purchased) and wished me good luck with my writing. I thanked her.
When I got in my car, I turned on the dome light and read what she'd written on the title page of Kindred:
"To Andy – Keep Reading! Octavia E. Butler"
Those few words spoke volumes to me. From our brief conversation, I knew she understood that I hadn't read that much in the genre and that the best thing I could do for my writing was to read a lot. She already knew I'd write a lot, but her encouragement to keep reading was more valuable than any shelf full of books on writing.
I'll never forget Octavia Butler's kindness, her gracious spirit, and her willingness to lead someone along the journey, even during a very brief encounter. I'll miss her very, very much.
No comments:
Post a Comment