Well, the week with author Terry Kay has been going sweetly. He's a natural narrator and works fast, which means we take lots of breaks. It's times like this that I'm glad I haven't quit smoking all the way, because sharing a smoke with this guy really means listening to an intriguing story for a half and hour.
A little background: he was born in Northern Georgia in the early 30's, the second-youngest of 12. Wrote for a newspaper in Atlanta as a entertainment critic.
At one point today just after lunch he told me a story about an encounter with blues/jazz diva Pearl Bailey, a reknowned psychic, sometime in the late sixties.
Terry arrived some minutes late to an informal press conference at an upscale Atlanta hotel. Reporters had alread gathered around Ms. Bailey in a semicircle, gaining brief audience in an orderly fashion, right down the line.
These were a bunch of newspaper reporters, mind you, They were quite nice and orderly. Pearl Bailey had the floor and was calling the motions. Did I mention how oderly they were?
Mr. Kay nonchalantly walked up to the meeting already in progress, and just listened to responses, taking down a qoute here and there, gleaning just enough information to get a quater-page story.
Amid response to a question, Pearl Bailey looked up directly at Terry Kay, and stared. As if in a dream-state she whispered loudly, "So you're the writer..."
Terry was taken aback at first, but conceded, "Why, yes ma'am. I am a writer for the Atlanta Herald-Journal." [or whatever the fuck it's called]
"No, child. You're the *writer*", she said, louder and more insistently.
"Yes ma'am, I cover the entertainment industry for here in Atlanta."
"No, child. You're the writer. You write things that people will remember."
Now, you see, Terry Kay had never met Pearl Bailey. and was astounded, but deftly recovered his wits and asked his question. Pearl kindly responded, and the diva moved on to the next reporter. Soon enough, the press conference adjourned. As the reporters shuffled out, Pearl Bailey called out, "Hey, child. Make sure and bring that book you're writing backstage to my show, so I can get a look at it."
It just so happened that Terry had JUST started working on his first novel the previous night. He had told no one about it, not even his wife.
That's when, he told me, that he decided to write novels for a living.
Helluva good story, much better in the Southern vernacular, though I gotta say that I take it all with a grain of salt.
Oh, Terry showed up to the Pearl Bailey concert, but never did go backstage. He said he was too freaked out.
Tits.
A little background: he was born in Northern Georgia in the early 30's, the second-youngest of 12. Wrote for a newspaper in Atlanta as a entertainment critic.
At one point today just after lunch he told me a story about an encounter with blues/jazz diva Pearl Bailey, a reknowned psychic, sometime in the late sixties.
Terry arrived some minutes late to an informal press conference at an upscale Atlanta hotel. Reporters had alread gathered around Ms. Bailey in a semicircle, gaining brief audience in an orderly fashion, right down the line.
These were a bunch of newspaper reporters, mind you, They were quite nice and orderly. Pearl Bailey had the floor and was calling the motions. Did I mention how oderly they were?
Mr. Kay nonchalantly walked up to the meeting already in progress, and just listened to responses, taking down a qoute here and there, gleaning just enough information to get a quater-page story.
Amid response to a question, Pearl Bailey looked up directly at Terry Kay, and stared. As if in a dream-state she whispered loudly, "So you're the writer..."
Terry was taken aback at first, but conceded, "Why, yes ma'am. I am a writer for the Atlanta Herald-Journal." [or whatever the fuck it's called]
"No, child. You're the *writer*", she said, louder and more insistently.
"Yes ma'am, I cover the entertainment industry for here in Atlanta."
"No, child. You're the writer. You write things that people will remember."
Now, you see, Terry Kay had never met Pearl Bailey. and was astounded, but deftly recovered his wits and asked his question. Pearl kindly responded, and the diva moved on to the next reporter. Soon enough, the press conference adjourned. As the reporters shuffled out, Pearl Bailey called out, "Hey, child. Make sure and bring that book you're writing backstage to my show, so I can get a look at it."
It just so happened that Terry had JUST started working on his first novel the previous night. He had told no one about it, not even his wife.
That's when, he told me, that he decided to write novels for a living.
Helluva good story, much better in the Southern vernacular, though I gotta say that I take it all with a grain of salt.
Oh, Terry showed up to the Pearl Bailey concert, but never did go backstage. He said he was too freaked out.
Tits.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
oh well.... worth a shot.
hobbitweed, shire and elvish weapons sounds grand to me. you might as well be him.
Vermont, here we cooooome!!