Of Falling Objects
We talked about a lot of things writing and non-writing. I found out things that surprised me about him and found myself talking about things I haven’t talked about with anyone in a long, long time. I’m still processing the evening.
I will tell you that Andrew is the real deal. He’s a writer’s writer who can talk about words and how to use them to tell stories in the most extraordinary way. He works his ass off on his writing. He’s very disciplined in the way he writes and accomplishes an incredible amount of completed pitch perfect work in addition to being part of a family with two kids, holding a day job, raising horses, and feeding a running habit. He paid his dues working as a journalist and has found a true mastery of the written word in his work as a novelist. If you haven’t read one of his books your life as a reader of books is not complete. You’ve been slumming.
I hung out with Andrew Smith on Friday evening.
I took him to The Fencer’s Club. Outside of rugby, fencing is the greatest sport in the world. You heard it here first. You can close your eyes, sitting on the spectator’s bench and just listen to the music of the blades, tapping, beating, sliding, cutting into the air, and pressing into canvas.
Andrew introduced me to Macallan 12 year old scotch.
Of course I forgot to take pictures.
My wife just rolled her eyes when I told her. Perhaps some things need to be savored in the mind and not on the photographic pixilated plate. Okay. I’m taking pictures first next time I have the fortune to see him so I don’t forget.
What Andrew made me want to do more than anything else when I went home that evening was write. Now because I’d had two scotches and could barely feel my toes much less navigate a keyboard I had to wait until the morning.
But the next morning I got up early and got back to work on my next book, his many words of wisdom ringing in my head.