I finished reading Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil a few days ago. I also watched the movie, just before I finished the book. I am slow in getting to popular items at times. But this is also the twentieth anniversary of the novel, so in a way, I was trending again. I had watched a little bit of the movie in Presby hospital when my mother was there many years ago. I had wanted to read the book because Mom said at the time it was good. I don't know if I would have appreciated it, then.
The book reads like a novel, although, John Berendt wrote nonfiction about the city of Savannah, Georgia and the people he met. Most of it is true. He changed some of it. I watched an interview of him. He wrote it so he could see if he could write a book. Up till then he only penned magazine articles.
The movie showed it more than the book, but people tell a writer stories. And they asked about the book he would write. They knew it would become a movie and they all wanted to be in it. Some were. The defense lawyer played the judge. Jerry, the hair dresser, played a small part as himself. Emma Kelly played the piano. And the Lady Chablis, who made the story, delighted.
As happens when people discover a writer, along with telling their own stories, they pitch ideas for books. I wish I had a dollar for every time I hear at work, "You should write about this place." Uh, HIPPA. But this is a shout out to all my supporters at work. The brother who faithfully visits his baby brother three to four times a week, asking about my progress, encouraging me not to quit. The ladies who have read my novels and love them, reminding me of my mother, always loving what I do. The co-workers I could ghost write their stories as they say, "If I wrote a book." The daughter at the dining room shouting, "Hey, Jessica, how's it going?" Jessica as in Jessica Fletcher from Murder, She Wrote, is her reference.
I stand in awe at the well wishes of those I meet. I have published two novels. I feel humble more than proud. I walk that fence of wanting to be read but not being recognized. I still love roaming the book store with my books on the shelf, but seeking bargains. The customers don't know I'm an author. I stroll through the mall, observing people for fiction ideas.
I am content in this part of the journey. I sit at home, lap top to type