I am grateful for the Salt Lake Library, especially this inner court, where Ann and I used to rush-write on Tuesday mornings at those tables off to the left.
Sometimes, we bought hot chocolate from the coffee shop just inside the door. Sometimes, she brought cupcakes or chocolate eclairs. Sometimes, we laughed so hard and loud, we turned heads. Sometimes we groused and murmured in conspiratorial whispers. Finally, we'd get down to the real business of the day and write for ten minutes and then another ten minutes. Then we read to each other.
Once, our writing resulted in a book, which we published on Amazon--a book of memoir and writing memoir.
She wrote a book about her father.
Not meeting Ann on a regular basis is like having my head shoved under water, not knowing if I'll be released. It's breathtaking.
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