Lunching with Joshilyn Jackson & What She Didn't Teach Me

So yes, yes. I lunched with Joshilyn Jackson on Friday. [Brush my shoulder, toss my hair, look smug]


The event was held at the Indian Hills Country Club in Marietta, Georgia to benefit the Cobb Library Foundation. I bought my ticket exactly 14 days before the event and eagerly awaited like one anticipates a birthday. And Thursday night before the event, I was overflowing.... with nerves, that is. I was nervous.

Not happy nervous. Nervous nervous.

You see, I'm not exactly the country club type. I agonized over what to wear. Sidenote: I'm currently sporting a big black brace because of a stress fracture, which doesn't exactly scream dignified. I have exactly two pair of summery capri pants, neither of which would fit over the unattractive brace. So I wore a pair of black dress pants.  And felt as though everyone at the lunch would judge me for wearing "winter colors."

Friday morning came, and once again I was giddy with excitement. Which promptly flew out the window when I pulled into the country club parking lot.  I was alone, I wouldn't know anyone  inside, and what if they snubbed me?

Which is exactly what didn't happen.

I was thirty minutes early. To be honest, forty-five, but I waited in my car so as not to be a bother if they were setting up. Still, I was the first guest to arrive, and the foundation ladies were overflowing with kindness. In fact, they were all shocked that I would drive three hours to see Mrs. Jackson -- which in turn shocked me, because the lunch only cost $25 and I felt that was a steal to hear her speak in such an intimate setting.

They directed me to sit right near the podium and I was joined by an elderly man and woman, him being a board member.  She and I chatted amiably about electronic reading devices and Mrs. Jackson's books, and a short time later Joshilyn Jackson herself appeared. Almost immediately, the women directed her to me.

!!!!!!!

Sure, I may come off as a teensy bit obsessed, but give me a chance to explain.  I don't remotely compare to the Justin Bieber- or Edward-obsessed fans. I will not stalk her at her home nor will I obsessively comment on her blog posts. To be honest, I may or may not ever hear her speak again. I hope to, but I'll see a host of other authors in the meantime. With that said, however, she is my favorite author right now. I admire her writing. I aspire to create characters and plots as rich as hers someday. Pair that with the fact that she's normal -- well, not exactly normal because she's incredibly funny -- but the 'my-kids-are-home-sick-with-the-flu and mean-girls-still-intimidate-me' normal and how can you not drive three hours to hear her speak?

So I was honored to meet her. We talked about books. She signed the collection I'd stuffed into my purse. The conversation lasted about ten minutes total, and my impression was confirmed: she is normal. And genius.

But she didn't teach me any lessons that day.  Okay, not entirely true.  Her talk and Q&A session provided me insights into her creative process, many of which I'm still turning over in my head. But that's not what this post is about.

We were directed to the buffet, where I engaged in convo with another woman about our daughters -- whom we discovered were only days apart in age.  I asked her if she'd read Cinderella Ate My Daughter by Peggy Orenstein (read my review here) and she'd never heard of it.  As I gave her the run-down we started comparing our daughters' similar obsessions with everything pink and girlie and suddenly, we were best friends. We introduced ourselves, and Ellen and another woman quickly told me to sneak my plate over to the seat next to theirs at the 'reserved' table.

We continued a rapid conversation about CAMD, then switched back to Jackson's books, whispered occasionally through Jackson's speech and finally asked her (what I consider) one very thoughtful question each. When it was over Ellen asked me to stay, have dessert and finish chatting, and as we did so we were joined by Jackson's publicist. She actually thanked me for driving over from Alabama! Hello? My pleasure!

I finally departed on a literary high. I'd exchanged email addresses with Ellen and had my picture taken with Joshilyn.  As I maneuvered my way back the way I'd come (which sometimes is harder, isn't it, since everything is opposite?) it dawned on me that I'd prejudged these people. I'd assumed they'd judge me and my clothes -- that they'd sniff out I wasn't country club and alienate me.

But people are people. It didn't matter that Ellen is partner at the law firm who sponsored the lunch. Or that the other woman lives in Haiti with her ambassador husband. We talked and laughed and no one judged my unattractive brace.

Just days ago I wrote about opening my mind, and there I was driving through Georgia traffic having the same epiphany. Same lesson, different day.  We all have something in common, don't we? In this case, it was a love of books.  Daughters who love tea parties with pink sprinkles. An admiration for Joshilyn Jackson.  And of course, a love-hate relationship with Nooks and Kindles and all electronic reading devices.

* * *

I must note here that if you haven't read any of Joshilyn's books, you should get right on it. I'd recommend starting with Between, Georgia or gods in Alabama -- but they're all fabulous. 

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