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I am very grateful for the outpouring of praise for my latest book my memoir about my life with Pat Conroy TELL ME A STORY. I’d like you all to know that I read everyone of them and the private messages. Until recently (about beginning of March 2020) I was on an extensive book tour where I tried to meet as many of you, my wonderful readers, as I could… Sadly, the world has taken a scary turn; my prayers are with all of you…
wrote on April 22, 2021
at
6:28 pm
Dear Cassandra,
I was so moved by Tell Me a Story, and I'm so grateful you wrote and shared it. Your compassion infused each page, whether you were recounting hilarious moments or heartbreaking ones.
I lost both my parents within three months of one another (my dad to pancreatic cancer). My mom, with one of her few but final pieces of advice said, "Have faith in yourself. And do what I would want you to do." She knew that faith in myself was often hard to come by, and following her guidance, even when she would no longer be there, would be easier.
I think your husband would have been so proud of your book. I'm glad he's in your writing room with you.
I had the great pleasure of meeting him once. I'd been a big fan for many years and was so excited to see him speak at an old church outside Chicago during his Death of Santini book tour. I am shy with those I admire, but I forced myself to stand in line for a signing after his talk. The line was long and I kept thinking he must be exhausted, and so I wanted to keep my comments to the very briefest when I met him.
When it was finally my turn, I approached hesitantly and mumbled something about how much I enjoy his work. Somehow I also mentioned that I like to write and that he'd been an inspiration.
He beamed at me and asked me about my writing. He took time to inscribe the book. I remember telling him that I liked his narration of My Reading Life. He said that he hated his own voice. I told him that I didn't, and that I could hear his voice while I read his work. I didn't want to keep him. I told him that he was a treasure and I thanked him. As I walked away, he called to me.
"Andy," he said. I turned. "Let me know if you get your book published. I'll remember you. I can be your first blurb."
Just like I didn't like finishing his books because they would be over (same with Tell Me a Story), I didn't want to read his inscription right away. I waited until I got home and sat down at my desk. You've probably seen the words he wrote before: "For the love of writing. Go deeper. Go even deeper." Those words stay with me always.
I did write up my encounter with him that very night and submitted it to a literary magazine that had published a couple of my stories. They had asked for a piece about me, and instead I told them about my meeting with your husband. I intentionally left out the part about the blurb, which might be my favorite part, for fear that if they published it and someone read it, they might bug him for a blurb. It was fun to read in your book about how much joy he derived from helping starting authors.
My essay was published, and if you'd like to read it, let me know.
I look forward to reading more of your work. Thank you so much,
Andy Millman
I was so moved by Tell Me a Story, and I'm so grateful you wrote and shared it. Your compassion infused each page, whether you were recounting hilarious moments or heartbreaking ones.
I lost both my parents within three months of one another (my dad to pancreatic cancer). My mom, with one of her few but final pieces of advice said, "Have faith in yourself. And do what I would want you to do." She knew that faith in myself was often hard to come by, and following her guidance, even when she would no longer be there, would be easier.
I think your husband would have been so proud of your book. I'm glad he's in your writing room with you.
I had the great pleasure of meeting him once. I'd been a big fan for many years and was so excited to see him speak at an old church outside Chicago during his Death of Santini book tour. I am shy with those I admire, but I forced myself to stand in line for a signing after his talk. The line was long and I kept thinking he must be exhausted, and so I wanted to keep my comments to the very briefest when I met him.
When it was finally my turn, I approached hesitantly and mumbled something about how much I enjoy his work. Somehow I also mentioned that I like to write and that he'd been an inspiration.
He beamed at me and asked me about my writing. He took time to inscribe the book. I remember telling him that I liked his narration of My Reading Life. He said that he hated his own voice. I told him that I didn't, and that I could hear his voice while I read his work. I didn't want to keep him. I told him that he was a treasure and I thanked him. As I walked away, he called to me.
"Andy," he said. I turned. "Let me know if you get your book published. I'll remember you. I can be your first blurb."
Just like I didn't like finishing his books because they would be over (same with Tell Me a Story), I didn't want to read his inscription right away. I waited until I got home and sat down at my desk. You've probably seen the words he wrote before: "For the love of writing. Go deeper. Go even deeper." Those words stay with me always.
I did write up my encounter with him that very night and submitted it to a literary magazine that had published a couple of my stories. They had asked for a piece about me, and instead I told them about my meeting with your husband. I intentionally left out the part about the blurb, which might be my favorite part, for fear that if they published it and someone read it, they might bug him for a blurb. It was fun to read in your book about how much joy he derived from helping starting authors.
My essay was published, and if you'd like to read it, let me know.
I look forward to reading more of your work. Thank you so much,
Andy Millman
