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Last week I drove out to UC Riverside to co-teach a class on "The Life of the Writer" with my old MFA playwriting classmate Kerby Hinds. He was one of my favorite people from the class, and despite some surface dissimilarities (age, gender, race, national origin, marital and parental status) which sometimes made people remark with surprise that we were so tight, we had a lot in common in other ways, such as personality and ideas about theatre, and were quite close when we were in school together. And then we graduated, moved, took up different jobs, and lost touch.
Ten years later, the two of us sat side by side in front of a classful of students, MFA writing students just like we'd been ten years ago, and talked about being a writer, how to survive and why it's worth it. Then he and I went out to dinner. Ten years gone by, and his son is a teenager taller than me (and also taller than his mom, Kerby's wife Paulette, whom I also hadn't seen in ten years), he's a professor and I have a book out. But as we talked, it was like we'd seen each other a week ago.
I'll write more about this later, but it was really great seeing him again, and I think it'll open some doors for both of us.
Ten years later, the two of us sat side by side in front of a classful of students, MFA writing students just like we'd been ten years ago, and talked about being a writer, how to survive and why it's worth it. Then he and I went out to dinner. Ten years gone by, and his son is a teenager taller than me (and also taller than his mom, Kerby's wife Paulette, whom I also hadn't seen in ten years), he's a professor and I have a book out. But as we talked, it was like we'd seen each other a week ago.
I'll write more about this later, but it was really great seeing him again, and I think it'll open some doors for both of us.