Paying it Forward with Pat Conroy

A throwback to that time "Conrack" called me

I don’t often venture into the Comments section for the same reason I don’t usually linger too long on Twitter: too many rabbit holes to swan dive into, too little time (and, to be clear, I’m talking about the good comments sections, on sites I follow and endorse; the Comments Section as corrosive cultural force is something anyone sentient avoids the same way we instinctively avoid certain scents and certain people).

However, George Saunders, via his indispensable Substack Story Club with George Saunders (and if you’re a writer not already subscribed to this site, what are you even doing), while discussing the gentle wisdom of Grace Paley, ended his reminiscence with this invitation: I’d love to hear your stories about the teachers and mentors who have had an impact on you, and how and when they did it.

I’ve written about my remarkable interaction with Pat Conroy, and mentioned it during this interview with Authority Magazine, but not in any real detail. Why would I want to divulge details, and who would care to read about them? Unless…the point of doing so was to both celebrate and appreciate a wonderful, deeply human gesture from a famous writer—someone as close to rock star as it gets in the modest micro-cosmos of writers. So I decided to offer it up, via the comments section, as both example (of kindness) and tribute (to a great American author).

Many years ago, well into the email era, but early enough that one wasn't easily able to just contact any person, any time (or use search engines to find reliable ways to reach out), I'd read one of the myriad books about writing, by writers, all of whom offered advice, encouragement, war tales from the trenches, etc. I did—and do—always enjoy those collections, b/c you're hearing, from the writer, in their own words, what they have to say about craft, their own career (including their moments of glory or humility) and, though I wasn't a huge fan of his work, one writer's piece stood out from the many excellent ones: Pat Conroy, Son of Santini, Prince of Tides, the Lord of Discipline Himself, wrote such an encouraging, infectious tribute to the act of writing, it was sincerely inspiring (and humbling: I hadn't read all his work and realized: if someone can use only a few pages to have this kind of effect on a young but not that young writer like me, he's someone who deserves respect, and perhaps more of your time).

*Real time edit: I couldn’t find this book in my library which means it must have been borrowed (or I gifted it to a writer who needed this inspiration at a crucial time); I just did some online sleuthing and am relatively certain the collection in question—highly recommended, natch—is the anthology Why I Write: Thoughts on the Craft of Fiction, edited by Will Blythe and published in 1998.*

So: inspired, in the moment, it occurred to me (in a pre-blog, pre social media era) to let him know. (I believe, at least speaking from personal experience, we were still in a letters to the editor, or pen pal, or message in a bottle era; it just didn’t occur to me that one could, or should, simply reach out to the type of celebrity who was, both by design and for all practical purposes, inaccessible.) He was famous enough that there was, of course, no simple way to contact him, so I (being younger but not completely dumb) went to his publisher's page, found the "Our Authors" section, and wrote a short note, submitted via impersonal form, which, I assumed would be screened by an intern, if read at all. It was the cliched thought that counted, so I had no qualms dashing off a succinct note of appreciation; if he never saw it, so what? I mentioned how much I appreciated his words, and that they came at the right time b/c I was finishing up the first draft of a novel (etc.). Before I hit “send,” and brave in ways an impulse decision online will make one, I added a snippet of my work-in-progress.

The next day, the phone rang, and I saw on caller ID (this should date the timing here—just after the turn of the century) CONROY so, of course, I picked it up. "I'm looking for Sean Murphy," the booming voice said. It was him. Pat Conroy had indeed received my note. More, he read it. More still, he read my excerpt and instead of hitting “delete” as he had every right and reason to, he picked up the damn phone and went old school on me.

We ended up chatting for a half hour. Naturally, I thanked him for reading and responding, and how amazing his gesture was, and he said something to the effect of “yeah yeah, let’s talk about your writing.” He told me he loved the work (those were his exact words: I love it), was happy to introduce me to his agent, and provide a blurb (among many other things I wish I'd recorded, just so I could savor listening, again, to his ebullient, distinctive voice). He made good on his promise: the intro was made, the agent and I connected (another story for another time, because her immediate impression was even more positive than Conroy’s, which made me “go there” and wonder if the fantasy future every young writer daydreams about was actually unfolding in its surreal, unexpected way), she spent a summer with the MS before determining it would, as a lit fic first novel, be a tough sell in a competitive market (and I couldn't blame her).

So...this story didn't have the happiest ending, but Mr. Conroy showed me a great deal: those with the least reason to do so occasionally offer the most, that despite the thousands of fans (and, lord help him, other young writers) who told him how much his work meant, he made the time to be human, to be kind, to be generous. And to not only pick up the phone to call (WHO DOES THAT?), but to be a champion for an immature writer's words. That memory lives on as a reminder that, of course, applies not only to writing, but life. And I'm happy to say, in an industry (and world) filled with opportunistic, self-absorbed creatives, it's invariably ones (like Mr. Saunders—more about him and the awe in which I hold him, here) who seem to be the most sweet, most open, most willing to pay it forward, and appear to understand that, despite their talent and immensely hard work, fate has blessed them and they can decide to put a lid on it and keep it hid, or try to spread it around and lead by example.

A bit more on inspiration and mission, paying it forward, the arts non-profit I founded, and cultivating community.

Want more? Tons of discussion about inspiration and perseverance, courtesy of the awesome and amazing literary citizen Lisa Cooper Ellison (subscribe to her essential Writing Your Resilience podcast here!).