Who's That Girl?

Post 101 finds me reflective.  At a party last night, a guy I don't know heard my name and asked me if I was "that writer."  And I took a beat.  After a moment, I realized he was asking either about the dead, African-American male novelist who shared my name or the East Coast comedienne whose life is oddly similar to mine.  She's not me for many reasons - not the least of which including the facts that she is shorter, younger, and from Boston.  She is married to a rabbi and has young children.  But she, my East Coast namesake, actually makes a living as a writer.  She has a website and has published books.  She's a guest columnist for various publications and is known for her wit and wordsmithery.  I have no such following and squeeze in a blog post or two between hectic days and restless job anxiety.  

I thought about what it would be like if I could answer, "YES!"   And then I fantasized for a split second about the conversations that could have followed.  In one version, the stranger compliments me and quotes a life-changing passage from one of my books.  In another, he berates me for sloppy syntax or half-baked declarations.  But neither of those moments were going to come to pass.  And so, after taking a beat I answered, “no, that’s someone else.”  But I really wanted it to be me.  I really wanted to be the writer that matched my name and not the girl at the party that people know because of the desk she sits behind...