I was working in a clothing store and met a woman named Barbara. We had the same crazy, curly hair which is how I started a conversation with her. By her accent I could tell she was from the South and asked her where she grew up. Alabama. My coworker grew up there as well and I introduced them to each other. They compared geography and I asked her if she ever read, "All Over But the Shoutin" by Rick Bragg who wrote about his dysfunctional childhood growing up in Alabama. She had and reached into her purse and pulled out her business card and handed it to me. She said she'd written a book as well about that very subject and leaned in and said it was a bestseller. I leaned back and said I was in a writers group. "Well, honey", she said," you just need to keep writin' and writin' and writin'".
About a year later I was cleaning out my wallet and came across her card. I'd still not read her book and considering the pile next to my bed, there wasn't much chance of reading it anytime soon so I put it on top of the recycling pile. I walked past that card all afternoon and each time it was like the damn thing was giving me the stinkeye. By that night for reasons I'll never know, it was back in my wallet.