Page 78 of In a Word, Yes

We pass over a footbridge that crosses the laid-back river, then follow Mighty Meg’s lead, turning left along the river trail. I swear the woman is part cheetah. She seems oblivious to how much ground we’re quickly losing to her long, confident strides. I get that she’s excited and this is her pace, but I sense Steph would prefer to take it all in.

Like now, for example. I stop to wait while Steph lifts her phone and snaps some images of the mallard-green waters chuckling over rocks between the high red walls. It’s a luminous day, and there’s bird music, and the air smells tart and earthy.

Eventually, Meg realizes we’re lagging and waits for us on the trail ahead.

“You two, stand over there,” the author says once we catch up. We oblige while she takes our photo.

Again Meg pulls ahead.

I’m having trouble remembering why it’s such a bad idea to indulge my curiosity about the writing life. Steph is as personable as they come. And she’sright here.

“Do you ever doubt yourself?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? What writer doesn’t?”

The path widens as we round the next bend.

“Every time I open a new doc and stare at the blank page,” she says, coming alongside me, “that darn pulsing cursor, I just know this is it.”

“This is ... it?”

She makes a slicing motion in front of her neck. “This is the time I fail. This is when the world finds out I’m a fluke. See, told you I was a self-bully.”

We move aside to allow a pair of hikers and their two German shepherds to pass in the other direction.

“So then, what do you do? When you’re stuck like that?”

“I type two words,chapterone, and then start shoveling sand into the sandbox. I let the words be mediocre and keep telling myself that later I’ll come back and build a few castles. ‘The scariest moment is always just before you start,’ Stephen King said. ‘After that, things can only get better.’”

Maybe on a good day that could be me, I think.A small, simple sparrow giving grief right back to my own circling hawk bully.

I’m not the one who’s supposed to be doing the interviewing, but dare I venture one more question?

Steph slows to watch swallows dip in and out of mud nests attached to the cliffs.

“Which of your characters are you most like?” I ask.

“All of them, in one way or another. I’m speaking of their weaknesses. I can relate to all of those. Writing forces me to confront myself, my ... shadow self, guess you could say. Or to recall some earlier version of myself. I’m forced to look that woman square in the eye with all her shortcomings, toss some chaos her way, and then help her find her way through the fear and doubt.”

It’s exactly what I enjoy about her stories. Also, these are the kinds of factoids I’d enjoy reading in an article in theMessenger. An idea forms. I scratch mental notes.

“Oh my.” I follow the author’s gaze to where two ant-like figures are attempting to scale a towering stone monolith off in the distance.

Wild. I’m finally hiking one of the marvels of our high desert, and it’s with Steph Stoneback, of all people. And what’s weird is that it doesn’t feel weird. She feels like, dare I say it, my people. This moment is surreal and yet as real as the fine dust kicked up with each step.

I switch my gear load to the other shoulder and fall in line behind the author.

“Did you always want to be a writer?” she asks, turning back to face me. “Was it your dream from a young age?”

Oh. I didn’t anticipate the author reciprocating with questions of her own. Wait. I never said anything about being a writer.

“I noticed your byline in this morning’sMessenger. Well done.”

Ah. The Matt Hickey piece. I warm under Steph’s praise. My heart travels back to all the hours spent clacking away at the typewriter in Nana’s kitchen. I see my younger self curled up on my bed with a notebook, writing terrible poetry. It never occurred to me that most people didn’t choose to spend their time this way.

“For as long as I can remember,” I say.

“Mmm. Well, as I see it, dreams are like the wind. Meant to carry us like seeds.” She waves her arm. “But rarely do they take us where we expected.”