Laurenz is a matador in the bullring of the literary world. I first met him at the swanky bar of a swanky hotel during the London Literary Festival. He’d been cheering on my first novel from the sidelines. We talked. We clicked. He was an editor, I was a writer. I thought we’d publish my second novel together. Then: whoosh! A swirl of cape and he was gone.
I published elsewhere. He published others. The years passed. He cheered that novel on from the sidelines. Once again.
Another job, another book, another conversation. I was excited, as was he. This time we signed on the dotted line. Whoosh again! He announced his departure, left the publishing house, staying just long enough to shepherd my third novel into existence. He cheered that novel from the sidelines too.
Three encounters. Three near misses. Or three partial hits.
Now he’s back. And doing this. Among other things. And it’s my turn to cheer.
It says a lot about him that I’m pleased to do so. Behind the billowing cape. Laurenz.