Literary friendships

As I think about my friends over the years, I realize that time, distance, perceptions, philosophies all alter friendships. Mike and I were inseparable when we were younger, but for many reasons we became disconnected and now it has been many years since we were friends. My friend Gary in high school and college remained close for many years. We double dated, we went skiing, camping, fishing, climbing, played racquetball, wrestled, and talked about girls for years! But we went our separate ways, gaining from our friendship but no longer in touch. And such is true for most friendships, they make us better and are essential to our lives, but they rarely stay at a high point indefinitely. It really is not possible to stay the same forever, for to do so is to stagnate in your own development as a person.

Each friendship, regardless of its longevity or lack thereof, is infinitely beneficial due to the quality of the relationship. We learn, we grow, we are emotionally changed with each passing event and each person that touches our lives. Such is true as well of our literary friendships, and believe me, I have had many. My literary friends go back to childhood and include Beverly Cleary, Hugh Lofting, hundreds of comic books, biographies, Dr. Seuss, and folk tales. Saying goodbye to those friends (but keeping them just the same!), I made new friends as I moved into the teenage years.

My teen friends included John Steinbeck, Louis L'Amour, Donald Hamilton (Matt Helm was cool), Ian Fleming, C.S. Lewis (still a good friend), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (we are getting close again), James Michener (still love Centennial and the Drifters), and Allan Eckert. I did shake hands with Shakespeare, Dickens, Emerson, Hemingway, and Faulkner but never developed any real friendships of lasting value with that group. Albert Camus and I spent some time together and although lacking in quantity time, Victor Hugo and I still are buddies through thick and thin.

Then the college years became a blur of friendships including David Morrell, J.R. Tolkien, Elmer Kelton, Zane Gray, Michael Crichton, Robin Cook, Gore Vidal, Norman Mailer, Richard Adams, and Theodore Dreiser. Each one is a special friend worthy of a manly hug or a fun conversation. Time went on and the friends came and went, each time making me more complete and each experience a worthy one. Now today I eat dinner with Larry McMurtry, Cormac McCarthy, Reynolds Price, and my new best friend Graham Greene.

Jeff Shaara and I are pretty close and Robert Parker's friendship is forever in spite of his terse language and understated prose. As far as my female friends go, Candice Millard is a remarkable friendship and so is Jean Auel. Maybe I shouldn't admit it, but Kathleen Woodiwiss and I go way back, and Nora Roberts is certainly among those friends as well. And I really should not forget my time with Nathaniel Hawthorne, Thomas Hardy, David Baldacci, Harlan Coben, Michael Palmer, my love hate relationship with master writer Philip Roth. All have played a role in my life and I consider them friends, some more than others!

You know, I better acknowledge some time with Theodore Roosevelt who swam successfully among the sharks and whose amazing life continues to influence me almost daily. Oh...and a smile and a nod to Benjamin Franklin and Martin Luther who wrote so eloquently and made a difference to so many.

My friendships continue to wax and wane, to change, to grow, to dissipate, and such is the journey of life and relationships. I may occasionally return to an old friend to say hello, to read a little Steinbeck or L'Amour, to laugh and cry with McMurtry or get thrilled with Morrell, to have an adventure with Baldacci or fear with Michael Palmer, or perhaps a moment of love and history with Jean Auel or the wonderfully descriptive writing of James Lee Burke. I might pick up Roth and be angry while I am admiring his talent or share in the poetry of Reynolds Price, sappy though it may be at times.

But it is time to eat more meals with Graham Greene and enjoy the excitement of Stieg Larsson. My literary friends mean a lot to me, but not as much as my real friends!