Christmas came twice this season, the second time in the form of Maya Goode.
I "met" Maya late last year through an online writing community. She reviewed a couple of my WIP's chapters. I skimmed a few of her posts on the website's sprawling message board. We exchanged a handful of private messages, but hardly formed any sort of working relationship.
Yeah, I'm being coy about the website's name, but I couldn't tell you why. My coyness is instinctual. While I tend to trust my instinct, I never had much of a knack for explaining it. It's smarter than me. It certainly recognized talent and wit in Maya long before I could assign those descriptors to her. I just liked her, from the gut. And then I went about my first Christmas. Normal, fun, nothing to see here, carry on.
And then last week Maya posted a message on the coyly-guarded site's forum asking for cohosts for a literary fiction podcast. It didn't have a name yet. It didn't have a structure. It only had Maya's passion and experience producing other podcasts. She had one other cohost in mind, but I could tell she was sailing this ship solo.
Undeterred by my lack of experience, I immediately sent her a private message. As I waited for her response, I engaged in an ugly cost-benefit analysis of whether or not I should post on her thread. On the kind hand, it's the generous, collaborative thing to do. On the bratty hand, the more people who read her message, the more people with whom I must compete for the post of literary podcast host. I wanted it that badly.
Maya got back to me so quickly that I didn't have time to do the wrong thing. We scheduled a video call for the following Monday - as in, yesterday. Maya, unsatisfied by the readers' podcasts available, told me about her vision for a weekly podcast that would discuss literary short stories. The goal is to introduce readers at all levels to smart fiction, in bite size pieces.
The call went so well that I started daydreaming about my role in the podcast even though she hadn't quite given me the greenlight. Doesn't matter! Fantasy doesn't bother with facts. I was already touring writing conventions with Maya, in my head if nowhere else.
Today we connected over video again. This time spontaneously, and for hours. We brainstormed, signed off, then kept chatting over Twitter and Gchat for the rest of the day. We have a podcast name: Literary Roadhouse. Domain name? Bought. Twitter handle reserved. YouTube channel created. Other cohosts scouted. I made this site.
So ready. So excited.
Watch this space.