This story comes from Kelly Simmons.
I am a writer who struggled to be published for over 15 years. One day, after my then-agent had summoned me to New York in near blizzard conditions, only to reject my latest book, I headed back to Penn Station at the lowest point in my career. Her hollow words rang in my ears, “Maybe you just need to write something more personal.” Please, I thought; my third-grade writing teacher could have given me that advice.
At the station, I waited for my delayed train and ruminated over my diastrous meeting when someone sat down next to me. I turned and saw Tom Wolfe, wearing an all-white suit, white overcoat, and white spats. At 2 pm, on a Thursday, in the middle of a freaking snowstorm.
I smiled at the ridiculousness of the situation, but before I could even think if there was anything I should say to him or ask him, my train was called. As we pulled away from the station, I decided it was a sign. Tom Wolfe was published late in life — and I would be too. I told myself I was going to come up with a new plot for a new book during the train ride — before I got to Philadelphia, I would know what to write.
And you know what? I did. And within two months, I had a new agent and a book deal. (Standing Still, published by Simon & Schuster)
Tom Wolfe, angel in white.
