Early last year, my editor at the LA Weekly emailed one night to ask whether I was interested in reviewing Debra Gwartney's Live Through This, a memoir of her teenage daughters' running away. By the time my editor logged on the following morning, he had three emails from me, including one to his Facebook account, saying, "YES!"
It was a privilege to spend time with Debra and her girls. As I was leaving her apartment in Eugene, part of me wanted to say, "But can I stay the weekend so we can keep talking? I can sleep on the couch." Instead, I came home and wrote about Debra and her girls and the devastation that running away can bring.
Last month, I received an email from a friend about a local girl who was presumed missing. Without going into detail, I thought, I should write an Opinion piece about this for the Oregonian. But I dragged my feet. I was busy; I had the flu. My family had the flu.
Two weeks ago, the New York Times ran a series on teen runaways, focusing on kids in Oregon. I sent a link to the story to Debra, with the note that I was probably the 609th person to do so. In fact, she wrote back, I was the first, and when the heck were we going to get coffee, anyway?
I stopped dragging my feet earlier this week, and asked my editor at the Opinion pages whether he wanted a short piece from me about a runaway. This, though I realized I was probably a little late to the game, what with the NYT piece having run...
"Actually, your timing is perfect," he said, and that what I wrote would run as a companion piece to a long piece running this week, by a woman whose daughters had run away. I said, I bet I know who. Ah, he said, and did I know Debra's book is a finalist for the Oregon Book Award?
Debra's piece is "Good Guys, bad guys and running away." Mine is "Letter to a Teenage Runaway." Honored to be in such company.