On Saturday, October 15th, my husband and I attended a memorial service for a dear friend. We met Boots Martin in 1973 through Stagedoor Comedy Playhouse, where I had the joy of working with her in many plays and replacing her in several others when she was busy doing other shows.
Everyone who spoke about Boots talked about her passion for theater. It didn’t matter how small or how large the role, Boots always brought her considerable arsenal of talent—her passion—with her.
Which made me think about why we writers keep writing—despite rejections, poor or nonexistent reviews and even when confronted by the terror of writer’s block. It’s our passion for the written word; the passion that demands we tell the story; the passion for the characters who compel us to tell about their successes and failures, their goodness and flaws, their hates and—above all—their loves. About their abiding passion for life and for each other.
Many years before I sold my first novel, Boots suffered through editing handwritten manuscripts, her edits also handwritten. Looking back, I wonder who had the harder time deciphering those scribblings. Boots kept reading and acting. I kept writing—all because we shared a passion for what we do, for what makes us who we are.
I miss you, Bootsie, more than words can say.