Kate’s year on the road to Patagonia is ending this weekend, when she returns to the northern hemisphere winter. She left from Guatemala, southbound, a year ago, reaching Argentina in August. A year with very little money, an idea for a book, and grande cojones.
Kate won’t like this picture. She wants her readers to think she is older, as if it is age that will give her literary authority. It does not, else there would be much better old writers than there are. Kate is a brilliant writer. Were she a teenager (and not closer to thirty) she would still be a brilliant writer (although certainly more of a surprise); were she sixty, she would still be a brilliant writer (but much less surprising). It’s not about age or gender, it is about talent, and Kate is drenched with it.
If you have not already, go to the start, the earliest entries on Kate’s travel journal (linked above) and read all the way up.
If you are one of the (I’m sure, of course) hundreds of literary agents, editors, and publishers who follow my blog religiously, don’t dawdle. Find Kate and get her work before one of your competitors does and you spend the rest of your days kicking yourself for your delay or your insubstantial literary judgement.
Kate stayed with us off and on during the Buenos Aires part of her journey. She is an easy guest and we enjoyed her companionship. (But maybe she only stayed so long with us because she went crazy in love with our deaf white cat, Sophie.)
Farewell, for now, Kate; see you in the next place.