Nov 262013

I often leave flyers out in public, advertising my “wordsmith” writing and editing business. So I receive occasional calls from strangers, some of whom become clients, others of whom are just odd.

A couple of Friday evenings ago there was a message blinking at me on my business line when I got home. I had mixed feelings upon seeing it; I had planned a relaxed Friday evening at home with my books, personal writing projects, and a video or two. For me, even just speaking on the phone with a potential client is a type of work; I have to “present”; it takes me out of my easy zone.

But I can’t ignore potential work, so I listened to the message. The caller said she was looking for someone to help her write a book. I called her back.

I realized very quickly that this was not a potential client. Her voice was unsteady and full of pain. The book she (allegedly) wanted to write was autobiographical, concerning a sequence of devastating events that had unfolded in her life over several years, involving family members, ex-boyfriends, and terrible violence. She felt that her life was currently in danger, but she could get no help from the police. I felt certain she was at least partly delusional; her life might indeed be in danger but the story she told me was as obviously self-deceiving as it was disturbing.

After hearing her out for fifteen minutes or so, I asked her why she wanted – of all things – to write a book. The gist of her semi-coherent reply was that she thought “people would be interested” in her story and perhaps could learn from it not to make any of the same well-meaning mistakes she had made. She also articulated some vague hope that “having her story out there” might afford her some measure of protection that the police were withholding.

I told her I thought she really needed someone to talk to, perhaps a counselor.

She said, “I need to talk to a lawyer! But they all want to charge me money!” She then started to regale me with stories of unsympathetic attorneys, but I stopped her.

I said, “I think what you really need, right now, most of all, is just someone to talk to. Maybe a therapist. Do you have access to computer? Can you google ‘free counseling services Santa Rosa’?”

She did have a computer but for one reason or another, my suggestion wasn’t so simple for her. I was at my computer so I googled it for her, and wound up giving her the name and number of an “SOS” free counseling agency as well as an individual professional who apparently offers free consultations and referrrals. And then I politely explained to my caller that I was neither a therapist nor a lawyer myself, and I didn’t think that writing a book was what she really needed to do, so I didn’t think we would be working together. And I told her I had to go.

She thanked me sincerely for the names I’d found on the internet, and we hung up.

We had been on the phone only about 20 to 25 minutes. I felt my evening was shot though. My pleasant, relaxed mood was broken. I was agitated, unsettled.

I resented it. Why do people like that call me sometimes? (This woman was an extreme case, but I’ve also had other callers – strangers! – who were essentially looking for free therapy, or god knows what kind of advocacy.)

I can’t be the only who puts his phone number out into the world and gets calls like this. I guess there’s just an enormous amount of pain out there. I set up my life in such a way as to shut it out for the most part. But it seems to want to find its way in.