Gladys and I have been friends for about thirteen years. For many years, she and I had Sunday brunch together when I lived in Manhattan. We talked about family, life, politics, death, what we thought might be beyond death, and of course, books. She and I started our own “book club” by reading books and discussing them over the eggs. Often she would recite a poem she wrote many years before.

“Please tell me you have these poems written down somewhere,” I said.

“They’re somewhere.”

Then one Sunday morning, she came to brunch with a beat-up folder in her hands.

“I found my poems,” she said, handing me the folder. “I want to commission you to type these out for me. I hope you can read my hand writing. Now, just tell how much you’ll charge me.”

“Gladys, I’m not going to charge you.”

She took back the folder. “If you won’t let me pay you then I won’t let you do it.”

“Fine, I’ll charge you,” I lied.

“You know, W.H. Auden was my teacher.”

“The W.H. Auden?”

“Is there another? He was kind and lovely and generous. I fell in love with him. Not in a romantic way. I have the highest regard for him, not only as a poet, but as a human being. He was really such an incredible man. He invited me to tea once to discuss my poem. We talked about my poem, but then discussed his poems and poetry in general. He gave me the best advice. Really, the afternoon I met Auden was the most important thing that has happened in my life.”

“You’re 100 years old. You’ve seen and done everything, and yet that was the most important thing that has ever happened to you? There’s a story there. Can I write about that?”

And that’s how it started. Over the course of a year, I interviewed her and I did research on Auden. The more I learned about him, and the more I listened to Gladys’s stories, the more I saw similarities in what was happening their their lives. They only met once, but I found it fascinating that their lives in many instances paralleled. As I wrote the first draft of the book, I included some of these parallels. Finally, in the third draft, I decided to have the story fluctuate between Gladys’s live and Auden’s life. A funny thing happened. The more I read Auden’s poems and read about him personally, I fell in love with him, too, just as Gladys had done.

I just had to add this photo of Gladys. It’s absolutely stunning…