For some, writing is a solitary experience. The sole reason is for self-expression, to scratch a creative itch dwelling deep inside. For others, it's about standing up for the little guy, to right wrongs and spring innocents from jail. Then there's the addictive quality of spotting your hard work staring back from the newsstand, or seeing some people at the coffee shop engaged in something you wrote.
Whatever the motivation, nothing prepares you for the day when you dazedly walk into a fried chicken joint after a long day of moving stuff to see this huge vinyl poster next to the soda machine:
That quote is a snippet from a mini review I quickly scribbled off about ten years ago, when I was helping out the food section of the paper I worked for. The piece was about Popeye's Fried Chicken, and how the recipes are derived from respected cajun chefs. Really, their red beans and rice is the bomb. I thought nothing of it, forgot about it actually, and now ten years later it's hanging in every Popeye's franchise coast to coast.
It's the most bizarre validation I've ever had over something I wrote. The cashier, however, was not impressed and would not break me off a free 3-piece (spicy with red beans and rice, natch).
Popeye's fans, represent!