And Courtenay Spoke

Deb asked me to talk about what Teisha was like as a writer.

Funny thing is, like most great, humble writers, Teisha didn’t consider herself one. But she wrote more than just about anyone I know. She had a stash, people. She had a stash of thousands and thousands of words. She bought a kit called something like, “How to Write a Book in Six Months,” and she was hardcore. She stuck to the prescribed wordcount and wrote every day, for the love of it. Not for any other reason but that she was a writer.
There was just one small problem, and that was that she never, ever wanted ANYONE to actually READ any of her writing. Lyrics were one thing, those have to be sung, but she hoarded her prose.

I was in a writer’s group, and she wanted to start one, just the two of us, so we set up a time and she VERY hesitantly sent me part of a manuscript. I showed up at her house and she pulled open the door very slowly, shaking her head, and said:
“You’re not going to say anything mean, are you?”
This is what happens to people who don’t know how good they are.

We sat on the couch and made small talk for a while, ‘til I finally pulled out her manuscript and said, “Okay, so you want me to give you some feedback on your stuff?”
And Teisha physically recoiled. She pulled her turtleneck up over her mouth and nose and shook her head vehemently.
“No. No…nuh-uh. Nope. I don’t want to start. Let’s do this on another day. You want some wine?”
Teisha was good at distracting people with wine.

She was the same way on performance days. She would call and say almost the exact same thing every time.
“Who thought this was a good idea? Why am I in a band? Why would I do this to myself? Why did you let me schedule a show?”
And that’s what made Teisha the most charming person I knew.
That voice, that face, that ridiculous talent and she was nervous.
There’s something undeniably lovable about someone who is that gloriously talented, who brings that much unadulterated joy to people and has absolutely no idea. In some ways I’m glad she didn’t know because she would’ve been such a jerk.

I hope someday you’ll be able to see some of the prose she hoarded, because like everything else she touched, it was beautiful. I wanted to share a tiny snippet she wrote, because it’s about writing, and it’s true:

“The part about words is that they come in so many flavors. Savory in some places, and in others, sweet. Crooked in some ways and straight shooting in another. Words are like vegetables: colorful and good for you, and best not overcooked.”

And if Teisha ever had any question as to whether or not she was a writer, she needed only to listen to one of her songs:

“So merry, so moody

So quick like a stone

Through the stained-glass beauty
With a mind of her own
And watch her try not to cry

Try.
Equipped with a quiver and kept like a lawn

By a giant of gentleman, turning it on
And watch her try not to cry

Try.

Until the raining has subsided

Until the gallows are divided

Until the light of day, has a way.”

Teisha, I hope you can hear me. You’re a writer.

Courtenay Hameister
Presentation at Teisha's memorial