Terry Kay was one of those rare authors who deserved a statue after his passing in 2020 or a literary center like the one that honors Pat Conroy in Beaufort, SC. You may know Terry from his international bestseller To Dance with the White Dog, The Book of Marie, or some of his other classic works. Not only a brilliant author across numerous genres, Terry was also a friend, teacher, coach, and mentor for many writers; a guide to the magic of story for readers; and, for me, something of a father figure for more than a decade. I’ve often said that when I grow up, I want to be Terry Kay.

The Georgia Writers Museum has honored Terry and his artistry with an extraordinary exhibit that is open to the public at no charge. You can see memorabilia that spans his lifetime, from his youth to his many writing awards, and learn about his profound impact on the Georgia literary landscape as well as on individual authors such as his fellow Georgia Hall of Fame inductee Philip Lee Williams, Lauretta Hannon, Renea Winchester, Rona Simmons, and others, including myself.

If you’ve read a few of my books, you’ll recognize Terry as a recurring provider of endorsements that grace the front or back covers. We lunched sometimes and talked on the phone more often. He cajoled me about needing to find another agent, a bigger publisher, to never be satisfied with my current literary lot. And always, he asked in a rumbling Old Testament voice what I was writing. He asked this of everyone he mentored—apparently in the same tone. Woe be unto the writer who confessed about not working on anything. He would chastise me about wasting my gift, something bestowed that made me duty-bound to use it to my utmost. The longer he lectured, the more worked up he became. Sometimes I feared he would astral project from his home to mine and smite me.

Fortunately, he wasn’t a smiting sort of demigod—he just didn’t want to see talent or time squandered. With 18 books and scores of short stories, essays, and articles published, he certainly didn’t let grass grow under him. If he’d only been one of the finest writers of the last half-century, he would’ve been worthy of the museum exhibition, but he was also a great teacher of the writing craft.

His association with the organization I’ve devoted myself to, the Atlanta Writers Club (AWC), started in 2007, thanks to intrepid recruitment by our then-VP of Programs, Barbara Collins. He arrived to do one presentation, but then I never quite let him leave. He appeared subsequently as a frequent workshop presenter, an honored guest at our annual picnic, and a sometime panelist. Whenever I asked him to drive over from his home in Athens, he happily obliged. He even lent his name to the award we give for our annual fiction contest, and he provided the intro and outro to the AWC’s centennial celebration video in 2014.

His insights were brilliant. In one of his many workshops presented to the AWC over the years, Terry stated, “As noble as it might otherwise seem, the practice of writing is basically an act of manipulation pulled off by con artists with an addiction to words.” When asked about the most important concept in the craft of writing, he said, “The verb.” Check out the verbs in his novels, and you will see he practiced what he preached.

One of the finest things he wrote was a poem titled “While Reading.” You’ll find this on his website. Print, frame, and hang it beside your desk or bookcase. It’s Terry’s gift to readers and writers alike.

I am eternally grateful for the wisdom he so generously gave, and I am personally indebted to him for his many kindnesses. I love Terry’s writing, and I love and miss the man. You owe it to yourself to make a pilgrimage to the quaint town of Eatonton and visit the Georgia Writers Museum shrine that honors him.