If We Build It, They Will Come

"If we build it, they will come," Mary Benavides said to me on the phone this afternoon.

I was in my car on my way to my usual parking lot in San Marcos, where I'm an MFA student at Texas State. I had spent the morning working on the book I'm co-writing with the fantastic Corey Blake (www.roundtablecompanies.com), hurriedly cleaning the house in preparation for the Austin Energy Audit we're having tomorrow, and looking at yet more online photos of apartments. Then I'd spent the afternoon trekking through apartments that were all beginning to look eerily alike, and talking to leasing people whose cheerfulness I was really starting to doubt. So hearing Mary's voice, despite the fact that it was only the second time we'd spoken, was decidedly refreshing.

We spoke for about twenty minutes, give or take, filling each other in on the status of our plans. "I want to help you in any way I can," she said. "I want us to work together on this."

"So do I," I told her, thrilled that we were still on the same page (okay, pun intended).

She told me that she's in the process of choosing a location and securing investors, and I told her about a conversation I'd had with my mom recently about the choice between funding the bookstore through investors versus taking out a loan.

With investors, it gets complicated, my mom had said. They will eventually want a return, and they'll expect that their ideas are heard and some of them incorporated. "That's hard for me," I told Mary. "I mean, if their ideas are in line with your vision, that's great. But what if they're not? How much do you owe an investor because he or she has helped you start this venture?"

"Katie, we're exactly in the same place!" she exclaimed. "Plus, I'm proud. It's hard for me to ask for help like that."

"Me too," I said.

At another point, she told me of the difficulty of actually securing investors for a project like this. "But I just keep saying, if we build it, they will come," Mary said.

Stuck in traffic, after just spitting out a bite of a sandwich with disgusting wasabi mayonnaise, I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. "I love that," I said.

"What we're doing is bigger than you and me, Katie. It's about community. It's all about community."

We again promised to keep each other posted, and Mary told me that she'll be in and out of San Antonio in the coming weeks in preparation for her daughter's wedding. I let her know that I'd love to drive down and meet her so that we can talk about our plans in person.

"I think the key is going to be that each of our stores offers something the other doesn't," I said. "That way, we're complementing each other, rather than competing."

"Katie," she said, "I don't want to be in competition with you in any way, shape, or form. We're partners in this."

And I truly feel like we are, which in itself is kind of miraculous. Mary, if you're reading this post, can't wait till we meet in person!