Joyce Carol Oates brings me joy.
I first met the author at a book signing. We had traded tweets about our pets beforehand, and she'd given me a story for my Anthony-finalist anthology Protectors 2: Heroes. But when she saw me, she leaned over to her friend the artist and author Jonathan Santlofer and exclaimed, "have you met Thomas? He's a lovely kitty man."
I am a large and hirsute man, a "temperate yeti," in the parlance of a witty friend, and the "kitty man" nickname brought a few laughs. I have since embraced it; as a big goon with a nose smashed flat from fight training, it's been a good icebreaker at readings.