Every time you write, I learn, Beth. First, because you're so lyrical that I hear your words as music. And also because you are so generous about sharing what you've learned along the long way. And then your art to go with the writing is so gracefully and hauntingly beautiful. It captures how ephemeral life and understand are. Thank you!
Such a beautiful piece. It found me just after writing in my journal something about ‘the beautiful question’……..wondering about articulating the question to write toward the answer or is it that our writing unearths the question. As always your writing is inspirational and wise. A lighthouse in the distance as I write. 🙏
I love being your lighthouse, Bernadette. Though sometimes my own light wavers in the storm. I love the collision of these two moments, for you, today.
Oh, Jodi. I am so sorry! I honestly didn't post this to sell that mini memoir. I only wanted to show that it was an actual thing, out in the world. I find myself much happier with paper books, too (hence, perhaps, my book, MY LIFE IN PAPER :))
No worries. Sometimes it's a good thing to be shaken out of one's comfort zone. I mean, fuck, I write on the interwebz so I've got some kind of chutzpah bitching about it, right? Your words in this essay are something I want to hang on to, and hanging on to the physical is easier, at least for me. Thank you for that. For your words.
Within minutes of finishing the first memoir that I’m brave enough to share with my writing group, I read this. I greatly admire your ability to use words to express what for me are mystical goosebumps.
Oh, Kathy. You are right there, in that beautiful space of discovery and hope, your ears now turned toward others as they read and respond to your words. I wish you the very best at this juncture, and I am grateful for your words here.
You’ve articulated why I read and write memoir, and why I defend it against the charge of self-obsession. In memoir a writer takes the reader, hand in hand, through a transformative passage that illuminates the reader’s own. The reader’s understanding that the writer has lived this passage and earned what it reveals is the distinctive gift of memoir. Road Song is a radiant example that I’m overdue to reread.
I take from this beautiful piece, something both thrilling and frightening I've not realized before, that memoir, if done with great attention to honesty and vision can be ".... a quiet keeper of the lessons I have learned." Perhaps that's why I've found it impossible to write for months.
I wrote this piece early last week and waited to post it (I'd found my mother's inscription in a book in the in-between days). And then I saw your woodpecker flying on FB and I thought—Karen and I share this, too. These birds.
Incredible words.
Thank you, LaMonica.
Every time you write, I learn, Beth. First, because you're so lyrical that I hear your words as music. And also because you are so generous about sharing what you've learned along the long way. And then your art to go with the writing is so gracefully and hauntingly beautiful. It captures how ephemeral life and understand are. Thank you!
Susan! I only just now saw this beautiful passage from you. I am beyond moved — and honored. xoxo
Your writing and your art lift me every single time. Hugs to you!
Such a beautiful piece. It found me just after writing in my journal something about ‘the beautiful question’……..wondering about articulating the question to write toward the answer or is it that our writing unearths the question. As always your writing is inspirational and wise. A lighthouse in the distance as I write. 🙏
I love being your lighthouse, Bernadette. Though sometimes my own light wavers in the storm. I love the collision of these two moments, for you, today.
You shine very brightly. ❤️
Stunning. All of it. And very surprising, but not:
"But it took publishing five memoirs and a memoir of a river before I could fully articulate what memoir is."
I think I'm still figuring it all out, Lisa. But that is the fun of it, too. That is the why, in the end. The biggest why.
Well, I thought I was purchasing a hard copy, but nope. I love hard copy text. I want to read this so ebook it is then.🤷♀️
Oh, Jodi. I am so sorry! I honestly didn't post this to sell that mini memoir. I only wanted to show that it was an actual thing, out in the world. I find myself much happier with paper books, too (hence, perhaps, my book, MY LIFE IN PAPER :))
No worries. Sometimes it's a good thing to be shaken out of one's comfort zone. I mean, fuck, I write on the interwebz so I've got some kind of chutzpah bitching about it, right? Your words in this essay are something I want to hang on to, and hanging on to the physical is easier, at least for me. Thank you for that. For your words.
Oh, how I love this essay. "Every memoir, to be a memoir, must be bigger than the memoirist.
Every memoir, to be a memoir, must investigate the broader world."
You do this very thing in your work, dear Judy.
Within minutes of finishing the first memoir that I’m brave enough to share with my writing group, I read this. I greatly admire your ability to use words to express what for me are mystical goosebumps.
Oh, Kathy. You are right there, in that beautiful space of discovery and hope, your ears now turned toward others as they read and respond to your words. I wish you the very best at this juncture, and I am grateful for your words here.
You’ve articulated why I read and write memoir, and why I defend it against the charge of self-obsession. In memoir a writer takes the reader, hand in hand, through a transformative passage that illuminates the reader’s own. The reader’s understanding that the writer has lived this passage and earned what it reveals is the distinctive gift of memoir. Road Song is a radiant example that I’m overdue to reread.
I take from this beautiful piece, something both thrilling and frightening I've not realized before, that memoir, if done with great attention to honesty and vision can be ".... a quiet keeper of the lessons I have learned." Perhaps that's why I've found it impossible to write for months.
I am here, waiting for you. Wondering. Yes. Those lessons. They are there, Charlotte. You will find them. xo
Me too, or rather - me three!🧡
So lovely (this essay.) I don’t think I’ve read Nest. Thank you for bringing it to us. I’m getting it on Kindle now.
I wrote this piece early last week and waited to post it (I'd found my mother's inscription in a book in the in-between days). And then I saw your woodpecker flying on FB and I thought—Karen and I share this, too. These birds.
I love that connection!!
I want to read that. Immediately.
Thank you, Linda —