THIS: “More importantly, she published herself, which left her free, following her first two novels, to produce her work in precise accordance with her ambitions and desires.”
Because I came to writing in the later years of my life, I chose to self-fund two books. My ambitions are different than what they might have been at 30. I love the creative control. I also love the entire process, from cover design to distribution. How inspiring to read this, Beth. I had no idea. :-)
I have adored this about Virginia, obsessed over it, even imagined buying myself a letterpress until I practiced elsewhere and realized just how hard it is. But yes. By publishing herself, she published free. Congratulations to you, too!
Again, I am inspired by your reverence for those whose shoulders we rise on. Your meticulous care of another’s life and work, and the generosity of your sharing show me so much more than I, on my own could see. With gratitude I turn your hymn to Woolf back on you:
You are prompt, springboard, purpose. You are prism. You are mosaic and footnote, typography and white space. You are gorgeous in some photographs and arresting in others, and I can hear you—do you hear her?—inviting you to be precisely who you wish to be, on the page and off of it.”
Oh my, Char. I can't even ... don't even..... There are tears streaming down my face, reading your words. I could never see myself that way. Thank you for saying that you do. xoxoxo
"No noise of the publishing bureaucrats chugging in her head." Imagine. What would my writing look like if I siphoned out that noise? Thanks for this thought over my coffee this morning. And, best of 2025 to you!
I have done away with that noise for a while now. This Substack, for example, is me doing away with the noise. I have never felt so free. To your freedom, too.
The first book I read in 2025 (meaning just yesterday) was Woolf's "On Being Ill." It was a quiet day. I was exhausted from two solid weeks of birthday/holiday/birthday cheer. I needed to collapse, but I didn't want to do it alone so I invited Woolf to join me.
It was a delight to read your piece. I'm always happy to find someone who loves her as do I. When I was terribly sick two years ago and the doctor gave me a expiration date, I packed up and flew across the pond to Sussex/Rodmill. I wasn't leaving this side of earth without crossing the threshold of Woolf's home. It was the most joyful I'd ever been. Thank you for highlighting her today.
Oh. Anita. Somehow my message to you vanished, my deep appreciation for your words here, for the journey you have been on. Imagining myself standing with you at Sussex and Rodmell (I have never been). Glad that she is here, in the way she is here, to comfort you.
It is so you, Lex, to pause at that first sentence. Sending you lots of love, and I'm saving yours for tonight, when things are less hectic in the cleaning the house, restocking the refrigerator vein xoxo
Betty Jean! Hello. Here's a confession. When I first thought about what to post for New Year's Day, I wrote a piece about Willa, who was my first obsession. And then I decided, no: It had to be Virginia, for the release she gives us to write as we please. But you and I, yes: In sync. And you will always be the great Willa channeler —
Thank you so much, Ann. You know I adore her. That I am in communication with her, somehow, in my imagination. Hope you are feeling better. This year's cold was (is!) unpleasant, to say the least.
My New Year dawned with trust in myself and all that comes towards me. And what first comes towards me are your words, beautiful words about Virginia. Virginia and I are smiling at your words. Thank you, Beth, for beginning my year with inspiration.
I am so drawn into this lovely essay. I know far too little about literature, have read no Wolff, and would like to remedy that. Could you recommend a book to start me off please?
Oh, Sarah. What sweet, sweet words from you. Thank you. I have mostly all of Virginia sitting right here. And she can be confusing, confounding. But what I love perhaps most is the middle interlude of To the Lighthouse, "Time Passes," in which a much-loved house, abandoned, is interceded by Time. It's glorious.
I really needed to read this right now. I love this take on Wolff and how you frame her as a type setter, bookbinder, and someone who published herself. And the opening visual with her skating on a frozen pond. This is a terrific essay. A perfect way to start the new year.
THIS: “More importantly, she published herself, which left her free, following her first two novels, to produce her work in precise accordance with her ambitions and desires.”
Because I came to writing in the later years of my life, I chose to self-fund two books. My ambitions are different than what they might have been at 30. I love the creative control. I also love the entire process, from cover design to distribution. How inspiring to read this, Beth. I had no idea. :-)
I have adored this about Virginia, obsessed over it, even imagined buying myself a letterpress until I practiced elsewhere and realized just how hard it is. But yes. By publishing herself, she published free. Congratulations to you, too!
Again, I am inspired by your reverence for those whose shoulders we rise on. Your meticulous care of another’s life and work, and the generosity of your sharing show me so much more than I, on my own could see. With gratitude I turn your hymn to Woolf back on you:
You are prompt, springboard, purpose. You are prism. You are mosaic and footnote, typography and white space. You are gorgeous in some photographs and arresting in others, and I can hear you—do you hear her?—inviting you to be precisely who you wish to be, on the page and off of it.”
This is the lineage you offer us. Deep bow.
Oh my, Char. I can't even ... don't even..... There are tears streaming down my face, reading your words. I could never see myself that way. Thank you for saying that you do. xoxoxo
"No noise of the publishing bureaucrats chugging in her head." Imagine. What would my writing look like if I siphoned out that noise? Thanks for this thought over my coffee this morning. And, best of 2025 to you!
I have done away with that noise for a while now. This Substack, for example, is me doing away with the noise. I have never felt so free. To your freedom, too.
Indeed. So freeing.
"Do not compromise, she says. Write your own heart, she says. Be the person you are searching for." Aspirations in 2025. Thank you, Beth.
Always. And forever.
The first book I read in 2025 (meaning just yesterday) was Woolf's "On Being Ill." It was a quiet day. I was exhausted from two solid weeks of birthday/holiday/birthday cheer. I needed to collapse, but I didn't want to do it alone so I invited Woolf to join me.
It was a delight to read your piece. I'm always happy to find someone who loves her as do I. When I was terribly sick two years ago and the doctor gave me a expiration date, I packed up and flew across the pond to Sussex/Rodmill. I wasn't leaving this side of earth without crossing the threshold of Woolf's home. It was the most joyful I'd ever been. Thank you for highlighting her today.
Oh. Anita. Somehow my message to you vanished, my deep appreciation for your words here, for the journey you have been on. Imagining myself standing with you at Sussex and Rodmell (I have never been). Glad that she is here, in the way she is here, to comfort you.
I love this whole thing, but that first line is one of the best I've read in ages. But seriously, this is super inspiring.
It is so you, Lex, to pause at that first sentence. Sending you lots of love, and I'm saving yours for tonight, when things are less hectic in the cleaning the house, restocking the refrigerator vein xoxo
How can one NOT pause at such a good sentence? Sending love back.
I'm printing it out.
This is gorgeous, Beth. I did my graduate thesis on Woolf. She was for many years my constant companion, until I discovered Willa Cather.
Betty Jean! Hello. Here's a confession. When I first thought about what to post for New Year's Day, I wrote a piece about Willa, who was my first obsession. And then I decided, no: It had to be Virginia, for the release she gives us to write as we please. But you and I, yes: In sync. And you will always be the great Willa channeler —
You surely know I’d love read the Cather piece!
The energy here! Thank you, and Happy New Year, dear Beth.🥰
Cathy, I am so very very very blessed by the people who join me here. Including you.
Oh, Beth, what an opening to the New Year. Such a gift from you. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Ann. You know I adore her. That I am in communication with her, somehow, in my imagination. Hope you are feeling better. This year's cold was (is!) unpleasant, to say the least.
My New Year dawned with trust in myself and all that comes towards me. And what first comes towards me are your words, beautiful words about Virginia. Virginia and I are smiling at your words. Thank you, Beth, for beginning my year with inspiration.
Lynn, trust yourself. Trust what comes together and how we will come together, all of us, to find the beauty. Thank you.
I am so drawn into this lovely essay. I know far too little about literature, have read no Wolff, and would like to remedy that. Could you recommend a book to start me off please?
Oh, Sarah. What sweet, sweet words from you. Thank you. I have mostly all of Virginia sitting right here. And she can be confusing, confounding. But what I love perhaps most is the middle interlude of To the Lighthouse, "Time Passes," in which a much-loved house, abandoned, is interceded by Time. It's glorious.
Thank you Beth, a book purchase to be made.
A truly lovely and inspiring first read of this new year, as I sit in the dark, blanket over my lap, sipping coffee.
Good morning, dear friend, and happy new year to you. Sit and dream for as long as you can. Tap down a line or two from the mist.
I really needed to read this right now. I love this take on Wolff and how you frame her as a type setter, bookbinder, and someone who published herself. And the opening visual with her skating on a frozen pond. This is a terrific essay. A perfect way to start the new year.
Thank you so much, Karen — isn't cool, to imagine her skating?
Writerly inspiration, taken to heart this bright morning.
A bright morning. May we all try to make this the brightest possible year. Fortitude. Self knowing.
Wow. I can physically feel the inspiration.
Oh, I love that. Thank you for saying this.
Yes!! And this is the marvelous gift of Substack. The freedom to write our own hearts and minds. Kudos!!
Oh, yes, Beth. That is precisely what this is. And I feel it in your own work, too.