These missives are so incredibly rich. Such gifts. Your words today remind me of what I've been reading in Louise deSalvo's The Art of Slow Writing--another gift of a book. I think you both have similar attitudes towards writing--she recommends a process journal as well. Amazing I have been writing for over 40 years and I am still learning so much from both of you. It never ends. Thankfully.
I wish I could convey adequately how helpful this essay is to me as I struggle with sadness over the loss of my brother-in-law on Thanksgiving day, and how it takes me right into all else that I have to accept: my adult son’s death, my sense of guilt/failure that goes all the way back to feeling I wasn’t right or enough for my parents in their lives or deaths. Acceptance. Gratitude to you. Plan: write how John died.
I have been rolling around in this piece for about an hour, both luxuriating and crying, which, on a grey Sunday afternoon feels about right. Thanks, Alice.
Oh, and that Shakespearean quote is one I casually lob over to James whenever he wants me to do something weird, like laundry.
Thank you. For every word. Instead of movies for me it’s books. Blackwater Falls to be exact. And I finally disgorged an 18 page decision after writers block, procrastination and indecision. No flow at all. My Best thinking on a walk, in the shower or swimming perhaps it’s the nonthinking that finally allows the words to appear on my computer.
I remember your Dad. We all were swimming in a big kiddie pool in your backyard on a very hot summers day. Go to South Dakota and see for yourself. Ask all those still alive about him. Write about him I’d like to know more. Pull together all the stories. I know some of that yearning. I had my Dad for 23 years. Only ten years seems so unfair. So much more to say in this rough draft but not here. But what violin music did he love? Listen to it and let all of you feel it. What a sensitive man. And then to have to face WW2 and see what was all around him and in the operating room. A remarkable man with genius in his blood. More please.
Oh my god this is so wonderful and deep and since it just so happens I’ve been thinking about acceptance, I really feel like you wrote this just for me (isn’t that what great writing is all about?). ❤️
These missives are so incredibly rich. Such gifts. Your words today remind me of what I've been reading in Louise deSalvo's The Art of Slow Writing--another gift of a book. I think you both have similar attitudes towards writing--she recommends a process journal as well. Amazing I have been writing for over 40 years and I am still learning so much from both of you. It never ends. Thankfully.
I wish I could convey adequately how helpful this essay is to me as I struggle with sadness over the loss of my brother-in-law on Thanksgiving day, and how it takes me right into all else that I have to accept: my adult son’s death, my sense of guilt/failure that goes all the way back to feeling I wasn’t right or enough for my parents in their lives or deaths. Acceptance. Gratitude to you. Plan: write how John died.
I have been rolling around in this piece for about an hour, both luxuriating and crying, which, on a grey Sunday afternoon feels about right. Thanks, Alice.
Oh, and that Shakespearean quote is one I casually lob over to James whenever he wants me to do something weird, like laundry.
Rolling around? Rolling like thunder under the covers...
My head is still full of Elton.
I hope James backs off when this line is held up to him like a crucifix.
Thank you. For every word. Instead of movies for me it’s books. Blackwater Falls to be exact. And I finally disgorged an 18 page decision after writers block, procrastination and indecision. No flow at all. My Best thinking on a walk, in the shower or swimming perhaps it’s the nonthinking that finally allows the words to appear on my computer.
I remember your Dad. We all were swimming in a big kiddie pool in your backyard on a very hot summers day. Go to South Dakota and see for yourself. Ask all those still alive about him. Write about him I’d like to know more. Pull together all the stories. I know some of that yearning. I had my Dad for 23 years. Only ten years seems so unfair. So much more to say in this rough draft but not here. But what violin music did he love? Listen to it and let all of you feel it. What a sensitive man. And then to have to face WW2 and see what was all around him and in the operating room. A remarkable man with genius in his blood. More please.
Thank you Marsha. I do my best thinking in the shower, for sure, or used to be hiking but I can't do that now.
I remember your parents too.
xoxo
Oh my god this is so wonderful and deep and since it just so happens I’ve been thinking about acceptance, I really feel like you wrote this just for me (isn’t that what great writing is all about?). ❤️
Thank you Nancy. Yes, I wrote this for you, who else?
❤️❤️❤️