I’ve been listening to Stephen King’s book On Writing. I have been listening as much as I can to memoirs but this is the first of this particular genre. I’m not a fiction writer. Or am I ? Maybe all of us who aspire to write memoirs are actually fiction writers in bad disguise. Memory is what it is. That “spaghetti incident” as a child has never been retold the same way by any of my siblings. If it makes it into my story and no one but me recalls it that way, is it truth or fiction ?
A few of King’s suggestions have resonated and I will probably take them enough to heart to make them my own. I jot notes in small notebooks, my journal and into my phone. I’m really always writing. Is it weird that most of what I write, that is actually meaningful, is done on a device designed for other things ? Weirder yet, from the tub ? Does it matter ?
To be a better writer I must be a better reader. It has to be something I make time for, not that I squeeze in. It has to be important. I read books and listen to books in the car. I read reviews of books, recommendations of books, essays (my favorite) and I follow a handful of really good bloggers.
The news has begun to unsettle me more often than it comforts me. There is evil lurking and it cannot be ignored. To think that our progress in the last decade could be erased in a mere matter of months is jarring. Our democracy is not safe, our future, not secure. I read to remember. And I read to forget …
Coronavirus has changed our lives at the very core. Mine had always seemed to pivot from connection. Without community and fellowship and togetherness we are, quite delibetately and necessarily, changing what matters in our lives. There is a new pivot and I find myself dreading a world without faces and touch. What is at the core if not our authentic selves ?
Living in a social media-driven world is a lot like living in a Wikipedia world. Blend that with the narrative coming out of the white house about “fake news” and suddenly everything becomes a question or a challenge. I like it better when I can look someone in the face. When that happens, the only way I don’t trust what occurs in that that moment, is if I don’t trust myself. THAT I can deal with. Trusting myself is joyful life-work. Nothing fake about it.
Covid is changing so many things and while I am frustrated by many, I find hope in a few. My friend, and a favorite writer, has begun a new thread on her blog about taking on a new role in these new times: Kickass Grandparenting in the Time of Covid. I’m going to encourage you to check out her blog. She is an amazing storyteller and whether she is writing about this new adventure or our beautiful Pacific Northwest, you won’t be disappointed. You can find her blog here.
Covid has changed all of us. There are new roles and new rules. I spent yesterday, quite literally, in Paradise. I have not yet been called to serve, and so I continue to do what I can to bring joy into the world, both yours and my own. I may not know what lies ahead but I can tell you that a mountain or a meadow or a river runs through it …*
Thanks, as always, for reading. I’d love to know how your lives have changed and how you’re managing. Mostly though, I really love the connection. Thanks for being here.
I’ve been trying to write this most of this late morning. These two are never far. Yoda always with his eyes on me and Gus, well, he has to be touching . A creature after my own heart ♡
Enjoy my day at Mount Rainier on the Paradise Glacier trail and beyond. Any day that begins like this one did is always going to be great. Glad you could come along.