My place has been staged all summer, chairs and umbrellas distanced 10 or more feet, for the few friends who have visited. And when they go, the chairs are empty, still, orderly and beautiful. Waiting...
When I had my own children I moved to Long Island. In the summer, I felt nostalgia, trapped in the airless frenzy of traffic, the earth paved over, asphalt heat waves, car exhaust. I dreamed of moving to the country, but didn’t see how I could uproot. I wished it would happen miraculously. Then it did.
These late summer sunflowers stretching to soak up the light, lifting their heavy heads to the sky, sturdy stalks like tree trunks--there is an easy metaphor here. What sustains you?
As a writer, your task is to make everything you write sound like it came from you and only you. Here is a four-step exercise to help guide you in the process of defining your unique voice as a writer.
I am here to tell you is that if you spend some quality time staring at the wall, or the stars, or a field of flowers, with absolutely no agenda or motive other than to exist with your breath and your senses, you will be a happier human and yes, a better writer for it.
It seems to me, amidst our tragic circumstances, person to person, we are connecting with one another, that there is a new world coming forth. It may take time, this birth. But I believe it is happening...