Monday, December 3, 2012

Traveling The Writer's Road


This year marks my second Christmas living alone. For thirty-three years I lived either with my husband, my sons, or both. As I sit at the kitchen table contemplating sunlight on the leafless black walnut trees in my backyard, I reflect on this:   "Use loneliness.  Its ache creates urgency to reconnect with the world. Take that aching and use it to propel you deeper into your need for expression - to speak, to say who you are . . ." Natalie Goldberg ~ Writing Down the Bones
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"Do you remember me?"  A small woman with snow white hair stood  by my table of books and bright red poinsettias. I had come to the local library to talk about memoir. She smiled and her eyes crinkled at the corners.  "I'm Sandy," she said  . . . and then I remembered. I was back in a quiet room 18 years ago this January.  Pastel watercolors hung on the walls and the only sound . . . my voice breaking into a sob. "It's not fair.  He was too young, too good a person to die."   Sandy smiled and said, "Remember, Susan, he loved you." And so I wrote about that unforgettable moment in Again in a Heartbeat.

Now here on a pale winter's day, my former therapist and grief counselor held my memoirs, reading the synopsis on the back of each.  She looked up at me. "I have two clients who recently lost their husbands.  I want to give them your books.  I'm thinking of starting a grief support group in a church," she added. "Thank you for writing these."

 
Later that afternoon,  another woman held a copy of Morning at Wellington Square.  "What's it about?" she asked.  I told her it was about finding meaning after leaving my newspaper career. I told her about the Women's Writing Circle at Wellington Square. She confessed her life felt as if it were on hold since retiring the summer before. 

"In some ways, I feel useless, unsure of where to go," she said. Someone suggested she use her graphic arts skills to teach a class of adult learners how to paint. While her passion had always been art, she found little time for it over the years. 

"I don't know," she shrugged.  "It seems I've spent my whole life giving up everything for my career.  I never married, never had children," she added.  "Now I wonder . . . what can I do?"
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All writers ask themselves, "Who will read what I have written? Who can I share my story?"

In answer, all I can say is that writing your story is connection. You enter a road teeming with travelers on many different, yet amazingly similar journeys.

Last month on this blog, the women who attend the Women's Writing Circle spoke of our small group of supportive compatriots on this, the writer's road. They spoke of helping each other ease loneliness . . . of tossing out an emotional and creative life line through writing on Saturday mornings over coffee and candlelight in a bookshop.

All it takes is faith in yourself and an appreciation for how much we share.  And so I challenge and cheer you on this holiday season to follow your heart's desire and travel the writer's road.

 

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