September 1, 2011

Many people have suggested that I write a book about my life and indeed, I have fantasized many times about how that would go.  As I have entered the crone years of my sixties, it seems that I should give it some serious thought or cast the idea aside with a smile.  So this blog is my first attempt at putting some structure around the thing.
At one time I thought I would write about my first year of college, a turning point in my life.  A time when everything seemed to be changing; when none of the rules that had gotten me to that point in 1968 seemed to be working anymore:  when I was challenged to find my personal truth about who I was and what made sense in the world.  But I haven't written that book yet.
Another time, awed and amazed at the courage of so many; I set about to write an anthology of the women who had come in and out of my life with so much wisdom and compassion:  truly amazing women living everyday lives.  My mother was one,and if this goes well, I will write quite a lot about her throughout this blog.  Others include the mother of a serial killer, survivors of suicides and victims as well.  Life and death are everything and nothing.
Somewhere inside me, I always thought there was a children's book...or rather a book about being a child....perhaps a "Pan's Labyrinth" or "Secret Life of Bees" kind of story.  Children live such fascinating lives full of exploration and wonder, often set against a background of larger than life events.  Some of my childhood feels like that when I look back.
When i was in the 7th grade, my teacher (Mr. "B") encouraged me to be a writer and asked me to dedicate my first book to him.  This acknowledgment may be the only one he gets, but at least he will know that I always remembered that commitment.  Here's to you Mr. B!
For a while, I was the grateful participant in a women's writing group in New Hampshire.  I learned a lot about life, courage, and writing.  Those times, sitting in a circle, sharing our words from the paper or screens in front of us, are like memory gems for me.  Very special.  Although I still know little about the day-to-day details of most of those women, I know something much more important about them:  I know what touches their spirit; what brings them joy; and what sorrow has been like for them.  Some of them have gone on to be published; some continue to be part of that same group.  One that I hear from occasionally is living the creative life on another continent.  Each of them conjures up a distinct and wonderful memory.
So here goes.  Today I have started a blog.  We'll see where it takes us.
Thanks for reading.