Saturday, November 30, 2013
8-23-13 RMB America Book 2
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
The first America book is not yet finished and the second is already writing itself, with ideas for the third screaming for attention as well. It’s an interesting experience to have the imaginary characters accompany me wherever I go, popping in with paragraphs, storylines and insights to their fictional relationships. I am listening to the story. As I write the words, I am sharing it, not creating it.
I wonder about the many characters that visit with you, the many RMB books yet to write.
And as I go for my walk, which sometimes creeps up to a jog, I wonder how much of our life we actually command and how much of it lay before us to be absorbed and observed.
I listen for direction from the wind and learn more from being in a place of listening, than from anything I might hear. Somewhere in that place of listening, one can hear the future.
Friday, November 29, 2013
8-22-13 RMB Writing
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
Who encouraged you to write or was the need to do so only fueled by your own will? Was it a natural transition, to move from marching to allowing your words to march on? They travel beyond the ground of any pavement you could trek into infinite lives and into the future.
Daniel Reveles, an author who is also an exquisite story teller, once told me “Write every day.” That was his advice to me. He was serious and sincere. His stories tell of magic and life and the magic in life. He sees the importance of words, the value of storytelling; it’s effect on our world, to our humanity.
What would we be without our authors and the stories they have shared?
We struggle so, even with their words. They enlighten us with insight, passion and compassion, what ifs and heaven forbids, and yet we must still test the boundaries until something breaks, until souls shatter, people die and our earth suffers.
Your Rubyfruit Jungle gave some hope, kept some souls from shattering. And since then, your presence in book after book has lent comfort to untold numbers.
When I imagined writing; held the thought of it in my heart; the dream of placing word after word that would somehow in some way make a difference, I didn’t know what essence the words would contain. Or even if they would be fact or fiction?
I never would have considered writing a blog of Dear Rita Mae Brown letters. But then I hadn’t read about you, nor your stories when the desire to write took hold of the child I was. Blogs did not exist then.
Now, as I send America, all 60,888 words of it, to the editor and advance readers, I am curious where this will lead. It’s a simple love story, but it has touched the few that have started reading it. These RMB letters, they have struck a chord with some. Are these people just entertaining me and my dream to write…or am I writing?
Part of my fascination with the craft is that one never knows where the words will lead when they take flight, who they will reach and what affect they might have when they land there.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
8-21-13 RMB Defining Oneself
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
Do you remember the letter about the middle boy, the one I took shopping to find his style? Today he asked for a haircut. He got one and it looks great on him. His style expands, neat!
I hope our night out shopping and our talk encouraged him. Or perhaps it was I that was riding along on his wave of defining himself. Whatever the cause, I am enjoying the result.
More cheers to finding our style,
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
8-20-13 RMB Ten-fold
Dear Rita May Brown,
It surprised me how involved you stayed in Martina Navratilova’s life after your breakup, even to the point of helping her with another breakup with another woman. Of course it shouldn’t have surprised me, as I am as tangled up in my ex’s affairs as I ever was.
Often I think there is a lesson to be learned here. As to what it is though, I haven’t the foggiest idea!
When there is a need, heartstrings pull and stretch beyond previous limits, anything to help…and I can’t complain too much, because I expect and get the same in return.
In the end, my only concern, my worry, is that I couldn’t do more. I asked her once, why people come to me for aid; why I try to offer it when I feel I am so inadequate. She said “People go to you because they know you will do everything you can to help them. Even if someone else is better equipped, they would not try as hard as you do.”
In a crazy way, that made sense. Tonight I did all I could.
I preach to the boys, that if you do your best, you will feel good, even if the result isn’t what you wished for. Why don’t I feel good? I couldn’t make everything better, no one else really can right now either. Only time will tell how big of a fool I am, if in fact, I am a fool at all for helping another. Perhaps, it will all come back to me “ten-fold”, as Reverend Millie says.
I am tried, exhausted really. Tomorrow things will look better. Of that I am sure.
Did your efforts return richness to you “ten-fold”? I hope so.
Blessings to you,
Sunday, November 24, 2013
8-19-13 RMB Enough
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
The television I watch is a mixture of shows and movies that friends and family have told me about which I check out from the library, rent or buy. One show I enjoy is Rizzoli and Isles. Today the young, African-American actor that plays a cop on the show ended his life. He was 29. Lee Thompson Young died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
He had a successful acting career. His image lives on in the product of his craft. My heart goes out to his loved ones and his spirit, wherever it now resides.
The news brought to mind Freddie Prinze, who also took his life with a single gunshot on January 28th, 1977. My family was travelling from California to New Mexico to visit my mom’s relatives, a rare visit. We heard about it over the car radio. We had watched him on the show Chico and the Man, sometimes together as a family, and then we listened to reports of his death, together as a family.
There were few words spoken about it in the car. Each of us processed the information in our own way. I wanted to keep listening to the radio. Surely, they had made a mistake. He wasn’t dead. But as we passed mile upon mile of the desert landscape along an empty freeway in the middle of the southwest, it became evident it was true. It sunk in.
I remember curling up in a ball in the backseat, trying to disappear. I felt the sadness, sadness for Freddie. I was sad that he accomplished what I could not. I was sad that he was gone, someone full of such talent and yet there I sat, still breathing. Life made no sense to me.
A friend told me about Lee Thompson Young. Now, decades older, my reaction was equal in sorrow. However, now my sorrow is in that he did not reach the other side, sorrow that life made no sense to him…and won’t in this lifetime.
Not that it makes much more sense to me than it did in the late 70’s, but I see more now. I see what good can be done, what good I can contribute, and that is enough to pull me to the other side. I see I can’t make everything better, but I can make some things better. I can see ways to better myself and every day I can proceed along in that direction.
When the call comes it is always unexpected. Sometimes it comes too late and the best one can do is be there for a family member. But sometimes the call comes when there is still time to help pick up the pieces and help rebuild a life. The answers are never clear and a fog blankets attempts to help, the same fog that edges one to suicide in the first place.
Search as we may, answers elude us. Why? How? What could I have done? When that call comes the best we can do is step up to console and heal, without judgment…for we are blind to what others face. We must remember we can’t make everything better, yet we can make some things better…and sometimes that is enough.
Rest in peace,
Friday, November 22, 2013
8-17-13 RMB Counsel of Friends
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
In your works and in your life, you often emphasize the importance of friendships. You seem so independent for someone that stresses close relationships thusly. I venture to comment that sometimes it is the strength we gather from others that makes us appear strong.
Several people have recently complimented my writing and, through my life, many have showered me with compliments on many levels. The writing I know for a fact is in no small part the result of years of encouragement from my friends in our Writer’s Circle. One in particular, Jennifer Silva Redmond, has been tirelessly nurturing me along, contributing her words and wisdom to my writings.
As for the compliments of my character, my actions, there is a sister, my Rita (whose favorite color is brown, I kid you not) that deserves credit for tirelessly guiding and supporting me through my life.
Today I spent the afternoon with my Writer’s Circle editor friend and topped the day off by visiting her and her husband on their currently dry docked boat, the best time ever to invite a friend aboard that gets seasick.
As we chatted, a glass appeared in my hand and poured into it was half of her beer. We recalled the last time I drank alcohol, a margarita, also with her. “Guess it is time for my every 5 year drink.”
We chatted about their screenplays and my novel while their dog Ready joined in the visit. They teased me about the steamy love scene that she encouraged me to put in. By now, the early fragments of the second and third follow-up novels have similar scenes.
As the teasing began, I took my leave, wishing them well on their upcoming trip up the coast by boat. The counsel of friends happens with such ease that it’s barely noticeable in the moment. Yet if one could look back to see the friends that have been there, hear the talks and laughter shared and, if it were even possible, count the tears liberated, the affect is undeniable.
Our strength is in our numbers, both in our masses and in what we contribute to one another. Not one of us would be who we are if not for whom we have known. Some say we should even be thankful for those that caused us pain, for they taught us something of ourselves in the interaction. There may be merit to that argument, however I tend to focus on the positive contributions.
I find it quite astounding how the tides in a moment can turn from treacherous to bearable and even enjoyable with the counsel of a companion. It’s something invisible, untouchable and it is so clearly necessary. Of all the tools we are given, it is the ones hardest to comprehend and impossible to grasp that mean the most.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
8-16-13 RMB Style
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
Most Friday nights my routine is to leave work, while it is still light out and walk in the park until light fades. I listen to music and my imagination roams, sketching out my books or I talk to friends, some over a cell phone, some via thought. I often say “hey” to you and welcome any spirits interested in visiting.
I write these letters, in part to relay some of my cosmic beliefs and notions, yet even as I write this, I cringe a bit. I guess I am pretty out there. However, when I visit with someone in this way and can later pick up a conversation with them and fall in sync with what they shared via thought, now in spoken words, I believe our conversations are real…both those in thought as well as those spoken.
Afterwards I head home to pick up the sister and take her to a local department store to walk. It’s been quite hot and she is just getting started on her walking routine, so a few laps around a cool store is her walk for the day. By the time I make it home it is edging towards nine. The sister throws a dinner together for me and we watch a show together. The end. That’s what normally transpires on Friday nights.
Tonight, I picked up the middle boy and took him to the store. He has been wearing an odd mix of clothing to school recently. “I want you to pick out a couple pairs of pants. What style do you like? If you really like what you’ve been wearing, that’s okay. But in case you’re just grabbing what’s handy or you don’t have pants you like, I want you to have some more choices.”
He looked at me with those big, sweet eyes, “Okay.” He’s an agreeable nine year old.
Once there, I had to prompt him. “Do you like jeans? Do you want dress pants? What kind of pockets do you like? Would you rather have shorts?”
After circling the racks and trying some on, he divulged the key to his odd choices. “I like snaps.” He prefers pants that snapped over ones that buttoned, willing to wear something old and tattered or short, over something new that fit better...if it the pants had a snap.
We found him two pairs of jeans…that snapped AND fit. He also wanted a Bumble Bee t-shirt that was too big for him. He said we should get it because it was the only one and if he waited until he grew, it would not be there anymore. Bumble Bee, if you haven’t heard, is the coolest of the Transformers.
As I explained to him that it was too big and we could try to find another Bumble Bee shirt I saw the sadness in his eyes. He didn’t throw a fit or whine or complain or plead…he just looked incredibly sad as we left the shirt on the rack and walked away.
We searched the store for other Bumble Bee shirts, but there was none to be found. We were there for him to find his style. It didn’t matter if it fit or not, he wanted it and that was why we were there, for him to have the latitude to state his preference. Our mission was for pants…but we got the shirt too.
We proceeded back to his home, where he showed off his shirt and we picked up the other two boys for a sleepover at my place. It’s late now, they have settled down in the living room (yawn).
Cheers for finding our style, g’night,Loraine
Monday, November 18, 2013
8-15-13 RMB Wish You Were Here
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
Today I was reading Wish You Were Here, the first book co-authored by Sneaky Pie Brown. I like how you introduce the characters in the beginning, with the “Cast of Characters” page. For someone like me, with an awful memory, I will be referring to it now and then I’m sure.
I like that you credit Sneaky Pie with co-authorship. A quote by an unnamed source states “The person who said diamonds are a girl’s best friend never had a dog.” I agree, feeling the same goes for any animal friend.
My cat now takes to laying alongside the laptop as I type, however you will not see Smores credited with co-authorship. He hinders more than helps the process. I applaud you for your patience. For animals to have played such an intricate part of your life, you must have made concessions.
With animals, I find we receive so much more than we give, yet there are so many of them still in need of a home, shelter and attention. We pay millions a year, as a nation, to therapists and forms of therapy, from vacations to massages, while ignoring an abundance of energy just waiting to be bestowed on someone. Love, affection, kindness, joy, it’s all there in a furry or feathered or scaly bundle. I hear turtles make great friends.
A friend once had a parakeet that was quite mean in his early days, but in his last year he mellowed to the point that he would curl up on your shoulder to sleep or crawl up your sleeve or inside your shirt to bed down on your belly. His tiny claws tickled. Maybe he was just trying to stay warm, but it seemed like more than that. As soon as you approached his cage, he became animated, expecting to be held.
I watch our three boys. They argue and struggle to dominate one another or the conversation or a game and it seems there is no peace to be found in them. Then one will march off to take up counsel with the dog. He gently strokes her head and a blanket of calmness shrouds both the boy and the dog. Peace is restored.
Perhaps all leaders that hold meetings should do so with each attendee holding a puppy? Imagine that for just a second. Just the thought brings a smile.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
8-11-13 RMB Cityfest
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
Today I went to a street fair called Cityfest. A few streets are closed off, bands play on a stage set up in the middle of the street and vendors set up shop in the center of the closed streets, selling everything from food to clothing, sunglasses to plants.
The music was a bit too loud. I must be getting old. I liked the feeling of community and watching everyone have fun. The streets were packed with people, yet they remained fairly clean, the streets – not the people, although I guess the people were clean too. Forgive my wandering, it’s late.
Cityfest took place very close to the location of the Pride Festival however, during Pride, flyers flew everywhere and assorted trash littered the ground. Interesting how locales take more care to pick up after themselves.
I stopped in at a coffee shop and sat near a window to observe the festivities. One passing couple fascinated me, two young males, mid to late twenties, both tall, handsome and well built. Both would have passed for straight and have been considered quite a catch by any young lady.
Seeing them hold hands and obviously enjoying one another’s company…it gave me hope that there is a better “normal” out there for us. I didn’t know why they intrigued me, until another male couple passed by right after they left the area. The new couple wore earrings, dressed more flamboyantly and had exaggerated movements.
It occurred to me that there is a big difference there. Much like the women that dress or act overtly gay…not butch, I understand that some women are more comfortable in a masculine style of dress…but there is another look, belts worn low, hair shaved on the side…or on one side, etc.
You mentioned the early days of women refusing to shave and wearing certain clothes to buck the establishment; to make a statement. You said, “You can see where it all came from though.”
I watched people pass, the statement they are making now is fed by designers, jewelers and tattoo artists. It’s not appealing to me, but as you said…I see where it comes from. I don’t see where it is going though, maybe because it’s not my style. Yet, I have been accused all my life of not dressing “right”. I thought it more along the lines of not dressing up, not conforming to the costumes we are expected to don, whether for work or holidays or dates, etc. So I don’t have room to talk one way or another, this is just my observations.
Something tells me it’s a phase, not a classification. Butch is a classification, but it too has degrees, from the norm of its type to the extreme costume of butch. The whole topic reminds me of teens trying on certain looks. As a society, we are testing our look, experimenting. That’s good, in my opinion.
The two men that caught my attention dressed in regular clothes with regular haircuts and mannerism … holding hands. It seemed real, not a costume at all. I like that look.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
8-5-13 RMB Brave
Dear Rita May Brown,
Tonight, after my walk, I finished the last few pages of Bingo and said goodbye to Nickel. She is a brave soul who’s picture you painted well. Brave may be too strong of a word for some, this wasn’t an action adventure, nor a murder mystery. It was a depiction of life. It didn’t dwell on its hardships, but it didn’t ignore them either. And sometimes in order to face life head on, it takes bravery. Nickel is brave, methinks it so.
Today emails from organizations say the next Olympic Games will be held in a country that upholds anti-LGBT laws, where people are arrested and fined if they show support for LGBT equality. This means that a person could be arrested for simply wearing a shirt supporting an organization promoting equality.
The threads in time and space, they are massive in their number. I speak out now, more than I once did, but not as much as some. I hear the echo of past atrocities and current injustice. It occurs to me how very brave you were to speak out when you did.
We think ourselves so bright, with our internet, with our America moving forward in leaps and bounds, but even this, even here, it is still a struggle and I am haunted by the thought that a turn of a screw could tilt the picture, obscure progress completely. Prejudice lurks among us, it’s ingrained in all of us, even the best of us to some degree. Something in the mind screams “No!” when we see two men holding hands.
It does not compute. It is not what we are taught from childhood to accept. It will never compute for many. Why should they even try to make it? It is not their life, not their problem.
The homeless on the street, the child without a parent, the outcast, the crippled and ruined…not our problem? We are one. We connect the past to the future, each life to one another. Trying to see any segment as not our problem is cutting off an arm and expecting to be whole. It is so obviously impossible to do, yet we attempt to do it daily.
If we ignore the problem it will go away. If we only surround ourselves with our own kind, the rest do not exist. Until they do. Until people stop talking and start fighting. Until injustice and discrimination is reasoned as reasonable to most, and thereby acceptable.
“In matters of conscience, the law of majority has no place.” ~Mahatma Gandhi
I recall the RMB letter about how we are sentient beings and wonder, do we have to experience discrimination before we can release our own prejudice?
All for one and one for all,
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
8-2-13 RMB Invincible
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
I had dinner with an old friend a couple of nights ago, actually she is an ex-boss, my first at my current place of employment. She was the first person to interview me, the first to take a chance on me and move me on to the next level of interviews. Now, a decade and a half later, I’m still there and she has moved on. It felt good to reconnect.
I like the emphasis you place on friends in your books, on human interaction in general. Gently indicating ways that we offer one another comfort, where we fall short of that and to what end our efforts eventually place us.
I’ve written a few poems about friends. This is one, written with one person in mind, yet it applies universally to all I call “friend”. I wrote it in 2005, long before I heard your name, yet it fits you as well as any other willing to stand by me.
INVINCIBLE ARE WE TWO
In your eyes, I saw a friend, before you ever spoke a word
Your voice held the echo of thoughts spoken, once only heard
as whispers in my mind, sheltered and warm,
until you returned to claim them, as your own.
Your presence brings a peace, a calm I crave,
Your strength is powerful, yet gentle, for one so brave.
There is comfort in your rhythm and familiar pace.
It is, as it once was, in another time and place
I have missed you, as though we met before.
With you nearby, I want to draw a sword,
to take all wrongs and make them right.
Together, we fight the good fight.
Sounds of battle, once in armor,
rage on today, amid the clamor.
You were brave then, too.
And I was stronger then, because of you.
Walk alongside this foolish one, slightly insane or truly wise,
who knows beyond reason, there is a friend in your eyes.
Invincible are we two.
My friend, I have missed you.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
8-1-13 RMB Maria Mitchell
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
I know you are not a computer person, I’m not either really. I took courses, thinking that any knowledge in the area would assist me using the computer in my future writing career and at any job I find myself in. I learned enough to be dangerous, enough to know how little I know and how much there is to know.
I marvel that you continue to write and be so prolific with your pen and paper. Your dedication to the craft inspires me.
One of the search engines on the internet is Google. This new age includes entities that we can reach into and explore our universe, much as an encyclopedia had done for centuries. As the encyclopedia progressed, from some long ago handwritten version to print, to print with color, etc., this new entity sometimes talks back, telling us something, before we ask anything.
Today Google says it is the birthday of Maria Mitchell. This is the first I’ve heard of Maria. She was born August 1, 1818 in Nantucket, Massachusetts and died June 28th, 1889 in Lynn, Massachusetts. Her field of study was Astronomy. That she had any field of study in that time is impressive. She discovered C/1847 T1, whatever that is, and she is known at the first female U.S. astronomer.
Here is what Google says about her: She became the first woman member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences in 1848 and of the American Association for the Advancement of Science in 1850. She later worked at the U.S. Nautical Almanac Office, calculating tables of positions of Venus, and traveled in Europe with Nathaniel Hawthorne and his family.She became professor of astronomy at Vassar College in 1865, the first person (male or female) appointed to the faculty. She was also named as Director of the Vassar College Observatory. After teaching there for some time, she learned that despite her reputation and experience, her salary was less than that of many younger male professors. She insisted on a salary increase, and got it.
It sounds like she fought many of the battles that you fought centuries later. Was your path made possible by her efforts? Was the progress you made a progression of her work?
I believe the answer to both queries is yes, most definitely. But here’s the thing that irks me, why must humans continue to fight the same battles, generation after generation. What does it take to look at another’s wisdom and apply it without having to experience the learning of the lesson?
Once we burn a finger on the stove, we learn not to touch it again, but each person must learn that for themselves. We tell children “Do as I say, not as I do” and, of course, they proceed to do what they see and not what they hear.
Is it because we are sentient beings, needing to feel before we can fully comprehend? If so, then I appreciate the arts all the more. Stories, movies, images, they can move us to feel. They can move us forward, without the loss of life and bodily scars.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
7-31-13 RMB Progress
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
It is all far from over. This is a transition period at work and one for me in my own life and in my own home as well, as I wait for the sister to come home from the hospital, hoping she will be strong enough to take care of herself, healthy enough to get stronger than she was before she became ill...on many levels.
The night I took her to the ER I had to help her dress. That scared me a bit. I did not sign on to be caretaker. I offered her a place to live, because that is what I had to give. I offered a spare room. I soon discovered she expected more, companionship.
Might seem like that would automatically accompany roommate status, but not with me. I was not looking for a roommate. There is a reason I’ve lived alone for a decade and a half. I crave solitude. When she complains to our “adult” sister, the one that helped raise me, she hears, “She’s the same way when she’s here at our house. She goes out on the front steps and reads or take walks or we find her sitting by herself in another room with a book.”
She convinces my roommate sister that it’s not her, it’s me. But there is still a certain level of socialization and caretaking expected of me. I comply, understanding that life sometimes places us where we need to be in order to grow.
At work, I train new employees and my work piles up. Stretch, grow, adapt, ugh!
As I walk around the parking structure at lunch, I read Wish You Were Here. I meet Mrs. Murphy the cat, Tucker the dog and Harry the postmistress. I find Rita Mae Brown’s signature humor and commentary on life, on people, our abilities and our shortfalls.
You expect a lot of your characters. You challenge them, as life challenges us. I like reading about how they make progress in their own worlds…and it helps me in some inexplicable way make progress in mine.
Onward and upward,
Monday, November 4, 2013
7-29-13 RMB Jillian Michaels
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
I am working out daily now. The weight loss has slowed considerably, but the toning continues. I shed fractions of pounds weekly now, instead of multiples of them.
I checked out DVD’s of Jillian Michaels’ workouts from the library for ideas. I liked it enough to go buy some of them and somewhere along the way, I looked her up on the internet. I knew she was a part of the Biggest Loser show. I watch very little TV and have not even seen a full episode, but I like how she comes across in the videos. I like her positive attitude and the no nonsense style in which she motivates others.
I was not aware that she is “family”, as some of my gay friends would say. Now, I Iike her more. Because now I know at least one struggle she faced. How we deal with it, from what angle we view the struggle, it differs in as many ways as there are individuals in the mix. Yet there is a certain commonality.
I often remind myself that those who have gone the farthest, achieved the most, often have come from the farthest back. It is as though a momentum builds that propels them beyond the average. She is definitely above average in many ways. She inspires others to be more than they would have been had she not touched their lives.
I think it is great that a certain type of person, once disparaged by most, and still disparaged by some, can be such an inspiration to many. I think it is sad that this is such a great thing. It means that we, those of us…all of us, that comprise humanity have had to come from that far behind and we have not yet found the best we can be. We have not yet risen above our own past. The momentum is building. Here’s hoping it carries us through…for one and all…for every one.
Friday, November 1, 2013
7-27-13 RMB Divine Elegance
Dear Rita Mae Brown,
Today I discovered a new letter on your website. What a treasure your words are, revealing the treasure that you are. Why?
Hmm, because there is a tint of mischief in you. Because, while the rest of us struggle with what ifs, you move on to what’s next. While we map and plan and think, you do. There is a divine elegance in your connection to nature, a purity about it.
In art class as a teen, we were assigned the task of drawing or painting a portrait. I painted my beloved dog, Lady. The subject a classmate chose was Rod Stewart, her own version of a portrait on one of his album covers. She adored him. I was not a big fan and didn’t see why on earth she would swoon so at the mention of his name. I barely knew her and yet, his affect on her was obvious and a bit over the top.
When we displayed our work, my Lady was barely adequate. I had hoped to convey her magic, how important she was to me, how important she was period. It got a decent grade. But, when I looked at the classmate’s re-creation of Rod, I was amazed. I had seen the album cover in stores. This was back when albums were in stores. I was not impressed, did not find him attractive at all.
However, the image she created, although it was technically the same image, captured everything magical about him that drew her in. Through her art, I saw the Rod that she saw and it all made sense. She smoothed his rough edges, made him beautiful. From that day forward, I saw Rod differently. I listened to his songs, his voice, more carefully. I became a fan.
Your words about nature, of life, have the same affect. Through your art, your words, we see nature as you do…and life makes more sense in a way.
Yes, I agree with your statement in the letter, “reading is breathing for the mind.” I’ve discovered a new author that I like, new to me, Gerri Hill. I’ve only read one book The Killing Room, but I have two others in line to read because I liked her style, her voice, that much. If you like Georgia Beers, I think you would like Gerri Hill. Her stories have more grit and are a bit darker, but the style is similar, at least in this one book. I enjoyed it.
I am also finishing Bingo, not quite ready to let it go, just reading a page here or there to prolong the association.
Many happy doodles,