"What a blessing it is to love books." (Elizabeth von Arnim, The Solitary Summer)
"One benefit of summer was that each day we had more light to read by." (Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle)
image: Richard Emil Miller
poetry&prose
creative ramblings & reverie
"What a blessing it is to love books." (Elizabeth von Arnim, The Solitary Summer)
"One benefit of summer was that each day we had more light to read by." (Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle)
image: Richard Emil Miller
Birdland Journal has published my strange non-fiction piece encapsulating these strange times, in their Summer 2020 issue, Writing in the Time of the Global Pandemic.
My piece, "At-Home and Far-Away," was conceived with Zoom and its little windows in mind. Those of us who watch Zoom strictly for the opera choruses with each member at home somewhere likely have a different vision of it than those who use it to talk to just a couple of others. To me, it seems a mosaic of dozens of little tiles from around the world—and my nonfiction piece is more or less the same, little vignettes from various places and years, here and elsewhere, fitting together however loosely as a mosaic of the last few months, the stories triggered by household objects enticing my thoughts far and wide.
My research tells me that in Zoom terms it's "gallery" rather than mosaic, and not windows or tiles but participants or thumbnails. But that's the idea, and my text would ideally be in three columns to more closely carry out the concept (if that didn't just distract from the sense of the language).
image: David Wakely, Prayer Flags, Birdland Journal
James Merrill wrote in his memoir, A Different Person (1993), about visiting a doctor about his depression, saying that he didn't know how to live or how to love, he just knew how to write a poem. The doctor, he said, "listened closely, then acted with undreamed-of kindness and dispatch. 'Come with me,' he said, in a flash ushering me out of his downtown office and onto the back seat of a smart little pale-green motorscooter. I put my arms, as instructed, about his stout, gray-suited person, and off we went in sunlight, through traffic, under trees, past architecture, over the muddy river to lunch." (The Writer’s Almanac, 3/3/3)Our hope is that this collection of writing will give readers the same je ne sais quois that brief but immense lunchtime voyage gave us—encouragement for going on; inspiration to do something simply good for ourselves each ordinary day; a smile; a moment of respite or recognition; time out from global numbing; a pause for weirdness, wonder, and delight. We want to share what gives us pleasure or some keener satisfaction putting down as well as picking up.