The Kindness of Writers

After my rather down post last week, I have had wonderful messages of support and identification from so many of you. Thank you all. Good not to be alone, although I am sorry that we all have these blue periods. It has got me thinking about this thing that we do, this writing thing: when I sit down to write, it is me facing myself, and all my demons. I have the voices in my head, my "characters", but there is much more of me going down on the page than I wanted to admit, I think. That's why I can upset myself by what I write. But I like that. Because it means I am grappling with something, with questions, with life. I hope. I like the idea that I am delving, even though it is dark down there.

On a happier note, I have a lovely tale to share. I have two flash stories appearing in Southword's current issue and the magazine had a launch party last Thursday. It was in Ireland, and, not being anywhere near there, I asked my Dad and stepmother, who do live in Ireland, if they would go as my representatives. To be honest, I was in such a low place on Thursday, I had forgotten about it. And I also hadn't thought they would go.

But they did. And the minute they got home, my stepmother emailed me. They had a wonderful time, she said. They were introduced to Nuala, the editor of the magazine, who I have become very friendly with through cyberspace. And then, much to their - and my - surprise, when it came time for the readings, Nuala stood up and talked about me. She said how much she likes my writing, she mentioned that my Dad and stepmother had come to the launch. And then she read my story.

And, said my stepmother, she read it so beautifully it sounded like a poem. A poem.

When I read the email, I have to say that it made me cry. I had been feeling so depressed, so alone, so misunderstood, and this, to me, was a spark of light hundreds of miles away, a sign that there are connections that are just as real as the ones with people who are in your physical vicinity, connections based on more than just proximity. Nuala had taken a part of me and brought it to life in Ireland. And she had done that in front of my dad and stepmother, who were so proud and thrilled. I couldn't thank her enough for that. Thank you, Nuala. I just wish I could have heard you read my story!

So, here's to connections, whatever they are made of, to the threads that we send out into the world, hoping they will catch somewhere, hoping they will be caught and held.