Yesterday I met Sterling, a gifted memoir writer who has been learning to tell his story. I encouraged him to launch . . . not just a writing life, but a reading life.
When we read, we connect, absorb, grow. So much more becomes available to us than when it’s just us, with our limited experiences, our habitual words.
Sterling asked, then, for my stories.
What were the times you struggled in your life? Did you write about those? What about broken relationships, depression—dark times?
Yes, I wrote about those, I said.
(Those stories became fiction, or poems, much of the time.)
I told Sterling I would share some dark adult moments encapsulated in story.
- Feeling like I’m in the wrong life: BloodFeathers
- Looking back on a difficult family relationship: This Wintering House
- Midlife crisis: The Anchor and the Feather
- Shoulder injury during the pandemic: Wolfsblume
I’ve been writing about my traumatic childhood for decades now, such as my recent piece at The Good Life Review. After all these years, there’s distance, safety. But I love that Sterling challenged me to share things hard, recent, heartbreaking.
Oh how I love these brave writers in the world!
