To ask why is to go deeper, to seek the significant and look for connections. It takes time to draw meaning out of an experience, but it’s worth it – for ourselves and for the stories we’re wanting to tell.
Posts tagged ‘writing’
Carrying me through each step was the gift that Book Passage gave me, and others: assurance that we are on the right path. That every page written, every risk taken, and every dream believed are actually leading somewhere.
It’s as we’re all circling up in the ICU waiting room that my answer comes: Even when I’m not a traveler, I am still a daughter, a sister, a niece, a cousin, and – this one being especially true today – a granddaughter.
One month ago, I was overwhelmed with everything I didn’t have in place with my book; now, I am leaving Goa not just with a completed book proposal, but also with a clear sense of direction.
Last week I realized what exactly these last four weeks have been for me – a kind of do-it-yourself writing retreat. I didn’t need to wait for an official fellowship; all it took was me carving out the time to come to Goa and get to work.
Writing a book proposal requires a different part of your brain – not the fun part that concerns itself with creating prose as pretty as poetry. Rather, it’s all about wrangling the many parts of your book into a whole.
And usually it’s right then – as my face is turned to the sun and my arms and legs are moving in great big circles through the Arabian Sea – that it hits me, every day: This is my life.
“Let’s take you home,” Hannah said, and I swear to you, I could’ve cried. And after an hour of unpacking and setting out knick-knacks, I did cry, just a little, and they were all tears of big, huge, inexpressible joy.
McCurry’s post was not only beautiful and timely, but humbling – a reminder that waiting is a part of our humanity. A reminder that there are millions of people waiting for things far more pressing than a reply from an agent.
“These are called suckers,” my dad tells me, pointing to a small shoot on the tomato plant growing in the fork between two branches. Strangely, the more I learn about pruning these suckers, the more I learn about the writing life.