i'm only getting more interesting
(and i hope you are too)
Maybe we peak at fourteen and gradually become less interesting as we age, my friend mused.
I said I am determined to become more and more interesting until the day I die.
Write that down, he said, eyes twinkling, and so I did. I am. I have. I put pen to lined paper in bed one night, wearied body framed between dim lamp and feverish child. If a resolve could be dipped in ink, i’s dotted and t’s crossed with a firmer-than-necessary press, this one has been, because I mean it with all my heart and how does one record such an urgent and necessary thing on a computer? I cannot, will not, dismiss myself so easily.
Paper first. Laptop second.
The laptop is mostly for you, dear reader, that I might maintain this odd arrangement we’ve nonverbally agreed upon. I show up to write and you show up to take what you want and leave the rest behind. I never know which formation of letters will reach out their skeletal arms and draw you near — or which I think might, but in fact do not.
My vow is a cruel one for a writer to make, because as soon as I try to become more interesting to you I will immediately become less so. And that’s as it should be. The only one I can amuse on purpose is myself.
So I laid bare-belly on the sheets, sleepy from the rhythm of my son’s warm snore, and wrote words on a slice of dead tree that you now read on a glowing box hundreds or thousands of miles away. And maybe this whole page has been a dud to you, but it has amused me and sometimes that is enough.
No moral, no proverb, no “point.”
I’m learning that sometimes pleasure is enough.
Winter is for reading
(here’s where my nose has been lately)
I bought Gingerbread by Helen Oyeyemi on a whim at my local bookshop not long ago, based almost entirely by the pretty cover (yes, I judge them) and the premise of a modern folk tale. But I’ll admit, I can’t seem to get into it. Can someone who has read it tell me it’s worth it to keep going??
Foster by Claire Keegan is a novella that you could probably read in one sitting, yet has been on my nightstand for nearly a year. I’m finally starting it and so far love the Irish setting, plus child narrators are always my favorites.
After Chine McDonald shared on Instagram that she had enjoyed Rewilding Motherhood, I found and ordered the book she authored in 2021, God is Not a White Man. Can’t wait to dig in when it arrives next week!
When I tuck into bed each night, I’ve been revisiting Kate Baer’s And Yet because a poem a day keeps the soul from drying out and withering up in a desert of despair.
I was so excited to see that Cole Arthur Riley’s book Black Liturgies just made the New York Times bestseller list! What a well deserved feat for an incredible writer.
Pretty sure I recommend this novel every winter, but Eowyn Ivey’s The Snow Child will probably always be my favorite read in these ice covered months.
That’s it from me today. Here’s a little slice of Instagram joy to send you on your way.
‘til next time,
Shannon
‘No moral, no proverb, no “point.”’ Oh yeah, we can read and write for fun. It’s easy to forget!
Pleasure is enough, especially when we don't get enough of it. Got to work on that sentence, or maybe not...As you commented once in a workshop, we should write about our passions. Passion and pleasure seem to have similar meanings, so write what is interesting to you. Thanks for the book recommendations - and the comment about reading a poem each day. Good idea! I have been drawn to the poetry of Edwina Gateley. Perhaps her work can guide me during the upcoming Lenten season. Go snuggle with one of your pets - and other loved ones!