I have clapped several times form your Raisin' Up Catfish stories. Powerful, emotional, revealing, wise, a picture of a time and place known to few. So, take a bow!
It is the stories that draw us to each other, those told in words, those told in pictures, it is they that live on, eternal, while we, who entice them onto the page, through our lens, from our pencil, are merely transient. The hearts, the comments, the applause, they are for the stories first, and we are bathed in their reflected light for a little while, as humble conduits 💛 much love x
A beautiful compliment to an essay I’m currently exploring on the value of anonymity. And I don’t want to defend it for the obvious reasons—being able to walk a street uninterrupted, the freedom of no expectation)—but this more subtle and profound point you address, that “what” is sometimes more important than “who.” Because guess what? This elusive “who” is in actuality a quantum entanglement of infinite beings and experiences anyway! Why should we ever assign ownership to anything we create? We are multitudes.:)
Your comment is a perfect coda to David's essay, that elusive 'who' gracing the pen with words offers a new creation leaving the author in wiser humility.
What a lovely comment. Sometimes the "elusive who" has a name, and today it's Leslie Rasmussen. Just subscribed to you and am eager to read more of your generous musings.
My dear friend, I’m going to a women’s conference this weekend and have been asked to contribute to a poetry writing lecture. May I quote you? I will absolutely use your name and reference.
Since we were practically just kids, dear Sheila we have been standing along the sidelines of one another's lives, cheering and shouting encouragements, and at least on my part, standing somewhat in awe. This sounds wonderful. I'm excited for you. And it would be my great honor to be quoted by my favorite poet-shaman.
You ARE wonderful, David! Your stories are always pure poetic joy, regardless of the topic. Whether a deep dive into consciousness, or noting a lack thereof...Or something that serves as a much-needed salve for the soul...Or perhaps something expanding focus on connectedness...Or sometimes just sheer glorious beauty. All of your offering are a treasure and a blessing to me, for which I'm mighty grateful.
What kindness you bring to this little table in the corner, Mary Karen. Thank you for your careful, generous readings and for making the time to comment.
though ...I'm a little horrified to think that in my snark I may have signaled the very sorts of behaviors I was poking fun at, slathering on the "Oh my gosh..." while passively passing the plate, trolling for attestments of praise and attaboys.
“a gust of wind across outspread wings that sends the reader soaring…”
I also envision this master weaver, releasing his words into the wild . I am imagining that photo was taken on a day you watched one of your stories take off , riding the thermals to destinations unknown. I, for one have a similar look while I wait patiently for one to land. Sometimes they must head north through the Northern Cascades, pick up a few extra words, eventually arriving in Vermont.
So, I continue to write and keep ideas on a legal pad. I might offer some poems and stories on Substrack. now that I've learned to be extra careful about doubting their (my words) worth, and mine, amid such talent. When I do, I don't wish to be selfish or let my ego go astray❣️
Bravo! .... bravo! (sound of tumultuous applause). Oh. Hang on. I really should read things before I comment ;-) But while you're there - you just gotta tell me what moisturiser you are using. Must be the good stuff :-)
I'm trying just now to imagine anything more delightful than being on the receiving end of a bit of your playful smartassery, David. "...you just gotta tell me what moisturiser you are using. Must be the good stuff :-)"
I love a world that imagined you friend, that wry twinkle in your poet eye ...and then allowed our paths to cross.
I feel the same way about my work on Substack.And I don't even have the money to support other brilliant writers and creators. I wish I had an endless flow of money to give to others when I feel inspired by their work.
As far as visibility, I can relate to feeling invisible too. I grew up with narcissists who took all the glory and pushed me to the side. This didn't change in adulthood.
On YouTube superficial nonsense receives hundreds of thousands of subscribers where talented and brilliant hosts are ignored and pushed aside. Perhaps, the average person is too ignorant or untrained about what is true talent. They only look at the numbers.
I'm reading notes here of other talented people also saying that they're not receiving enough exposure. Sadly, I was referred to Substack by a friend who thought I could finally get my writing talent out in the world. Nope. He's my only paid sub.
I've seen some Substackers revamping their offerings and restructuring. Honestly, I wish I knew the recipe for success.
A well told story … words stitched together with emotion and memory, so often found in your Garden of Imagination. Words not commonly used like ‘piffle’ bring that gust of wind, ruffling the feathers of my own memories … my Dad, long gone, still writes stories in my mind.
Love this, Julie. An honor to be chosen, indeed. And when one sees it thus, one is ever so much more careful to lean in and do the work, to be worthy of it.
I have clapped several times form your Raisin' Up Catfish stories. Powerful, emotional, revealing, wise, a picture of a time and place known to few. So, take a bow!
The opinion of your writing that matters the most is your own...
It is the stories that draw us to each other, those told in words, those told in pictures, it is they that live on, eternal, while we, who entice them onto the page, through our lens, from our pencil, are merely transient. The hearts, the comments, the applause, they are for the stories first, and we are bathed in their reflected light for a little while, as humble conduits 💛 much love x
"...while we, who entice them onto the page, through our lens, from our pencil, are merely transient."
Amen.
A beautiful compliment to an essay I’m currently exploring on the value of anonymity. And I don’t want to defend it for the obvious reasons—being able to walk a street uninterrupted, the freedom of no expectation)—but this more subtle and profound point you address, that “what” is sometimes more important than “who.” Because guess what? This elusive “who” is in actuality a quantum entanglement of infinite beings and experiences anyway! Why should we ever assign ownership to anything we create? We are multitudes.:)
Your comment is a perfect coda to David's essay, that elusive 'who' gracing the pen with words offers a new creation leaving the author in wiser humility.
What a lovely comment. Sometimes the "elusive who" has a name, and today it's Leslie Rasmussen. Just subscribed to you and am eager to read more of your generous musings.
Thank you, Kimberly, for your response and subscribing!
Love how this place can work sometimes
Waiter! I would like two of whatever that is Kimberly is drinking. Neat.
We are.
Indeed.
Big smile here, friend.
Haha! Water and a mouthful of juniper pollen at the moment!
I wish! It looked like it was snowing moments ago, swirls of it all around my head (and now inside me.) I may sprout a tree from my mouth next spring.
Juniper pollen... like... on purpose?
My dear friend, I’m going to a women’s conference this weekend and have been asked to contribute to a poetry writing lecture. May I quote you? I will absolutely use your name and reference.
Since we were practically just kids, dear Sheila we have been standing along the sidelines of one another's lives, cheering and shouting encouragements, and at least on my part, standing somewhat in awe. This sounds wonderful. I'm excited for you. And it would be my great honor to be quoted by my favorite poet-shaman.
Thank you, my friend!💕
You ARE wonderful, David! Your stories are always pure poetic joy, regardless of the topic. Whether a deep dive into consciousness, or noting a lack thereof...Or something that serves as a much-needed salve for the soul...Or perhaps something expanding focus on connectedness...Or sometimes just sheer glorious beauty. All of your offering are a treasure and a blessing to me, for which I'm mighty grateful.
What kindness you bring to this little table in the corner, Mary Karen. Thank you for your careful, generous readings and for making the time to comment.
though ...I'm a little horrified to think that in my snark I may have signaled the very sorts of behaviors I was poking fun at, slathering on the "Oh my gosh..." while passively passing the plate, trolling for attestments of praise and attaboys.
“a gust of wind across outspread wings that sends the reader soaring…”
I also envision this master weaver, releasing his words into the wild . I am imagining that photo was taken on a day you watched one of your stories take off , riding the thermals to destinations unknown. I, for one have a similar look while I wait patiently for one to land. Sometimes they must head north through the Northern Cascades, pick up a few extra words, eventually arriving in Vermont.
Always sending me “soaring“.
You, dear Lor are a steady, generous and playful soul. The world I now know is kinder because of you. It does not escape this bumbler's notice.
Gratitude.
So, I continue to write and keep ideas on a legal pad. I might offer some poems and stories on Substrack. now that I've learned to be extra careful about doubting their (my words) worth, and mine, amid such talent. When I do, I don't wish to be selfish or let my ego go astray❣️
I look forward to your debut, Kathleen. Deep breaths.
Bravo! .... bravo! (sound of tumultuous applause). Oh. Hang on. I really should read things before I comment ;-) But while you're there - you just gotta tell me what moisturiser you are using. Must be the good stuff :-)
I'm trying just now to imagine anything more delightful than being on the receiving end of a bit of your playful smartassery, David. "...you just gotta tell me what moisturiser you are using. Must be the good stuff :-)"
I love a world that imagined you friend, that wry twinkle in your poet eye ...and then allowed our paths to cross.
I feel the same way about my work on Substack.And I don't even have the money to support other brilliant writers and creators. I wish I had an endless flow of money to give to others when I feel inspired by their work.
As far as visibility, I can relate to feeling invisible too. I grew up with narcissists who took all the glory and pushed me to the side. This didn't change in adulthood.
On YouTube superficial nonsense receives hundreds of thousands of subscribers where talented and brilliant hosts are ignored and pushed aside. Perhaps, the average person is too ignorant or untrained about what is true talent. They only look at the numbers.
I'm reading notes here of other talented people also saying that they're not receiving enough exposure. Sadly, I was referred to Substack by a friend who thought I could finally get my writing talent out in the world. Nope. He's my only paid sub.
I've seen some Substackers revamping their offerings and restructuring. Honestly, I wish I knew the recipe for success.
Make sure your stories are a success. Everything else is a goo-gah.
My stories are a success in my mind but I wish others would enjoy the stories too. I've never followed trends and I write from my heart.
Wonderful words reminding us that the ego does not have to be the story - such a good practice in becoming a better storyteller, and a better human!
While we are still alive we can continue to learn …and unlearn. We can get better at this thing we love.
Thank you, Lili.
A well told story … words stitched together with emotion and memory, so often found in your Garden of Imagination. Words not commonly used like ‘piffle’ bring that gust of wind, ruffling the feathers of my own memories … my Dad, long gone, still writes stories in my mind.
“… my Dad, long gone, still writes stories in my mind.”
I could sit with this one sentence all day long.
Big grateful hug, dear Jann.
I often feel, as T.S. Eliot wrote,
Here I am, an old man in a dry month, Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.
Apologies to Eliot, but to entertain myself (assuage the mind-numbing), sometimes I change the word “boy” to bot.
Dammit, Mack. When I grow up I want to be as salty and fucking cool as you.
Adore!!!
j’adore back atcha David.
Than you for being an advocate of story, David. It’s what we’re made of, our bones the way I see it.
I love this way of seeing, Nancy. Thank you for such an affirming note of camaraderie.
Bravo for this: “stories have their rights, too.” This reminds me what an honor it is to be chosen by a story to tell it as best we can. 💚
Love this, Julie. An honor to be chosen, indeed. And when one sees it thus, one is ever so much more careful to lean in and do the work, to be worthy of it.
Yes. To be worthy of it.