Your clothesline tells the whole tale. A comet has streaked into your life, unbidden, and you're handling it well ... really, really well. Your mind is intact and you will be writing books again. I know it. We all know it. ❤️
I’m reading your honest letter, for the first time, now. It’s 3:37 am in Kansas. I’m awake because I’m worried. I can’t sleep because my dreams, memoir dreams, wake me. None of this makes sense to anyone, unless trudging reluctantly into advanced age is a current “thing”. Then, your letter makes all the sense in the world.. Please write what you’re able to, when you are able, and we’ll be here to read it. You taught me how to make journaling useful. Habitual. Meaningful. Journaling is helping me to keep my feet on the ground and my mind moving forward. Your workshops and courses provide a lifeline leading to my inner soul.
Trackless Wild. Rhizosphere. Journey in Place. Workshops. Courses. You’ve mastered the Yamas. You’re going to be ok. Life is like Jambalaya. The more of your heart that goes into it, the better it will be. I’m happy to wait for that next book, Janisse.
Janisse, I met the writer Elizabeth Spencer when she was what I considered (at the time) old: Maybe 70? She went on to continue publishing novels and short stories, and her post-Guggenheim novel, Light in the Piazza and other Italian Stories was turned into a Broadway musical. She continued to publish stories at 93. She died at 98. “Every day,” she said, “I try to write something commendable."
At 51, I’m already realizing that there are stories I won’t write - literally and metaphorically. I’m trying to frame the ones I think I’ll manage to create as the ones that are *really* important, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lost time. I’ve written for decades, though very little of the whole has been released where others can read it.
I feel your pain… And I’m also comforted by your words, by the sense that lots of things are possible, even when they’re not what we might have planned.
I am always inspired and moved by your writing, no matter the topic. You leave me with the perpetual "writers challenge"--what to say. I hear your yearning in the midst of distraction and wish for you great peace. We are writers when we write. I remind you of a koan you already know well. May it be a gentle reminder to let go. And please know you are loved and respected.
A man was walking through the forest when he encountered a ferocious tiger. To escape, he ran, but the tiger pursued him. Soon, he came to the edge of a cliff. With no other choice, he grabbed a vine and climbed down. As he hung there, he looked below and saw another tiger waiting at the bottom of the cliff.
If that weren’t enough, two mice, one white and one black, began gnawing at the vine he was clinging to. At that moment, the man noticed a wild strawberry growing nearby. Holding onto the vine with one hand, he reached out with the other, plucked the strawberry, and ate it.
Barry said this, amongst many, many other impactful words: "We have a way of talking about beauty as though beauty were only skin deep. But real beauty is so deep you have to move into darkness in order to understand what beauty is."
Thinking of you, with your dear, lovely, wise and wonderful heart and soul. ❤️
I am feeling similar in this time of grief. It is hard to write. I journal and publish sloppy substacks just to stay on track. But I am not being the writer I want to be. I am trying to remind myself "there is a time for everything under the sun" and this is my grieving time. This is your Fawn time. And what you are doing with her is far more valuable than the one or two books you won't get written because of this time. I am grateful for your presence in the writing world and I know there is more to come than it feels like at this moment.
Even if you aren't working on your book ideas, you are working with words. After my son took his life, for a year, I stared at my computer screen. Time, sweet friend, give yourself time to find new footing. In my geology classes, I learned the earth's magnetic poles reversed every X amount of years. Your poles flipped.
I love these late night reads that cajole me into action. I am at heart a night person. Your honest expressions of the challenges and dreams you are struggling to maintain reach me deep. I dream also of rejoining the words and your skilled coaching as we work through our own myriad of struggles knowing that we are still fortunate to live in this world with gifted writers and teachers like you. Meanwhile, I’m getting inspired again by these words, your beautiful life, and your relentless courage to face the day with love, compassion, gratitude and honesty. Thank you for the spirit you cast into the world.
Oh Janisse… having felt some of those same big feelings while talking care of my mom with Alzheimer’s, I send you much love. The only way forward is through ❤️
Janisse, you are always a writer, even when you don't feel like one. Trust your creative source. She doesn't abandon us but only goes deep inside to regenerate and create herself anew. When she arises within you again, you'll have access to all the beautiful words you are longing for now. Trust her.
Thank you for your honest reflections on your life and life in general. We show up and we do the best we can. Thank you for your insights. PS Structure and organization definitely help us do our best! Hugs to you.
I feel this. Our foster son came back to live with us a month ago very suddenly. It’s not the same as a baby but he’s 9, so it is life altering right now. Maybe you won’t write as much but what you write hits home.
Otter.ai is a dictation to transcription program I use when I’m driving and gave an idea for a story, essay, book I’m writing or simply my grocery list.
I record, it transcribes, and once I’m no longer behind the wheel send the transcription to email, then download into word, where I edit when I have time.
It’s not perfect but may help out! And don’t worry about bring 63 with unrealized dreams…you have decades to go and she’ll be more independent my soon or in preschool. I’m starting a career writing books and sh
And…..you are ALWAYS a writer. It’s something that you ARE, whether your pen is moving or not. But because you are a writer, that’s what you want and need to do…
This above posted before I was done! Yikes, ghosts in the iPhone. I was beginning to say above that I’m starting a new career writing books after 2 decades channeling my writing skills into marketing copy. The trick is not giving up your dreams.
Your clothesline tells the whole tale. A comet has streaked into your life, unbidden, and you're handling it well ... really, really well. Your mind is intact and you will be writing books again. I know it. We all know it. ❤️
I’m reading your honest letter, for the first time, now. It’s 3:37 am in Kansas. I’m awake because I’m worried. I can’t sleep because my dreams, memoir dreams, wake me. None of this makes sense to anyone, unless trudging reluctantly into advanced age is a current “thing”. Then, your letter makes all the sense in the world.. Please write what you’re able to, when you are able, and we’ll be here to read it. You taught me how to make journaling useful. Habitual. Meaningful. Journaling is helping me to keep my feet on the ground and my mind moving forward. Your workshops and courses provide a lifeline leading to my inner soul.
Trackless Wild. Rhizosphere. Journey in Place. Workshops. Courses. You’ve mastered the Yamas. You’re going to be ok. Life is like Jambalaya. The more of your heart that goes into it, the better it will be. I’m happy to wait for that next book, Janisse.
Janisse, I met the writer Elizabeth Spencer when she was what I considered (at the time) old: Maybe 70? She went on to continue publishing novels and short stories, and her post-Guggenheim novel, Light in the Piazza and other Italian Stories was turned into a Broadway musical. She continued to publish stories at 93. She died at 98. “Every day,” she said, “I try to write something commendable."
I LOVE this. Hope for us all!
Yes! Now, Elizabeth had a comfortable life that did not include feeding horses, farming, and raising a grandchild. But she created a model for us all!
At 51, I’m already realizing that there are stories I won’t write - literally and metaphorically. I’m trying to frame the ones I think I’ll manage to create as the ones that are *really* important, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lost time. I’ve written for decades, though very little of the whole has been released where others can read it.
I feel your pain… And I’m also comforted by your words, by the sense that lots of things are possible, even when they’re not what we might have planned.
I am always inspired and moved by your writing, no matter the topic. You leave me with the perpetual "writers challenge"--what to say. I hear your yearning in the midst of distraction and wish for you great peace. We are writers when we write. I remind you of a koan you already know well. May it be a gentle reminder to let go. And please know you are loved and respected.
A man was walking through the forest when he encountered a ferocious tiger. To escape, he ran, but the tiger pursued him. Soon, he came to the edge of a cliff. With no other choice, he grabbed a vine and climbed down. As he hung there, he looked below and saw another tiger waiting at the bottom of the cliff.
If that weren’t enough, two mice, one white and one black, began gnawing at the vine he was clinging to. At that moment, the man noticed a wild strawberry growing nearby. Holding onto the vine with one hand, he reached out with the other, plucked the strawberry, and ate it.
It was delicious.
Chip Bell, nice to see you here! A great story.
Janisse, this morning I listened to an interview Bill Moyers did with Barry Lopez. https://billmoyers.com/content/author-barry-lopez/
Barry said this, amongst many, many other impactful words: "We have a way of talking about beauty as though beauty were only skin deep. But real beauty is so deep you have to move into darkness in order to understand what beauty is."
Thinking of you, with your dear, lovely, wise and wonderful heart and soul. ❤️
That's so wonderful, Jenny.
I am feeling similar in this time of grief. It is hard to write. I journal and publish sloppy substacks just to stay on track. But I am not being the writer I want to be. I am trying to remind myself "there is a time for everything under the sun" and this is my grieving time. This is your Fawn time. And what you are doing with her is far more valuable than the one or two books you won't get written because of this time. I am grateful for your presence in the writing world and I know there is more to come than it feels like at this moment.
Even if you aren't working on your book ideas, you are working with words. After my son took his life, for a year, I stared at my computer screen. Time, sweet friend, give yourself time to find new footing. In my geology classes, I learned the earth's magnetic poles reversed every X amount of years. Your poles flipped.
I love these late night reads that cajole me into action. I am at heart a night person. Your honest expressions of the challenges and dreams you are struggling to maintain reach me deep. I dream also of rejoining the words and your skilled coaching as we work through our own myriad of struggles knowing that we are still fortunate to live in this world with gifted writers and teachers like you. Meanwhile, I’m getting inspired again by these words, your beautiful life, and your relentless courage to face the day with love, compassion, gratitude and honesty. Thank you for the spirit you cast into the world.
You’re holding lots of disparate desires. You know what they are. You’re honest with yourself about them. That’s personal power at work.
I also hang my laundry but my line is not as colorful as yours:).
thank you for letting us into your life, Janisse. Wishing you all the good things you desire
Oh Janisse… having felt some of those same big feelings while talking care of my mom with Alzheimer’s, I send you much love. The only way forward is through ❤️
Janisse, you are always a writer, even when you don't feel like one. Trust your creative source. She doesn't abandon us but only goes deep inside to regenerate and create herself anew. When she arises within you again, you'll have access to all the beautiful words you are longing for now. Trust her.
Thank you for your honest reflections on your life and life in general. We show up and we do the best we can. Thank you for your insights. PS Structure and organization definitely help us do our best! Hugs to you.
I feel this. Our foster son came back to live with us a month ago very suddenly. It’s not the same as a baby but he’s 9, so it is life altering right now. Maybe you won’t write as much but what you write hits home.
Otter.ai is a dictation to transcription program I use when I’m driving and gave an idea for a story, essay, book I’m writing or simply my grocery list.
I record, it transcribes, and once I’m no longer behind the wheel send the transcription to email, then download into word, where I edit when I have time.
It’s not perfect but may help out! And don’t worry about bring 63 with unrealized dreams…you have decades to go and she’ll be more independent my soon or in preschool. I’m starting a career writing books and sh
And…..you are ALWAYS a writer. It’s something that you ARE, whether your pen is moving or not. But because you are a writer, that’s what you want and need to do…
This above posted before I was done! Yikes, ghosts in the iPhone. I was beginning to say above that I’m starting a new career writing books after 2 decades channeling my writing skills into marketing copy. The trick is not giving up your dreams.