February 15, 2014 –
It’s snowing. Nothing new here for this winter. We have about two feet of snow on the ground. My husband has shoveled and roof-raked. We were plowed after the big storm on Thursday and yesterday was Valentine’s Day, so we went out for dinner. Surf and turf and flourless chocolate cake.
Woke up this morning thinking about how to and what to blog and still trying to find my way around this very unfamiliar territory. The snow of years has made my mental acuity a bit uneasy on what used to be familiar trails around my own woods, the paths of my own brain.
But this page of this blog is my proof that I can still navigate a strange, new place, like figuring out how to structure this website, and what to put in it.
Greetings from Bump Hill has been a file on my computer for years — a collection of the stories that may be building steam here in the office:
This one got published last month–a finalist for the Open Prose Competition at Tupelo Press on their new on-line quarterly:
It is one of several stories about my “unfortunate list” – a sequence of too many people I have known, been close to, who have killed themselves. “Greetings from Bump Hill: where things go dark in the night” is simply a collection of those kinds of tales and others that in some way haunt but also edify.
I teach memoir writing to adults in three or four classes. The constant harping my classes have to put up with focuses on a few repetitive things:
– Get rid of your stuff – writing about it is a good way to proceed.
– Write down the sad, hurtful stuff, too
– Tell your own truth
I teach writing, because writing can heal, can bring grace and peace to the uneasy, aging brain.
That’s enough for today.
Go in peace to love and serve the world…