You might remember me from days long past at the U ... the ESAC, Barry Weller's class, the writer's group with MC, Shades, anyways, I loved your work back then and it continues to enchant me. One of your posts here, the one that mentioned those not yours to be dear to, really spoke to me at that point, on that day, I needed that.
Wow! Long time ago. Nice to hear from you. What's new in your world--with your words?
Today, by the way, this post was just what I needed. Little bit blue and faraway from so much. (Utah girls don't recover the transplant well, even if their new lives are pretty in their own ways.)
I’m working as a technical writer/editor. You’ll like the story of how I got here ...
After that ESAC year, I dropped out of the U with writer’s block and then wandered for awhile ... had a baby and ended up doing daycare during the day and bartending at night in this teeny logging town on the western coast of Washington state. That was my limbo ... not bad, but not good either and no real light at the end of the tunnel.
And then one day, sorting through mail, I opened my monthly QPB catalog and found an announcement that you had won their short story contest. Your story was lovely ... Moses swiping a piece of the stone tablet ... slipping it into his pocket like a credit card ... your metaphors rock. So anyway, there you were winning contests and there I was tending babies and drunks and I was suddenly jealous ... not just of that acclaim, but of the way you were working with words, that you were actually doing it!
That jealousy shook me out of my just-get-by torpor and -- long and short ... I finished my English degree, went to journalism school, wrote for some weeklies, edited a magazine and now I’m writing technical stuff and working on my master’s ... and putting the finishing touches on my feisty, freaky-beautiful teenage daughter.
Your work stays with me ... that poem you wrote back in the day about your very ill friend ...the catbox heralding you, the sentence you didn’t have the heart to complete. And your Timbre story, about questions of loving and love (how many kinds do you think there are?). My appetite for this stuff is insatiable. I’ll be lurking for more.
God, I don't even know what to say. You never think anyone reads anything. People who claim to love and be madly in love with you shelve your stuff. You forget your catbox poem (where are those old files and why do I suddenly wish to read them?) Then someone from a gazillion lifetimes ago writes you (and doesn't it seem that long ago, that many "us"es back? This means more to me esp. now when I want to be putting finishing touches on some daughter or the life that includes that, house, someone and always or the belief in it, the promise toward--however sincere or impossible. Sigh... So I posted a poem just for you. I am so glad that your (impressive and envy-inducing) life is going well and if I had a hand--in any way, I am thrilled at that. If you don't have Intaglio, I would love to send you a signed copy. If you do, as Sappho says: "bless you and bless you!" Either way, bless you.
I would love to see photographs and/or words from you. And thank you for all of this. It's been a little uphilly lately for us all...
4 comments:
Hi Sophia,
You might remember me from days long past at the U ... the ESAC, Barry Weller's class, the writer's group with MC, Shades, anyways, I loved your work back then and it continues to enchant me. One of your posts here, the one that mentioned those not yours to be dear to, really spoke to me at that point, on that day, I needed that.
Thank you for all your words. :)
Heather Bloyer
Wow! Long time ago. Nice to hear from you. What's new in your world--with your words?
Today, by the way, this post was just what I needed. Little bit blue and faraway from so much. (Utah girls don't recover the transplant well, even if their new lives are pretty in their own ways.)
Seriously, thanks so much for these kind words.
s
You’re welcome and hang in there.
I’m working as a technical writer/editor. You’ll like the story of how I got here ...
After that ESAC year, I dropped out of the U with writer’s block and then wandered for awhile ... had a baby and ended up doing daycare during the day and bartending at night in this teeny logging town on the western coast of Washington state. That was my limbo ... not bad, but not good either and no real light at the end of the tunnel.
And then one day, sorting through mail, I opened my monthly QPB catalog and found an announcement that you had won their short story contest. Your story was lovely ... Moses swiping a piece of the stone tablet ... slipping it into his pocket like a credit card ... your metaphors rock. So anyway, there you were winning contests and there I was tending babies and drunks and I was suddenly jealous ... not just of that acclaim, but of the way you were working with words, that you were actually doing it!
That jealousy shook me out of my just-get-by torpor and -- long and short ... I finished my English degree, went to journalism school, wrote for some weeklies, edited a magazine and now I’m writing technical stuff and working on my master’s ... and putting the finishing touches on my feisty, freaky-beautiful teenage daughter.
Your work stays with me ... that poem you wrote back in the day about your very ill friend ...the catbox heralding you, the sentence you didn’t have the heart to complete. And your Timbre story, about questions of loving and love (how many kinds do you think there are?). My appetite for this stuff is insatiable. I’ll be lurking for more.
God, I don't even know what to say. You never think anyone reads anything. People who claim to love and be madly in love with you shelve your stuff. You forget your catbox poem (where are those old files and why do I suddenly wish to read them?) Then someone from a gazillion lifetimes ago writes you (and doesn't it seem that long ago, that many "us"es back? This means more to me esp. now when I want to be putting finishing touches on some daughter or the life that includes that, house, someone and always or the belief in it, the promise toward--however sincere or impossible. Sigh... So I posted a poem just for you. I am so glad that your (impressive and envy-inducing) life is going well and if I had a hand--in any way, I am thrilled at that. If you don't have Intaglio, I would love to send you a signed copy. If you do, as Sappho says: "bless you and bless you!" Either way, bless you.
I would love to see photographs and/or words from you. And thank you for all of this. It's been a little uphilly lately for us all...
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