Welcome to the website that is perhaps my Letter to the World, which has indeed written back, once in a while, despite my late start on the correspondence. My real work began when I was more than half-way through what's turning out to be a long life. Now, actuarially, time is getting short. So I'm gathering up as many bread crumbs as I can find of that late-begun work and leaving them here, in the vast forest that is the internet, in hopes they may be of value on your path to a long and creative life. There's a lot here. Do wander. Welcome to it all.

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Latest Posts

OK, Equivox just got even more amazing. Another speaker has signed on: Danai Gurira. Otherwise known as Okoye, the warrior leader in Black Panther and, as a playwright, a Hedgebrook alum. How exciting is that? Wish I could host you but I'm broke so do get your ticket here: http://www.hedgebrook.org/equivox/

Robyn

“For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.” ― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

Ah yes. Reading them, holding them in your hands, re-arranging them, lending them to friends, living surrounded by them... these doors into other worlds from this one where you are. And then there's writing them. I see my name on covers and think, Really? I wrote all those words? Yeah. I did. ��https://tinyurl.com/y9p9xa64� https://tinyurl.com/y7fy6to5

One of my favorite Edna St. Vincent Millay poems, on her birthday. Thanks, Sam Hamill, for the reminder. CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death. I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear the clatter on the barn-floor. He is in haste; he has business in Cuba, business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning. But I will not hold the bridle while he clinches the girth. And he may mount by himself: I will not give him a leg up. Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not tell him which way the fox ran. With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where the black boy hides in the swamp. I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll. I will not tell him the whereabouts of my friends nor of my enemies either. Though he promise me much, I will not map him the route to any man's door. Am I a spy in the land of the living, that I should deliver men to Death? Brother, the password and the plans of our city are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.

Seeing this image online reminded me of a passage in #OutingTheMermaid when Lee Montagna is musing on a sudden change – she's leaving NYC for Princeton, for the poshest street in that WASPy town ... Smiling, Lee saw herself ... leaning out the kitchen Dutch door to watch her garden grow. And she would put a big plastic Virgin Mary, maybe with a fluorescent halo, on the front lawn, inside an upended bathtub, painted a nice fluorescent blue. Another Italian-American family makes it to the suburbs. Lafayette, we are here. [As always, she says nothing.] “What’s so funny, Leedle?" From your indy bookseller or here: https://tinyurl.com/y9p9xa64��

Robyn

'Art does not reproduce what we see. It makes us see.' - Paul Klee

Lovers of beautiful words and images, which I assume includes you, should be Following Robyn Gordon. Her daily posts are food for the soul.

Ann

I LOVE this--so glad it's happening in my lifetime--I've been on this story since 1963, been in touch with Annette Gordon-Reed since her great book on it in the 90's, finally got her to Hedgebrook, last year. The arc of history is bending toward justice. http://www.annmedlock.com/writer/jefferson-black-sal-rumor-confirmed

Update on me, Jefferson and Gordon-Reed--She's headlining Hedgebrook's annual brunch/celebration, Equivox, on March 18! Come! Click here for tickets: http://www.hedgebrook.org/equivox/

In #OutingTheMermaid, the protagonist observes that her husband is unable to be present for the small joys of life. It's a great waste, since that may be all ya get. I'm loving this expression of the need to be awake to the small stuff... to Be. Here. Now. RELAX by Ellen Bass (from her book, Like A Beggar) Bad things are going to happen. Your tomatoes will grow a fungus and your cat will get run over. Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream melting in the car and throw your blue cashmere sweater in the drier. Your husband will sleep with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling out of her blouse. Or your wife will remember she’s a lesbian and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat– the one you never really liked–will contract a disease that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth every four hours. Your parents will die. No matter how many vitamins you take, how much Pilates, you’ll lose your keys, your hair and your memory. If your daughter doesn’t plug her heart into every live socket she passes, you’ll come home to find your son has emptied the refrigerator, dragged it to the curb, and called the used appliance store for a pick up–drug money. There’s a Buddhist story of a woman chased by a tiger. When she comes to a cliff, she sees a sturdy vine and climbs half way down. But there’s also a tiger below. And two mice–one white, one black–scurry out and begin to gnaw at the vine. At this point she notices a wild strawberry growing from a crevice. She looks up, down, at the mice. Then she eats the strawberry. So here’s the view, the breeze, the pulse in your throat. Your wallet will be stolen, you’ll get fat, slip on the bathroom tiles of a foreign hotel and crack your hip. You’ll be lonely. Oh taste how sweet and tart the red juice is, how the tiny seeds crunch between your teeth.

In #OutingTheMermaid, the protagonist observes that her husband is unable to be present for the small joys of life. It's a great waste, since that may be all ya get. I'm loving this expression of the need to be awake to the small stuff... to Be. Here. Now. RELAX by Ellen Bass Bad things are going to happen. Your tomatoes will grow a fungus and your cat will get run over. Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream melting in the car and throw your blue cashmere sweater in the drier. Your husband will sleep with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling out of her blouse. Or your wife will remember she’s a lesbian and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat– the one you never really liked–will contract a disease that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth every four hours. Your parents will die. No matter how many vitamins you take, how much Pilates, you’ll lose your keys, your hair and your memory. If your daughter doesn’t plug her heart into every live socket she passes, you’ll come home to find your son has emptied the refrigerator, dragged it to the curb, and called the used appliance store for a pick up–drug money. There’s a Buddhist story of a woman chased by a tiger. When she comes to a cliff, she sees a sturdy vine and climbs half way down. But there’s also a tiger below. And two mice–one white, one black–scurry out and begin to gnaw at the vine. At this point she notices a wild strawberry growing from a crevice. She looks up, down, at the mice. Then she eats the strawberry. So here’s the view, the breeze, the pulse in your throat. Your wallet will be stolen, you’ll get fat, slip on the bathroom tiles of a foreign hotel and crack your hip. You’ll be lonely. Oh taste how sweet and tart the red juice is, how the tiny seeds crunch between your teeth.

Robyn

"Follow the idea that makes you wake up in the morning without an alarm. That cause you to scribble ideas on napkins and scrap paper and to lose all sense of time. That makes your heart beat faster at every corner with the endless possibilities." - Carol Sanders

The thing I need to write, always, is the one that jumps up, and won't go away until I get the words down.

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