1/24/2018

January gifts

Lately I am not working. The bookstore got caught up with cataloging and shelving new acquisitions (thanks in part to my help), so I wait for the next time they are behind and need me to run the store. But it's not really waiting, when there was so much I fell behind on during five months of unaccustomed 40-hour weeks.

There always are more gifts in a day than can be numbered, and I'm rediscovering some. Sleep. Rest. Those are nice. As well as (you may have guessed) writing. Actually, I was going to retire from that. January 1st I was home alone, while Tim worked for holiday pay, and the thought came, quite rational-seeming, that I have nothing to offer that anyone is interested in and plenty of other things to do, so why not shelve the effort, except for occasional letters to my grandson?

Something, though, nudged me to look at the essays I've had published in literary journals. I unearthed old files, and, well, this was interesting. I saw a connection I hadn't made before.

For five years I've been walking whenever possible, camera in tow, to capture images throughout the seasons for a slide show I make around Christmas to give to people. I'm not at all a photographer--I have no clue about F-stop and aperture--I rely on the skill of others which lets me bring home things I have seen, moments that appear significant (some more than others), and to express hints of beauty.

Doing this heightens the gift of interaction, with nature and with people who receive my moments, my scenes, my interpretations. It happened again last week, when Tim and I got away to Yachats, Oregon and stayed at someone's home via Airbnb.


In beautiful, windless weather, I took a solitary stroll. Touching the ocean's spirit, it seemed. Interacting with another aspect of creation in a very small way. The easiest way. It was a complete gift.


Back to essays. What I recognized early this month, regarding writing, is what I do. I still don't know what I'm doing, but now I know what I do. Same as with picture-taking, I express what I "see" in my life. In moments. Sometimes it's a one-time thing, such as jumping out of an airplane or visiting the place we lived when I destroyed my world. It can also be a one-thing time, like when I learned from my dad what it was like to be best friends with Richard Brautigan. Either way I enjoy capturing those views, using the skill I gained over decades in my resolve to be a writer. With words, I do know the settings. At least, I have learned a bit. I know to whom to go for help. I care at a basic level and simply enjoy working, over the long haul, on those "pictures."

I can no more figure out a book appealing to many readers than I can create a photography exhibit. But thinking smaller, I see I can still structure an essay. That, though difficult, is a complete gift. So after five years, I am essaying again.

5 comments:

gz said...

Essaying...short stories even shorter in other words..is the most difficult.
Anyone can embroider cloth,but that is no use if the garment is no good.
With photography, technical prowess is nothing without the eye that sees things.

deanna said...

Truly it takes longer to write less! Well said and thanks. :)

Dee said...

Dear Deanna, what gz said is so true, writing spare takes much more effort than writing grand. I so hope that as you do/see your essays you will let us know somehow the way in which we might find and read them. Peace.

deanna said...

Dee, you can bet I'll mention it if something gets published (I'm submitting things here and there). Who knows, a book of essays may follow...Thank you for reading.

Unknown said...

Aint January anymoe, dear;
the elixir of springtime
is in the air...
and you very well know
what that means:

'the more you shall honor Me,
the more I shall bless you'
-the Infant Jesus of Prague

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