This year has been tough. Just about everything in my life has been stripped down, turned inside out. It's been destabilizing; a period of deconstruction - the implosion of a hard-fought-for 37 year marriage and loss of family structure; the confusing residual impact on my children and grandchildren; the heart-breaking loss of my four year old grandson, Parker; the loss of my home; unemployment and the job-search circus; living out of a suitcase (gratefully at my mom's, but all my personal belongings are in a POD somewhere in the netherworld of storage); a diagnosis of melanoma (thankfully caught in time) with my health insurance hanging in the balance; and probably most unearthing, an intense spiritual sifting spawned from my late-in-life seminary experience (my unfinished thesis still pulsating in the background).
I have plenty of raw material whimpering for a roll-over-and-just-the-hell-die attitude. But something deep wants to fight back, take ownership, to create new life out of a landfill - something redemptive. This is my place to hash it out - through my writing. Many of you through the years have urged me to write. I have always written, privately mostly, but its been years since I've published. And the publishing world has changed. Now, editors want to see if a writer has already established a marketable platform - a captured readership. So here we are.
I will fess up - I have certain objectives in mind for this blog. First, its a cathartic journey. I'm taking six months away from life as usual (or unusual) and renting a studio-over-a-garage at the Oregon coast to heal and write. The level of writing here will be one step above my journal - a kind of stream of consciousness. It won't be quite the unedited raw-guts-laying-on-the-floor as my journal, but it may be "raw-ish." Second, I need to get back into the practice of disciplined writing - what Anne Lamott calls the "one square inch" of text EVERYDAY. Third, I want to eventually shape this material into two directions - a memoir, and the grist for short story writing. And finally, I need to capture an audience; I invite your participation. I encourage you to visit often (each click is counted for those potential editors), to comment on the shared experiences, to critique the writing, and especially, to invite your family, friends, and colleagues to join in as well.
Welcome to my room of my own - my place to unravel.
15 comments:
Carol ~
I love you, my friend, and am grateful to be part of your life, your writing, and perhaps a participant in your healing journey...and always, praying.
Beth
Thanks for the invitation Carol!
LOVE the image of making something out of the landfill, Carol. A friend of mine had a miscarriage several years ago, and dumped some of the old flowers on her compost heap--and the next year found Calla Lilies blooming there!
I'm glad that you're taking care of yourself and restoring at the coast, as well. Something about the ocean really puts life into perspective, doesn't it? Our lives seem small up against its vast expanse.
I trust that God is meeting you as you write--whatever you write.
Laura Simmons
Yahoo! The champagne's been uncorked!
You my dear are an inspiration and I count it a blessing and privilege to be a friend. I am so happy you are taking this time to pause, reflect, and write. May this be a fruitful time and I pray that it brings refreshment and healing to your spirit.
Aunt Carol,
I am looking so forward hearing your heart.... what I just read touched me.... my life has been a landfill at points. I have lost the real sight of me and have taken 45 days to find me...I am looking forward to hearing about your 6 months and reading all you share. miss and love you :)
Carol,
I am honored to be included in the invitation to read your blog; the chronicle of your both your pain and your healing journey.
You and I should trade notes about the past year. You are courageous to blog yours while still in the uncertain place.
May the tiny studio at the beach become a refuge and a creative incubator.
Peace to you Carol...
God is so faithful. He has provided this wonderful opportunity for you to commune with Him - walks on the beach, sunsets, touching starfish in the tide pools, hugging you with the morning fog, and lulling you into moments of serenity with the rhythmic, rolling, yet oft times roaring waves.
My heart knows your pain, and I'll take handfuls (or sandfulls) of your burdens any time you need to lighten your load.
May the Peace of God greet you every morning. Much Love.
My dear friend; I'm so excited for you, that you are taking this opportune time for your passion of writing in a perfect location...authentic living and learning at its best!
I am honored that you have asked me to share your "walk". You continue to amaze me, my old friend...42 years later.
My dear friend Carol,
I so admire your courage in your pursuit to move on with your life. I can't think of a better place than the Pacific Northwest coast to do just that. Though we are some 2000 miles apart and some 40 years later, you are still in my thoughts, prayers and heart. And yes, we are still "running" (or walking very fast) together again.
"Life is not how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain"
November 4, 2009
Carol,
A string of emotions. I remember Mary and my visit with You and Jim in Florida or Alabama, shortly after you married. Maybe 1973. Mary and I were still students at Purdue. Then coming to visit you and the family in Wilsonville. Peter and Paul were part of our family by then. We were traveling with my father and mother, just before my father's death. 1985. My visit with you, Jim, and Brian at your home in 2001. My niece Sarah's wedding in Sacramento. 2002. You, Jim, and Brian. And we've met Jim at my brother Bruce's home in Sacramento shortly after the birth of Sarah's daughter, Isabell. 2007. I called you last spring, 2009, to find Jim, as he left for his father's funeral in Florida. Then, this September,I called Jim to join us again, for Bruce's 53rd birthday. Jim said yes. But Jim didn't come.
A string of emotions, even only connecting a moment here, a moment there. Ties in Vanderford. Ties with your core family. Ties in the Lord. We celebrate your strength to do this. We can only partially know. But we will be part, still. Obviously your story is beginning again. Never place a period where God has placed a comma (from the United Church of Christ).
- Michael Vanderford
I am signing up for the jounrey.
mom, I am so very proud of you as an individual , as a wife, and most importantly as my mother. I look forward to watching you emerge from all of this, as a woman of peace, clarity and vision. As well as one who has healing in her wings. I could not be more proud than to call you, my greatest inspiration in this journey called life. I love you and deeply cherish our relationship. May G-D bless you in all of this, beyond what words can even begin to describe. All my love, Matthew.
mom, I am so very proud of you as an individual , as a wife, and most importantly as my mother. I look forward to watching you emerge from all of this, as a woman of peace, clarity and vision. As well as one who has healing in her wings. I could not be more proud than to call you, my greatest inspiration in this journey called life. I love you and deeply cherish our relationship. May G-D bless you in all of this, beyond what words can even begin to describe. All my love, Matthew.
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