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The Beginning

October 28, 2010

Four years ago, I wrote an essay based on other people’s memories. Months later, I watched rain ravage oak trees and send green leaves to an early death on the soaked lawn. I thought back to the essay then, and much, much further back, to my childhood, only to come up empty-handed as usual. (Not entirely empty-handed. Death in one hand, fire in the other.) Like a pebble to the windshield, that thunderstorm started a tiny crack that would grow pretty big, kind of menacing, but ultimately necessary. So that’s good.

Now, four years later, I have put it together into a book. A book that started so short – an essay, some rain, oak leaves – now contains the story of how I lost my childhood memory and how I tried to find it again.

Today marks another beginning. I’ll borrow the beginning of the book to properly begin this blog…

The doorbell chimes.

Shouts: No! No! My mother’s voice.

I peer at the men coming in. A priest. A policeman. A neighbor.

From → Writing Life

2 Comments
  1. jennieaton permalink

    Chills and goosebumps (the good kind).

    Like

  2. a beautiful beginning, a beautiful process, and what is sure to be a beautiful book!

    Like

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