Another 6S Ditty...Love Song on the Inner Loop

Inspired by PURE, second novel currently under construction, and life... Peace, Linda

Pre-Given Thanks...

We often say "thank you" in return for a good deed or a kind word. But why wait? Henry Simoni-Wastila, my minister husband, raised this idea last Sunday before our Unitarian Universalist congregation. He says it much better than I, so here's an excerpt from his sermon:

If you are thankful, you cannot help but feel that you have been blessed, that you have been given something good. We can be expectantly thankful - pre-grateful - having a priori gratitude. Now, logicially, that may not make sense. Logically, we should wait for good things to walk our way and then be thankful afterwards. After all, it's a little rude to be thankful for something you haven't been given yet!

I am suggesting that we be grateful first. But isn't that jumping the gun? Yes. But pre-existing gratitude can be a general philosophical attitude towards existence. Gratitude before the fact can be a religios response to reality as a whole. You don't need to have a specific thing or event to be thankful about.

In psychology, it is said that in trying to be happy, we can start acting happy and then real happiness will start to develop on its own. Sometimes, when I am tired or sad, I just smile. It makes me feel a little better. The Buddha's smile is on a face that has seen it all, and yet can still, while being aware of the impermanent nature of all, still smile. So tune yourself into that Buddha's smile.

This same psychological principle of "acting happy in order to be happy" might apply to a religious pre-positioning of gratitude, If you think of your life as something you should give thanks for, then there may develop in your life things that you will be thankful for.

Pre-Gratitude. Nice. Sort of like "pay it forward". Pre-positioning my gratitude, here are the things I give thanks to:

--My husband, for being himself and always stretching in new ways, and my children for evolving into the fascinating individuals they will become

--My parents, for sharing their truths so I can understand mine

--My sister, for sharing her joys and fears

--My fellow writers - Chrys, Jimmy, Deborah, Kim, Marg, Steve - for sharing their lives and their stories and their successes. Their generosity knows no bounds...

--The friends I have now, and the ones I have not yet met.

--My mentors, they are so numerous, I am so blessed...

--My mind, for not failing me and leading me on wondrous journeys

--Each morning, for it signals a new day, a new adventure - and isn't that what life is all about?

EVENT!!!!!!! If you're in the vicinity of the Big Apple this weekend, check out THE BEST MEMOIRISTS PAGEANT EVER. Both published and deserve-to-be-published writers will be reading their memoirs at the The Bowery Poetry Club. My personal fave is my writing buddy and friend Chrys Buckley. We finally met this week, but that's the subject for a future blog. She's a brave, lovely, sweet young woman who wields a fiery pen and a powerful voice. Catch her reading from MOONCHILD this Saturday, 24 November 1 2007 at 3:00 pm. The Bowery Poetry Club, 308 Bowery, NYC.

For what are you grateful now and in your future? Peace, Linda

Better Living Through Chemistry?

Your Brain on Happiness


As a society, we're into quick fixes. And when it comes to health, those quick fixes usually come in compact form. Very compact - Americans consume more prescribed (and over-the-counter) drugs per capita than do citizens of any other nation.

There are many reasons for this medication of the masses: wide availability, considerable choice, and a medical-based model of health firmly built on capitalistic legs. This nation also is one of the few developed nations which doesn’t operate a national formulary, or list of approved medications. Indeed, US docs choosing pills for their patients’ ailments run the same baffling and overwhelming confusion Russian émigrés encounter when shopping for cereal at the grocery store: too much stuff. But we are a capitalistic people and we like our meds - and we like them new and shiny and expensive. Medical bling.

But I can't help thinking... maybe we're so into synthetic panaceas because of an ennui unique to American culture. The fact that Americans also drive global demand for illicit drugs - marijuana, cocaine, heroin, hallucinogens - further supports my niggling suspicion that something’s not quite right in the land of the free and brave.

Maybe it’s the pace (we work more hours per week than the Japanese now) or the push to always be on top ‘o the heap. To succeed in that awfully narrow way that only our culture defines success: money, power, title, a sweet car, flat stomach, and sexual prowess in bed. The expectation of endless happiness and worry-free living coupled with the imperative to banish sadness, anger, and all those other ‘negative’ emotions because they drain our productivity, self-esteem, and even our youth (yes, anxiety does cause wrinkles) drives us, well, crazy.

Better living is just a pill away.

Perhaps. This week, the New York Times reported on two independent studies with the potential to thoroughly redefine the way we consider and treat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and other behavioral conditions. One study imaged the brains of over 200 children with and without ADHD for ten years and found ADHD kids had an average 3-1/2 year delay in the development of the brain areas responsible for focus and control. In other words, ADHD children do NOT have a flaw or defect in their grey matter; merely, a delay. The second study, epidemiological in nature, found children with ‘behavioral problems’ in their early elementary years performed as well as ‘normal’ children by the fifth grade.

Maybe these studies are the beginning of evidence that might slow down the Medication Express. Maybe. But somehow, I doubt it because it’s just so much easier to take Ritalin twice a day then to deal with rambunctious children for 3 years while waiting for their brains to catch up…

Writing Notes: Today I started marketing BRIGHTER THAN BRIGHT. Yep. Sent to a few agents I met at conferences who requested the first three chapters. They’re perfect. As perfect as they’re going to get this year. Putting them into their fedex envelopes felt good. And scary as hell. Halloween may be over, but the mailbox will be my boogeyman for the next few weeks - and likely not my friend. But it’s time to clear the plate, get ready for PURE, which I’ve been dreaming about, an excellent sign I’m ready to move on to another two-year novel writing binge. Here’s a snippet:

Later, much later, after the shock began to wear off, people asked, “Where were you when it happened?” I remember exactly where I was at that precise moment - doesn't everyone? Tuesday was the one day of the week I didn’t have to rush out early to lecture the spoiled undergrad minions or schlep glassware and slides for Tien's lab, so that particular morning found me in the kitchen with a mug of coffee uncharacteristically lazy and happy due to my earlier twelve mile run. “One of the ten best days of the year,” the weatherman promised as my feet swept my willing body along the Charles River, the dawn cracking into a perfect cerulean canvas. But later, alone in my apartment, for some reason I felt an urge to turn on the television, which I rarely do because it's mindless, loud, and I’m too damn busy. So it was a total fluke I flipped on the tube and watched the north tower flame into smoking clouds. And as it telescoped into itself, collapsing into dusty, horrifying rubble, I vaguely wondered if my father was in Japan…

Peace, and happy writing... Linda

Brainstorming, Barnstorming, and Breaking through the Block

Writer's Block. Like carpal tunnel, another malady of those who make their living with the pen, but worse; a severe constipation of the brain. There are times when the page stares blankly at me, mocking me. But usually my block is more along the lines of I know what I want to say - I can see and hear the entire scene in my head - but I can't find the words to describe it. That sort of resistance is easy to fix: exercise the right brain with rock-and-roll or a sweeping symphony, go for a run through crunchy, ochre-colored leaves, peruse the local Mona Lisas hanging in galleries, or pull out the watercolors and just do it. Myself, I withdraw to making tiny glass beads, little universes of Murano glass twisted and twirled in the heat of my torch, interspersed with slivers and gobs of silver wire and leaf.

But what happens when the ideas simply do not generate? When you, the writer, face a well sucked dried from a drought of inspiration? Brainstorming is one approach. The idea behind the concept is to generate ideas in an environment of suspended judgement. in other words, the right brain pontificates without that left interrupting. In a group situation, the ground rules for brainstorming are simple:

1/ avoid criticizing ideas.
2/ the more the merrier - the emphasis is on quantity, not necessarily quality (sort of like NANOWRIMO, now in full swing).
3/ be free-wheeling. No censoring here, simply spout.
4/ listen to other ideas and jump on their band-wagon.
5/ avoid any discussion of ideas or questions.

Now brainstorming is a Jim-dandy approach for folks who work in groups, but we writers are often a solitary, curmudgeonly bunch. We work... alone. So how to generate ideas whilst sitting holed up in our unheated cabins in the furthest reaches of rural-dom?

My friend Jimmy reminded me of the OBLIQUE STRATEGIES card deck created by Brian Eno, musician and producer extraordinaire, and his friend and collaborator, painter Peter Schmidt. Back in my college days, Dave, a fabu guitar player, turned me on to all things Eno, including introducing me to his OS deck, which he himself used to generate song lyrics. Eno and Schmidt intended the cards to help them get into the creative ways of thinking that they found increasingly difficult to attain. In other words, Oblique Strategies helps to jog the mind to new thoughts and ideas. Voila - creativity!

So what's in a deck? Depends upon what edition - there are five of them. And the format; the 'hard' decks contain words, phrases, and questions, and some editions were illustrated. There are on-line versions as well, using the same texts created by Eno and Schmidt but featuring art by others. The first OS said "Honor thy error as a hidden intention" (What a great philosophy). Other sayings:

State the problem in words as clearly as possible

Try faking it

What to increase? what to reduce?

Only one element of each kind

To get your creative juices flowing, head over to Brain Eno's random OS generator (and check out the very cool site, too).

And Elizabeth Friedman has figured out how to generate random haiku based on OS cards (but this is cheating the creative process, no?)

In other words, a provocative writing prompt. And fun.

How do you generate ideas for your writing and other artistic endeavors?

Hope this keeps your mind in the flow... Peace, Linda

Leftbrainwrite added to Project 20/20 Build My Blogroll

And what is PROJECT 20/20? It's the way Maria Schneider, editor of WRITER'S DIGEST, spreads her cyberlove in her blog The Writer's Perspective. Since September, her goal is to add 20 blogs (on writing, of course) to her blogroll. And this baby made it on week 12. I am honored and privileged to share blogroll space with writing and blogging luminaries such as Georganna Hancock's A Writer's Edge, Writer Mama, and JA Konrath's A Newbie's Guide to Publishing, among others. Check 'em out, some great stuff in these blogs.

So thank you, dear readers, for reading LEFTBRAINWRITE. Knowing you drop in every now and then to see what latest musings have kept me up into the wee hours of the morn are my biggest inspiration for writing another post. Knowing you care gives me more jolt than a triple espresso. And it's nice to know I'm not simply venting into some void.

So blog on and pay it forward - cyberlove... Peace, Linda

Creativity – It’s all in your head

“Mind isn’t a tug-of-war with the left brain on one side and the right brain on the other, but a collaboration, an open exchange.” (Diane Ackerman, An Alchemy of Mind)

Editing and revising sometimes feel like glorified secretarial work: typo annihilation, grammar correction, formatting perfection. It’s easy to let the mechanics of writing override the rest of the process, to get so stuck on the getting the words exactly right that you miss the message. At least, this is the way I feel of late, revising Brighter Than Bright for the 8th time (yes, the 8th full revision; my friend Jimmy’s discovered enough ‘ouches’ to cause anemia). Editing gets old. Real quick.

I missed writing new stuff. Waking in the morning, cup o’joe steaming by my side, the full moon blaring through the window, the rest of the world asleep, greeted only by a fresh white piece of paper daring me to write… anything my mind desired. It gives me shivers just thinking about it…brrrrrr… The revision process removes me from my characters and their sticky, complicated, crazy lives. It has to, because this stage requires the entrance of distanced critic, not the emotional writer. In other words, the polishing stage requires the left hemisphere of the brain, the home of language and linear thinking and logic and laterality, to assert control of the creative process.

Left-brain thinking, though necessary, is not sufficient. My right brain, where images and patterns and spatial relations reside, is where the ideas flow from, where the brilliant bon mots and the realization that your protag sports a ying-yang tattoo under the right shoulder blade originate. It’s the imagistic, intuitive, FUN side of creativity.

After two solid months of sinister-side revisions, my right brain rebelled: WRITE!!!!! SOMETHING!!!!! OTHER THAN LINE EDITS!!!!!! At first, I was reluctant, feeling compulsive (and obsessive) about finishing this revision of my novel. So I started small: micro flash fiction and poetry. I’d steal a few minutes a day to tool away on a paragraph or stanza, feeling guilty I wasn’t spending the little ‘free’ time I had for ‘writing’ not finishing my much larger project. But something funny happened on the way to the forum… the more time I spent pontificating poems on paper, the faster and clearer and easier went the revising process.

The battle is over, my cerebral hemispheres have struck a compatible balance. At least for the time being. Here, a small poetry offering…
______

Gloria (Montepulciano, 1996)

In my sadness you lead me -
caretaker, confidant, friend –
through olive groves casting dark shadows
on burnt earth. We lay amidst silvered
sheaves, hidden from all
but the eyes of God and bees
buzzing, sodden and soporific.

Time slows, time stops,
clouds drape across an azure canvas,
The wind sounds low, softly stroking
the grass, your mussed hair, our tumbled limbs,
hearts halcyon in this infinite instant.
Eyes reflecting sky, you turn,
absolve my melancholy.

Sanctified, we sleep.
_________

FREEBIE: If you want to read some fascinating interviews on creativity with an incredibly talented and diverse group of artists, check out this blog: Cecil Vortex

May your mind transport you to places you never imagined, and provide you the tools to tell the world about your journeys… Peace, Linda

Cyberlove

Got your attention? The title sounds a bit… salacious. But I don’t mean internet dating or porn or enhanced ‘telephone’ nookie. Noooooo, nothing like that from this staid blogger. Heh-heh-heh...


Lea (holding her friend Scruffy), me (in black and red), Heather (the gorgeous one), and Michael (cute, huh?)



What the title refers to is the incredible ability of hardware and software and whizzing wires to bring together like-minded individuals. To read each other’s work. To become intimate with stories and characters who only exist in our minds – and on white pages. To develop strong attachments because of shared passions for writing. And sometimes, you get curious: who are these people? Really? What do they look like? Is their voice squeaky or low? How do they dress? What quirks or mannerisms do they have? Are they frenetic or so low-key and relaxed you could slide them under a closed door?

I had the recent pleasure of meeting one writing colleague – I can call her friend now – in the flesh. Wildstrawberries, a writing buddy from the Writer’s Digest forums who has published a memoir, has a couple of hobbies: traveling on a whim, and visiting famous authors’ homes. When she mentioned she wanted to visit Edgar Allen Poe’s home in Baltimore, I posted that I was (rightfully) embarrassed I had never visited – and I work less than a half-mile away. So WS - Heather to me now - flew with her lovely hubby from Wisconsin and we met in Molly McGuire’s, a great Irish pub, and chatted for more than two hours about… writing. And more writing. And a little bit about reading, then more about writing. And all the wonderful people we’ve met and experiences we’ve had. My daughter Lea and her hubby Michael made goo-goo eyes at each other while we indulged ourselves. Sheer heaven.

We did get to the museum – eventually – and visited Westminster burying grounds where dear EAP lies with much of his family. Thanks for visiting, dear friend!

Kelley (aka Twizzle), another cyber buddy sent me a ‘meme’ last week. Freaked me out – a meme? Some sort of disease? Actually, it’s kind of a chain letter ‘tag’ you send to fellow bloggers. I guess this means Twiz likes me. Yoo-hoo, because I like her, too. A lot. And when you check out her blog, you will, too.

Anyway, the meme theme is: Describe your five strengths as a writer. So here goes:

1) I am persistent. Yep, like a fly on poop. I may not have talent, but at least I will write and edit and market until some poor slob recognizes my… persistence. Or my OCD.

2) I am a perfectionist. Dot the ‘i’ and cross the ‘t’ used to be my nickname. This is why I can sometimes spend an entire day on a single paragraph. And come back to the same sentences the next morning. Maybe I really am obsessive-compulsive...

3) I am a damn good editor. ‘nuf said. (There are meds for excess attention to detail. Right?)

4) I am generous with myself to other writers. Sounds virtuous, doesn’t it? Don’t let me fool you – I’m the most selfish writer in the world. I learn from everyone else’s work, which is why I love to read their stories – then tear them apart. Gently, kindly. And they return the favor.

5) I have a very high pain tolerance. Why else would I put myself through the maddening torture of writing?

So I’ve said my piece and I tag… Deborah and Chrys! Pay the cyberlove forward, girls… Peace, Linda

Guest Blog: Of Poetry and Prose, Princes and Pasts

An easy blog today - did my work last week while Ms. Moffett was quaffing Rioja in sunny Espanol. Si!

Sarah Moffett is a self-described writer who moonlights as a lawyer, a relative local who lives within mere miles of me. She's a published author, an accomplished blogger, and an intrepid marketer - check out her Book Tour. At age 27 (or so), she's trapped in time - she should've been on Ken Kesey's bus, as Sarah loves all things beatnik.

Check out her site and her amazing book - Growing Up Moffett. It's a funny, wry, and at times heartbreaking tale of coming of age under family distress and ills. It's also a love story - of family bonds created and kept.

I'm honored to contribute to her site. Hope y'all enjoy! Peace, Linda

My Six Small Sentences - Published At Last!!!!!

How sweet it is to get some form of external validation from Six Sentences.

I enjoyed submitting to this wonderfully eclectic site. The very short stories selected and posted here daily range from coffee-sputtering hilarious to heart-breakingly poignant. The postings here are the delectable pastries that accompany my morning coffee.

It's a challenge to write a story in six sentences. As I write (and rewrite and rewrite yet again) BRIGHTER THAN BRIGHT, I realize how every sentence must precisely and concisely carry it's own weight. And I thought that philosophy just applied to poetry... Thanks to the exercise of perfecting my small offering to Six Sentences, I now find I approach each paragraph as it's own little microcosm. Now if only there was a site called Six Words...

And the process was equally sweet: after acceptance Rob McEvily, the fellow who runs the site, not only sent a personalized, enthusiastic response by email, but also a small card with a REAL STAMP and Curious George stickers. Beats Happy Meals by a long shot... (thanks Rob...).

So yoo-hoo!!!!! A small victory. And yes, Kelley, there will be an all-you-can-eat chocoblitz. Come on over and make yourself giddy off all the good dark stuff... cacao nibs and all... Peace, Linda

Tonight I Rest...

Today BRIGHTER THAN BRIGHT printed off hot and beautiful onto 20 pound white paper. All 642 pages, 123,992 words. Finito. Exactly three weeks past my self-imposed deadline of September 15, but better late than never.

It was the ending that delayed me. Two months spent on the last 50 or 60 pages. Not sure why it was so difficult, I suspect psychology was involved. I simply couldn't get into Phoebe's head, make her FEEL. Really respond to Ben, the situation. How does she FEEL? My Nudge-Nudge Collective pushed me to the limit, three versions in a week. How grateful I am for their tough love (Thank you, dear friends...). But early this morning, as the gentle fog reflected the soft glow of the streetlamps, I found my flow, cranked it out, tweaked it over lunch, and... Voila!

This, of course, is the end of the beginning...again. I packed the 642 pages into a fedex and shipped it to Chrys, who is valiantly taking on a third reading. I'll do the same with her MOONCHILD memoir. My friend Jimmy is reading from the beginning as I read his DARK SIDE OF THE SOUL. He's found omissions and redundancies that a dozen passes by six pairs of eyes missed. I'll continue revising - his suggestions are almost always spot on - and wait for Chrys to give me her verdict.

But for now, I rest. Let the book marinate in its juices. Peace, Linda

The War on Drugs… Wage It on Your Medicine Cabinet, Not Afghani Poppy Growers

Today is Bloggers Unite Against Abuse Day. And to celebrate, I get to soap-box about one of my favorite topics – Prescription Drug Abuse.

Perfect. Because abuse of little white pills and purple capsules is what I spend a good chunk of my time researching in my day job. And at night, when I should be cleaning the toilets or the fridge, instead I’m trying to get the characters in my novel BRIGHTER THAN BRIGHT from not indulging in tiny orange orbs. Yeppers, I’ll admit prescription drug abuse is a passion of mine, right up there with psychosis, depression, and mania.

So here’s the facts, ma’am, followed by some fiction…

When most people think of drug abuse, they think -- Smack. Crank. Blow. Red Mercedes. Ice. Of belts wrapped tight around upper arms, of sucking lines off a foil-lined tray. Considerably more dangerous than what’s hanging out in those amber-colored plastic vials in your bathroom cabinet. Right?

Not so. Although the use of most drugs, including marijuana, heroin, and cocaine, have stabilized or even fallen in recent years, the abuse of drugs available by prescription has increased. Especially in young people, even though growth is substantial among boomers and seniors. Indeed, more kids aged 12 to 17 abuse prescription drugs than all the ‘hard’ street drugs (cocaine/crack, heroin, inhalants, hallucinogens) combined. It’s mostly white kids, although Hispanic youth are increasingly turning to medications to get high, and those who indulge in other substances, especially alcohol and tobacco. What do kids use? Mostly opioid analgesics (e.g., OxyContin, Vicodin), tranquilizers (e.g., Ativan, Halcion, valium), and stimulants (e.g., Ritalin, Strattera).

But prescription drug abuse is not just a problem of youth. More and more older adults – especially women – are falling victim to the ravages of little white pills prescribed by their doctors. Misuse is often unintentional, occurring after excessive medical exposure. And pills are easy to get: docs are willing prescribers, we tend to hoard unused meds (‘fess up – bet you have some leftover Demerol in your medicine chest), friends and family are willing to share, and on college campuses and high schools (and even middle and elementary schools), there is a tremendous grey market for prescription medications.

And why not? Unlike cocaine, heroin, and crystal meth, you KNOW what’s in your OxyContin tablet. You get the same, dependable high with no fear of contaminants screwing up your lungs, your bloodstream, or your brain. After all, the Food and Drug Administration has approved these medications as ‘safe and effective’.

What can you do to stop prescription drug abuse?

1/ Get informed. Go to the experts: National Institute on Drug Abuse, The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, and Join Together. Or contact Me - I research this stuff for a living.

2/ Ask your docs to give you the smallest amount of pain medications or other potentially addicting medications. This keeps excess medication off the street.

3/ Talk to your kids. If you’re a kid, talk to your friends. Tell them just because the FDA approves them, they’re dangerous.

4/ Most important - Talk to your pharmacist when you receive prescriptions for analgesics, tranquilizers, stimulants for ADHD or narcolepsy, sedatives for sleep. Ask her how to SAFELY use your medication.

5/ Lock up your medications. You’d be amazed what your housekeeper, realtor, friends, and children will steal.

6/ And DON'T SHARE!

Here’s the fiction… Ben at a pharming party...

I push myself back up the wall, wait my turn. The door opens, the hip-hoppers high-five their way down the hall and I stumble in. The small room reeks, yellow urine puddles by the john. Streamers of toilet paper and clods of crap circle slowly in the bowl. I do my thing, then cling to the sink as white and grey dots skitter across my closed eyelids. A hot, heavy fullness bubbles up my throat; I swallow it down, blast the faucet and splash myself with water. There’s no towel, water streams down my neck. Bloodshot eyes stare back from the glittering glass, the green of iris obscured by vacant, opaque cisterns. An urge to vomit up all the chemicals I’ve ingested strikes me, then passes. What the fuck am I doing? I shake my head, but nothing changes; the stranger gazes back at me. Someone bangs on the door, so I turn from the sink, stagger to the ballroom.

Be safe. Use your meds as prescribed. Peace, Linda

Virtual Pain

And literal pain, too. The last twenty pages of BRIGHTER THAN BRIGHT frizzled my neuronal circuitry to smoky cinders.

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve revised and written 10,000 words every three weeks. No exceptions. I churned through this seventh revision in record pace. But for some reason, the last 5,000 words took me nearly two months to complete. I guess I needed to give the ending it’s due attention, because in some ways, the ending is more important than the beginning. After all, there are so many loose ends to resolve. And, as a critical reader, I am so often unsatisfied with most story endings. So I struggled - and endured much pain as I slashed and modified and rewrote to get it just right.

The struggle of slouching towards THE END vaporized early Sunday morning when I typed those two magic words out for the seventh time, saved the file, and zipped it over to my writing group for their reading and critiquing pleasure. I am two weeks behind my self-declared deadline of 9/15; Chrys and I are now targeting the first week of October to exchange manuscripts.

Speaking of pain, you, dear reader and writing procrastinator, haven’t yet met PHOEBE, the female protagonist of my story and BEN’S love interest. Phoebe is a medical student who escapes from her loneliness in her books and pottery. When Phoebe lost her mother to cancer a decade earlier, she fixated on a medical career like her internist father, but as a pain management specialist. Phoebe’s tenacious – a quality responsible for her academic and sculpture successes - but her stubbornness extends to her difficulty in clinging too tight to the past. She begins to break her own psychic pain by honoring her mother's memory through song at her Unitarian Universalist church:

Ben’s eyes open wide as I go front and center before the other dozen choir members on the two steps leading to the pulpit. The director catches our attention with her eye, then signals with her right hand to begin.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
A long way from home,
A long, long way from home.

My voice quavers, then steadies and strengthens, resonating with my mourning. Ben watches me, his intent eyes glisten in the stippled light. I look away; I can’t break down, not now. The choir joins in on the second verse and the momentary urge to weep passes.

My life has accelerated towards this moment for months, maybe even years, but a surprising calm fills me. A hidden strength returns. I raise my voice in tribute to my mother. And for the first time in what seems an eternity, I don’t feel alone.

May your days be free of physical and psychic pain, virtual and real. Peace, Linda