Modern Loss published a short piece of mine today.
I wrote it last spring about an experience a whole year before. Like many of my pieces, it began really with a question that the writing process helped me to address. I was frustrated and wondering why I still had to “tell the story” at all.
I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do it. “I will not tell her ‘the story,” I’d thought. I was waiting in line at a writer’s conference to have my book signed by the keynote speaker, Anne Lamott. The line was moving quickly, and I was thinking about what to say, surprised by my sudden self-consciousness.
I’ve long admired Lamott’s writing voice, the way she weaves together the lighter moments and really hard things in life with grace. I’ve chuckled out loud at her honesty and, often, her self-deprecating humor. And as is the case with any good writer with a strong voice, her readers, including me, come to feel that we know her. As a widowed parent raising an only child alone after my husband died seven years ago, I also felt a connection with her because she had raised a son on her own.