News & Blog
WHO ARE THE WRITERS WHO HAVE MOST INSPIRED YOU AS AN AUTHOR? A visitor to this…
WHO ARE THE WRITERS WHO HAVE MOST INSPIRED YOU AS AN AUTHOR?
A visitor to this page named Lizzi asked me this question the other day as a wall post, and I thought I would try to take it up here…
There are many, mind you. But my simplest response would be Hemingway and Dickens: my two writing fathers.
Hemingway, because I started reading him when I was about 14 years old, and found myself amazed that sophisticated writing made for adults could be so accessible, so direct, so available and inclusive. I think until that point, I'd always assumed that serious adult writing had to be difficult or opaque. (Joyce, Faulkner, etc) But Hemingway taught me the elegance of removal. I decided early on that I wanted to write in that manner, as well. I made a vow that anyone who is capable of reading can read one of my books — that all would be welcome. I still try to write that way — trying to get out of the way of the prose as much as possible, and just let the story be told. Curiously, I haven't read Hemingway again since I was young. I think maybe I don't want to spoil my perfect memories of discovering him in my malleable youth.
And then there is Dickens! Dickens, my generous, fearless, ever-abundant, literary sugar daddy. Dickens, who rightfully called himself "the inimitable". Dickens, the flat-out greatest storyteller ever. Dickens, who expertly takes you by the hand in the first sentence of each book and says, "Come with me, dear friend — we are about to embark on a very long journey together, but I know exactly what I'm doing, and if you just trust me and surrender to my tale, then we shall have the adventure of a lifetime." Dickens! (A man who, by the way, truly enjoyed being a writer — no tormented genius, he! Just a genius, period.) Dickens is the one who taught me this valuable literary lesson: Go big or go home. Tell a REAL story, or don't bother. Dickens, I read every year. I am constantly reading me some Dickens, and I never stop learning from him.
And then there are a hundred others. But those are my two founding fathers.
What about you all? Which writers have most shaped your minds?
xo
Liz
This made me laugh… My friend Anne sent me this cartoon yesterday in honor…
This made me laugh…
My friend Anne sent me this cartoon yesterday in honor of my good, dear, departed friend Clifford the cat…who FINALLY had his punch-card of nine lives expire, after so many years of near-misses.
Now, if only the kitty in this picture were a big fat tuxedo tom, with a drunken expression on his face, it would be even more accurate!
Thank you, Anne. Laughing is good.
xo
Liz
BLESSING OF THE DAY… Some of you who are familiar with this page may know tha…
BLESSING OF THE DAY…
Some of you who are familiar with this page may know that I have a friend in Texas named Priya, who emails me a blessing every morning. When the words feel particularly apt, I make a point of sharing them. Here is the message I got today:
"The mind is the last part of yourself to listen to. It thinks of everything you can lose. The heart thinks of everything you can give, and the soul thinks of everything you are. It is up to you to decide which of those three is the most important…"
To this, may I add a fourth item of consideration? THE GUT. My friend Iva taught me years ago to listen to my gut above all…even sometimes above my heart (which, in my case, at least, can often be too soft and squishy and even fearful.) The lower intestine, though? It always seems to know the real deep-down truth about what's going on.
So what do you all think? Who or what do you listen to? You mind? Heart? Soul? Gut?
The hairs on the back of your neck?
What parts of yourself do you really trust?
Love
Liz
Thank for your kind words, everyone who wrote in about dear Clifford. You are al…
Thank for your kind words, everyone who wrote in about dear Clifford. You are all so beautiful and sweet. And all of us, it seems, have been there.
I want to especially thank Jill Seeger Salahub, for drawing my attention to this excerpt from the beautiful Mary Oliver poem, "In Blackwater Woods", which tells us everything we need to know about death, as only Mary Oliver can.
Love to you all, and blessings to your warm, generous hearts…
Liz
REST IN PEACE, CLIFFORD. I had to say goodbye this weekend to my dear cat Cli…
REST IN PEACE, CLIFFORD.
I had to say goodbye this weekend to my dear cat Clifford — the king of all cats, heart of my heart, coolest of the cool, best of the best, friend to the whole world — who had finally, after a life that was both deeply noble and entirely absurd, reached his end.
We haz sad.
Clifford came to us nearly six years ago from the animal shelter, by way of a supermarket parking lot, where he had been found wandering hungry. He has certainly never been hungry since, as you can see by his comfortable girth in this photo. We never had the first idea how old he was, or anything about his backstory. I only know that chose him above all others at the shelter because of his giant Falstaffian belly, because of his slightly drunken-looking face (not a day has passed that I don’t laugh whenever I lay eyes on him), because of his purr (the loudest I have ever heard), but mostly because the way he fitted himself deeply into my arms the moment I picked him up. Saturday night, I held him in my arms again while he floated off peacefully.
While it was clearly Clifford's time to go (as I joked in tears to a friend, "What kind of unfair God would pluck a geriatric, diabetic, toothless animal with arthritic legs and increasing incontinence right from the prime of his life?") it is still heartbreaking. We love our furry-headed friends in a way that is different, more inexplicable, and more tender than other kinds of love, and when they go, it makes us ache to our core.
But here is what I keep thinking. I met a monk once in India who told me that one of the karmic roles of our beloved pets ("part of their service," he said) is to come into our lives as teachers. They are sent here not only to teach us how to love, but also to teach us how to die — because they do it so well, and so uncomplainingly. We need these lessons, you see, because we are so famously bad at death, we humans. We are so afraid of it, so angry at it, so resistant to it. But our furry-heads, they see death differently. And as they slip away from us, they try to show us, "Watch me do this: It's really not that difficult. You just have to let go…"
Thank you, Clifford. You did great. I watched carefully. I tried to learn. I will always love you. There will never be another like you.
Liz
