Rebuffing Regret
On my 8/13 post, “An Open Letter to My Father From an Aging Novelist”, I got a few things off my chest. But I’ve been thinking about it…what if I HAD gone to NYU Tisch division, HAD gotten that degree in English/creative writing? Sure I’d have been better read, but would I be a better writer?
Because as I honestly look back, the thing that has made me a better writer has been having lead a life, having had adversity upon adversity, and having been shaped by my 40s into a person passionate about themes, ideology, and spiritual concerns.
All my writing now has OUTWARD purpose, all the doggerel I wrote as a young poet LOOKED like Lucille Clifton at the time, but read like a whiny little self involved bitch - a description that no longer fits me to a tee.
So here’s to Dad, who indadvertantly shaped me into something better, someone who would take 30 years to be crafted into a writer worthy of the Calling.
I’ve come to the same conclusion. I could have spent the last 30 years writing, but I would have had much less to write about. Instead I spent those decades living, and now I have plenty to say, I know exactly how to say it, and I think it’s important.
I’ll take the living.
Hm, taking the living…it’s been like life is living ME! But small graces are happening all the time…
I’m working on EXACTLY how to say it myself.