By Charlotte Wilkins
When I sent a note of gratitude to author Laura Davis about her memoir The Burning Light of Two Stars, I said her writing was "close-to-the-bone." Her heartfelt book examines the harsh reality of aging alongside her ailing and challenging mother, and I told Davis how on so many pages I'd read my own thoughts and emotions about my difficult mother, her illness, and death. Laura's response to my note? You just made my day. I'm so grateful you took the time to write to me and so gratified by what you shared.
Wait a minute, I thought, I'm the one who's grateful because your multi-dimensional depiction of your complicated mother—the way you made sure we also saw her beauty and felt the sweet moments—made me see how in my own writing my one-dimensional portrayal of my mother was unfair, blaming, and boring.
I get stuck in a box of my own making, bouncing off the cardboard walls, poking peek holes with my pen, alone, lonely, thinking Failure. Again. My poor-me-nobody-cares forgets that it's impossible to be alone in this 7+ billion-person world. I forget we're all connected whether I like it or not, and we all want to be happy, not lonely and disillusioned. I'm finding that gratitude helps me build community, one person at a time. This way we're not overwhelmed by crowds, a doable step perhaps even for an introverted writer. We may think we're building community lurking around an online group, hitting the "like" button often, but that never really fills the hole in our hearts.
Austin Kleon in Show Your Work! 10 Ways to Share Your Creativity and Get Discovered suggests that "If you look back closely at history, many of the people who we think of as lone geniuses were actually part of a whole scene of people who were supporting each other, looking at each other's work, copying from each other, stealing ideas, and contributing ideas."
Daniella Mestyanek Young's Uncultured: A Memoir brought an unexpected realization. The correlation she drew between her years in the Children of God cult and the army made me wonder about my participation as an adult in a cultic organization. Daniella's book raised questions for me: Why didn't I see that organization for what it was? What in my childhood blinded me from not only not recognizing a cultic atmosphere, but predisposed me to be drawn to it? Did the family I grew up fit the criteria of a cult? Daniella's courage to ask the hard questions of herself and bleed the answers onto the page led me to explore a period of my life I'd written off as just another stupid thing I'd fallen for. Instead, a profound realization about my primitive need for connection was revealed, another layer of "family" was exposed, and I wrote my appreciation to Daniella and we exchanged ideas. She responded: All that to say, yours is probably the most gratifying review/response that I have received to date, because you specifically pointed out the ways that it made you think.
A good book makes us think not just about the characters on the page, but about our lives, and the universality of suffering and joy, illness, old age and death.
The takeaway for me from these expressions of gratitude and ensuing exchanges with six women authors, five of whom generously responded, is it's a win-win.
Here's a couple of things I think about as I stumble into this communal practice of receiving and giving:
Feel it: Any writer knows that some days it's a struggle to get one sentence on the page, let alone polish an essay or finish a book. Authors like to hear how their book specifically touched your life much more than "Loved your book!" Jeannine Ouellette's last sentence in her response to my note of appreciation for The Part that Burns was, It means more than you know.
Find it: A passage or sentence or two that resonated and helped clarify something in your life or writing. I came across single sentences in memoirs that changed how I view a relationship, approached a difficult scene, or showed me why I need to reveal the equally lousy in me.
Connect it: Share how that author's writing resonated in your life and perhaps stimulated you to write deeper into an aspect of your life, made you realize what was missing in your story, or open a new door of exploration. Most of us write to connect, to call to action, or to help others.
Later in Kleon's book he writes: "A lot of writers I know see the act of reading and the act of writing as existing on opposite ends of the same spectrum. The reading feeds the writing, which feeds the reading."
Like a mobius, we readers gain realizations, questions about our own writing, and skills by reading other's work. When we pass on words of recognition and gratitude, and the author reads and take in that sincere energy, they feel heard, fulfilled, and perhaps fueled to write again. The circuit is a seamless connection and continuity we all benefit from.
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Charlotte Wilkins is a retired psychotherapist, a longtime meditator, and emerging memoirist. Her essays have been published in Memoir Magazine, the Brevity Blog, and Social Work Today. She lives in Connecticut with her spouse and two ridiculously precious cats who do nothing to earn their keep.
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