Writing While Lost

Big Sur Jade

I've got to get back to writing because I'm increasingly lost without it. Is that possible? Is being lost something that grows from lack or is it a steady state of darkness? Entanglements, dark covers, woods. The wash of water, tides, tears, oceans. Drowning. The elements. You can find dark green nephrite jade in Big Sur where the surf pounds the mountains.

My necklace is cool against my breastbone, smooth beneath fingers.

Claire Dederer wrote Because the finishing is the part that makes the artist. The artist must be monster enough not just to start the work, but to complete it. And to commit all the little savageries that lie in between.

Little savageries. I know what they are, as do you, writers. I have felt incapable of committing them even as I've contemplated them. Contemplation, though, has gotten me nowhere. Nowhere. Lost. I'm obsessed with the way the mind works, its trickery. I've been told I'm a disgrace by a person with whom I was once close, tied to, yoked. I suppose it's true, but not in the way this person believes. It's the lack of little savageries that make the disgrace in my mind. The hacking out of lost. The commitment to the savagery is what makes the clearing.

Sparing the Rod, Not Spoiling the Child, Getting Rich***

We have a dog and her name is Valentine. She was named Valentine after the patron saint of epilepsy, and she was supposed to be a therapy dog for Sophie but is now just a regular old family dog. She is a Standard Poodle and is as goofy and chirpy and bouncy in this, her eleventh year, as she was when we got her at seven months. Feeding her daily and giving her fresh water is the responsibility of The Brothers, and years ago when they were still Young Lads, when they bickered too much about who had done it yesterday, etc., I instituted a system of odd and even days. Since Oliver was born on an even day and Henry an odd one, it works out beautifully (except, of course, for the occasional months with 31 days), and you'd think that would be all taken care of, right?

Wrong.

The Brothers, no longer Young Lads, don't feed the dog unless I remind them, and this is really getting on my nerves. That photo was taken when I realized that the dog dishes were dry and empty at 10:00 at night, so out of pity and responsibility for this creature in our home, I fed her and then spared the rod but didn't spoil the child.

The new rule is this:

Every day that goes by that I have to either remind you to feed Valentine on your day or you forget, I get $1. I will collect this money at the end of each week. We're starting today. You each owe me $1.








***The getting rich part involves another rule whereby I collect $5 if I hear a curse word (other than if one is seriously injured with blood spurting or bones sticking through clothing or one is talking to an insurance company clerk) or see any rude hand and finger gestures (other than those directed in service to #don'tstarepaparazzi). We part time working, stay at home mothers and caregivers have creative ways to make money while we polish our toenails and eat bonbons on pink linen sheets.

Each time I hear the expression, I get $1

I don't plan on making a lot of money, but you never know.