Volume XI, Issue 11
March 16, 2022
Word of the Week: endings
“Though no one can go back and make a brand-new start,
anyone can start from now and make a brand-new ending.”
~ Carl Bard
Dear ,
Meet my granddaughter Lily, daughter of my stepson Matt, who's irrepressible enthusiasm for life always makes me smile. We have this weekend's sleepover all planned—she's making me and
Richard her special chicken recipe, and then we're watching Encanto together.
Lily is my role model when it comes to writing beautiful brand-new endings after an ending you would never have chosen is inflicted upon you. In Lily's case, it was the loss of her mother due to complications from Covid two months after Lily's eighteenth birthday.
I thought of Lily's loss when I read The Writer magazine's 2021 essay contest winner, "A Brand-New Ending" by Virginia DeLuca. Her loss was due to divorce, not death, but its coming was just as unexpected, DeLuca's grit and courage and wisdom, her refusal to be taken down even in the face of enormous grief, reminded me of
Lily.
It feels like the perfect "featured writing" for this week, given that most, if not all, of us have been immersed in grief, loss, and uncertainty these past few years. (Now that I think of it, Disney's Encanto explores these same themes. Both Lily and I enjoyed it so much the first time around, we decided to watch it again,
this time together. It's a gorgeous movie.)
I recommend, after you finish reading "A Brand-New Ending," poking around on The Writer's website—you'll find writing inspiration,
publishing tips, resources, and more.
May you keep writing "brand-new endings" as often as they are needed.
Love and light,
Maureen
Featured WordPlay Offering
After I spent months wondering if Covid had put Spinning Words into Gold out of print for good, my publisher was finally able to deliver two boxes of beautiful, brand new copies with thicker, sturdier paper, than the originals!
I still love this book years after its publication, in large part because it's full of writing wisdom, insight, and inspiration from so many writers, known and unknown, including Ray Bradbury, Mary Oliver, Naomi Shihab Nye, William Stafford, and a number of Charlotte writers who have gone on to write their own books, including Cheryl
Boyer (Counting Colors), Caroline Castle Hicks (Such Stuff As Stars Are Made Of) and Lisa Otter Rose (You've Got Verve, Jamie Ireland.)
For a limited time, even though my publisher's costs have gone up and he's passed them on to me, I'm selling them at the original price of $21.95 + tax and shipping through the end of March, to celebrate this new shipment's arrival! Things were looking very iffy for several months. You can learn more, order a copy, and/or even watch a
rare video of me discussing it here on my website.
A Brand-New Ending
by
Virginia DeLuca
Sexy. Whenever I think of Perry and how it was, I think sexy. The thought makes me smile. A buoyant inner smile, almost smug. Falling in love at 47 and marrying at 52 is both miraculous and terrifying.
But, then, falling in love is always miraculous and terrifying. In your 50s, it just comes with an end date built-in.
Oh, some people claim that 50 is the new 30 and all that. But, for me, when Perry and I married, I was keenly aware that one of us was going to have to usher the other out. Maybe not for another 30 years or so, knock on wood, but Perry’s parents both died in their early 60s. I’d buried many loved ones already. I just wanted it to be Perry ushering me out.
I should have remembered: Be careful what you wish for.
Before meeting Perry, I’d go about my day, striding between work meetings and appointments, feeling dumpy. In flats with knee-length skirts and suit jackets, I felt…well, old. After meeting Perry, I strode in those same flat shoes with my soft belly, my fleshy hips, and my upper arms jiggling, and I felt, well…sexy. Even my brown curls bounced.
Of course, nothing about my body had changed, but I felt altogether different. The openness of our desire, the undeniable fact of it, was a gift. I wasn’t just enamored with Perry; I was hooked on who I became while with him. Sensual. Adventurous. Brave.
When we first met, Perry was tan from playing tennis. Dark forearms and neck. He had pale blue eyes with deep laugh lines. Barrel chested with thighs like tree trunks, he was 5-foot-10 to my 5-foot-5. We fit well together.
Perry taught English as a Second Language in New Hampshire. Kids in their early teens arrived from all parts of the world speaking no English. Perry exuded calm. Complemented by kind eyes, his smile said everything will be OK.
I was a psychotherapist, and, like Perry, I was skilled at soothing people in crisis, helping them recognize they had the strength to deal with whatever life hurled at them.
Over the years, Perry and I developed an easy rhythm. Our routines were not uncommon. We spent entire weekend afternoons exploring the local library and drinking coffee at our local café, Breaking New Grounds. We walked the beaches of Maine and sketched the rocks at low tide. We cooked together, nothing fancy. We ate copious amounts of broccoli and broiled chicken, both relishing and feeling virtuous in our healthful simplicity. Occasionally, we ate popcorn for dinner as we
read books by the fire.
We took care of each other, inconsequential things: me, placing a water glass on his bedside table; him, refilling my coffee as I wrote in the morning.
We touched each other often, like shorthand. I’m here. I’m here.
Fourteen years almost to the day we met, Perry sits across from me on the couch as he delivers my morning coffee. He leans forward as if he’s about to say something, but instead, he sinks back and remains silent. “What’s up?” I invite.
He breathes in. “I want a divorce; I’m not attracted to you anymore; I want children of my own.” His words whoosh out, as though he’s practiced them and must speak fast, afraid he’ll forget one.
“What?” Dread, immediate and physical, lands in my solar plexus. My mind skitters, like a rock skimmed over tranquil water. I can’t make sense of his sounds. It’s as though he’s speaking in a foreign language. I wonder if this is how his students feel – shocked by the words coming at them too quickly.
He continues to talk. I catch snippets: just realized…last chance... He’s babbling. . . .
To continue reading "A Brand New Ending, click here.
WordPlay Now! Writing Prompt
This is WordPlay—so why not
revel in the power and potential of one good word after another? This week, it's "ending."
PROMPT:
Write about a challenging ending in your life (or in the life of anyone else, real or fictional) from which you or the person you're writing about "rose from the ashes," creating "a brand-new ending" for yourself.
MAUREEN RYAN GRIFFIN, an award-winning poetry and nonfiction writer, is the author of Spinning Words into Gold, a Hands-On Guide to the Craft of Writing, a grief workbook entitled I Will Never Forget You, and two collections of poetry, This Scatter of
Blossoms and When the Leaves Are in the Water. She believes, as author Julia Cameron says, "We are meant to midwife dreams for one another."
Maureen also believes that serious "word work" requires serious WordPlay, as play is how we humans best learn—and perform. What she loves best is witnessing all the other dreams that come true for her
clients along the way. Language, when used with intentionality and focus, is, after all, serious fuel for joy. Here's to yours!
|
|
|
|
