Ode to MG

There are moments that define us. I'm existing through a series of such moments. My grandmother is in my house and this is probably one of the last times we will have the chance to live together in this way - as adults with a long, complicated, loving and occasionally destructive history.

I watch her. I watch until I can't take it any more, then I go one room away and I think about all of the hers I have known. I love that my grandmother has taught me to always value the eccentricities and individual quirks that weave together my being.

I was watching a Toni Morrison interview recently and she spoke about the loss of her father, which prompted her to write and publish. She said, and I paraphrase, that with the loss of her father she would never be seen the way he saw her. In this I felt the connection to my life, when my grandmother is no longer in the world there will no longer be anyone who sees me the way she does and that stings, if I allow it, it hurts deeper and longer than I can bear.

How Long Do You Want To Be Loved?

Is forever enough?

I'm writing this post with multiple layers of mixed emotions. A few people in my life are mightily displeased with me. I think that indicates I'm finally doing something right, possibly.

Redemption Song

Yesterday I wanted to post a question for myself, it went along the lines of "is it better to write slowly and get there eventually or to pound them (the words) out and get there more quickly."

I stayed stuck on the matter for a while. Last night, the answer came and found me in an article from The Atlantic. It encouraged the labor, the long labor, of wordsmithing.

I have a song I discovered in a friend's collection that has been keeping me regular company for nearly a week now. The song has crawled into my consciousness and seems to be girding my spine and reinforcing my stomach, for I've found all kinds of courage I thought I lacked.

I started speaking up for myself yesterday, for my dreams. Yes, it's unrealistic to want to be a writer (of all things, a writer?) but real life is painful enough without abandoning your dreams in the process. Dear Reader, do you know what happens when dreams are ignored? They do not shrivel up like a raisin in the sun. No, they become the deepest, longest, most persistent nightmares imaginable. Or worse, they are unimaginable because the force it requires to ignore a dream, or to set it aside, is the full force of your being.

That's a lot of force. It is more force than the majority of people encounter, I am constantly reminded that a great many people never have to call on their basic will to live in order to stay alive. I find that, in itself, fascinating.

So, I'm working my dream. working, working, working. The long version of work, the type that redeems a soul rocked too hard by nightmares.

Love,

Camille

Bloodchild

It's an Octavia Butler kind of night.