It has been another short weekend but productive for me writing-wise. Friday, I went back to my dusty drafts and decided to print them out by theme. I had 19 pieces on grief. I edited them all over the weekend and will re-type them all after posting.
I have a piece on sisters, on mothers, on daughters, on lovers, on husbands, on wives, on fathers, on lovers, cold cases, great grandmothers, children, men, women, strangers. That is a lot but I don’t feel overwhelmed. Moreso accomplished.
These pieces are from experience. My own, my family. Some of them are found. Things I’ve read and wondered about. Snippets I’ve overheard or were told to me (and not by anyone close.) What do you call someone who draws in stories? Someone that people feel comfortable talking to. Not confessions but just stories, memories? Is it my eyes? My voice? My quiet? Who knows.
I do know that I want to ride out this clarity because my next Ocrevus infusion has been moved from Feb to March and I usually start to feel like crap, they actually call it “crap gap” a month before I am due for it. The new year is around the corner and I want to be ready.