Dear Reader,
Scroll to the end or click here for an invitation. Read on if you want to hear one very big reason why I do what I do. Click on the linked names to hear two podcasts featuring people I mention.
A few days ago my husband, our grown daughter, and I were watching The Boroughs, a Netflix series set in a retirement community near Albuquerque. I want to make a distinction though: That's the setting and situation.
That's not what the show is about, not exactly. (Bear this in mind, because I'm going to return to aboutness momentarily.)
At a pivotal moment, right before the protagonist drove off in a golf cart to go fight monsters, each of his friends, circled around, regaled him one by one with cliched phrases. The cheesy effect was meant to be heartfelt, but it gave us moment to laugh.
"Carpe Diem," I added. Seize the day. "No wait! Memento Mori."
My daughter arched her eyebrows: "Remember death?"
Yes, actually. It's worth remembering we have limited time, because we make decisions differently. We probably won't die today. But move on from situations we will, and yes, we will die.
But I don't want this to be yet another cliche. I've been pondering the moment since Sunday and why it's landed so fully for me.
Memento Mori and Carpe Diem are twin phrases born of plagues. Death directs us to seize life. Gallows sensibility, which I know thanks to Ms. Julie Albers, who taught our 11th grade English. Julie taught us to find extended meaning in literature. We got bawdy with Shakespeare puns and reveled in Nathaniel Hawthorne's symbolic names. We had so much fun.
Our English teachers were profound mentors who modeled strength in their own right and deep collaboration as well.
Arlys Johnson taught us to write. My grammar knowledge reflects her devotion. I remember once approaching her to debate her red ink (and the grade) on my paper saying, "That's what I meant."
Her response? "Then you should write that. I won't put words in your mouth. It's not sanitary." Classic Arlys. (I paraphrase from memory here, ironically.) Each mentor's lessons complemented each other. Like that scene in The Boroughs, each person adding a little more context, but vastly less trite because we really lived it.
Carol Ottoson directed me in Our Town, which we'd read in Julie's class. Carol cast me as the Stage Manager, the outsized narrator role suited to me, not sweet Emily like (I thought) I wanted.
When our senior year teacher, Pat Ferris, suddenly died over the weekend, Julie stepped in to finish the year. One more reason we adored Julie. As our class motto at graduation, we chose "Keep the Faith," a phrase Pat said all the time. When Arlys edited my graduation speech, she said that I had to include that phrase.
Keep the faith.
I pushed back, but Aryls insisted. And it belonged in the speech. Thinking about it now, that's what The Boroughs is about.
Remember we all die. But given that, keep the faith.
Which choices will make you feel most alive? What do you want to be remembered for? I remember that our English classes felt like learning playdates, and our teachers modeled a vision I draw from with Courageous Wordsmith. Many of us remember their impact.
And if you're going to die someday, and dream of writing a book, you'd best start today.
Heck, my friend and classmate Bradley Bodeker just released his novel this weekend, one inspired by him not dying of cancer.
(More soon on The Ballad of Broken Bird in another letter, along with several new books connected to Courageous Wordsmith.)
That's how I see the narrative journey: We're collaborating and growing while each person walks their own writing path, according to their own interpretations of events.
Which is why I revel in creative community that nurtures complementary gifts. When I keep the faith, it's literary.
Literature isn't some high, mighty thing. It brings us together.
At this moment especially, that's a profound thing.
Your Invitation:
All this to say. This summer, starting TOMORROW at 6:00 Central, I'm co-hosting monthly Zoom playdates with my friend Jenn Pike on narrative craft topics you can use WHILE YOU WRITE INTO YOUR STORY. Does this sound like fun? Come join us.
It's our dress rehearsal, the preview, and your chance to see if you'd enjoy playing with us in a more comprehensive (still monthly) nine-month experiment that starts in September.
Tomorrow, we play with finding and amplifying aboutness.
Travel safely.
Love, Amy
PS—I just posted a couple of reels on YouTube and Instagram that give you a better sense of me. Not every teacher is for everyone. But if I'm the writing mentor for you, you'll feel it right away.
I offer options for what that could mean.
