When I cry at something I've written, it means I have exposed a joy, a loss, grief, a memory, or a personal experience that I bravely released into the universe.
Today’s episode was the best I’ve seen to date! The evident connection among you three, the honesty (not the brutal kind), and the happiness written on your faces was palpable. (Happiness is the truth…)
I liked Jay’s methodology for creating a first draft. Two books to your credit, a weekly blog, founder of an Ataxia Support Group, OLOL, and, oh yeah, husband and dad, tells me something’s working! My apologies for the ones I overlooked, Jay.
Then a comment or two about Gail Boenning. We both harbor fuzzy feelings for The Sound of Music. A lyric from Do-Re-Mi suggests how her writing got underway: “Let’s start at the very beginning.” And she shows no signs of stopping! Three books inspired by her Muses; POISE, my favorite, sharing her treatment for cancer and modeling the strategies that worked for her; two more books nearing completion (no pressure); hosting The Mind of Curiosity with Elaine Pardi almost every Wednesday. Let’s not forget wife and mother. The cooker, the baker, the candlestick maker. And a closet in her studio is full of different, brightly colored hats. She doesn’t make arbitrary choices on which one to wear. Her intuition guides her hand to the right one!
Last, and far from least, Karen. I grew up near Clarion, about an hour and a half drive north these days. There must be some element in the water table that works to freeze a smile on our faces, prevent truthful comments - about anyone, and often state the opposite of our true feelings in order to … Appear insincere? Show we would never challenge someone verbally, especially adults, school teachers, authority figures. I was head strong and resisted those expectations at every turn. Still that was the pro social expectation in the general area. A Saturday night comedy club could have provided a safe place to be appreciated for my sense of humor, but cussing would have been exclusionary.
You helped me see clearly that questioning the family doctor was out of the question, despite inner questions like, “When can I ask questions? I’m my son’s mother! What are you not telling me?” Generationally installed inhibitions outranked your sovereignty as a responsible adult. What’s not outrageous about the expectations you had to live up to? Somehow I thought of the show dogs whose owners have their vocal cords cut, seen and not heard, for Westminster Kennel Club competition. I think the dogs don’t get a vote.
Each of us, from following our respective paths, came to find our voices. And use them. I admire how you calculated the right course of action to set aside the “ways to be” that once held you back. Not a show dog! Hurray!
Gary, I second your comments about Gail and Jay and all the hats they wear so successfully. I'm wowed, being a one-hat woman myself. (OK, maybe a few hats on a good day.) Gail nailed it below, Gary--your "generosity of attention" is a gift. Thank you for thinking so deeply about this episode and sharing your thoughts. I didn't know that show dogs sometimes have their vocal cords cut. What a horrible practice, albeit an effective metaphor for what I learned growing up in "practically the midwest" as I've been told. Like you, some of my siblings learned to reject the status quo at home; in fact, my only sister is one of the most assertive people I've ever known. I'm glad to be finally joining their ranks!
Yet another thing to be grateful for! My approach to reading what other people post is simply, “If they took the time and energy to compose their thoughts and create a post, I owe a careful reading to that author, as was my listening today. Recently a writer I follow on Substack praised something I had written. (as a comment on another’s post) and advised that I put it on my Substack!) I am not a Substacker. I follow writers, poets, painters that are. Their cheering squad? The works of so many very accomplished Substackers satisfies my creative brain. Again, best wishes in what you strive for.
I have a similar philosophy. My motto is, "Read something, say something." In keeping with the brevity of that thought, my comments are typically brief, with less "generosity of attention" than your thoughtfully composed works worthy of their own Substack. (But my thoughts are equally heartfelt.) Thanks for your support, Gary!
It occurred to me that I didn't respond to my own prompt: When I cry at something I've written, it is sometimes related to a release of emotion similar to what Billie, Sharon, Julie, and Gail shared. (Hmm. Maybe I'll post this prompt on Twittex and ask guys to reply!) Often, though, especially in the process of writing my memoir, it means I've nailed a literary moment--the punch of the final sentence in a paragraph, the moving scene, the mastery of a writing skill. My tears mean "I'm truly a writer." Often, of course, on revision, those perfect lines turned out to be not so perfect. But in the moment, it's a beautiful feeling.
When I cry at something I've written it means that I've met something in myself that I've kept hidden, but now a light can shine, bring recognition, can heal.
When I cry at something I've written, it means I have exposed a joy, a loss, grief, a memory, or a personal experience that I bravely released into the universe.
Thank you for modeling 'brave release' in all the many ways you show up for and engage with life Billie! https://conversation4change.com
When I cry at something I have written- it's because my heart is revealed.
Thank you for revealing your heart at https://sharonmariebuckler.substack.com
We are grateful to have you with us here!
Me too, Sharon. Crying means I have arrived at my truth.
Today’s episode was the best I’ve seen to date! The evident connection among you three, the honesty (not the brutal kind), and the happiness written on your faces was palpable. (Happiness is the truth…)
I liked Jay’s methodology for creating a first draft. Two books to your credit, a weekly blog, founder of an Ataxia Support Group, OLOL, and, oh yeah, husband and dad, tells me something’s working! My apologies for the ones I overlooked, Jay.
Then a comment or two about Gail Boenning. We both harbor fuzzy feelings for The Sound of Music. A lyric from Do-Re-Mi suggests how her writing got underway: “Let’s start at the very beginning.” And she shows no signs of stopping! Three books inspired by her Muses; POISE, my favorite, sharing her treatment for cancer and modeling the strategies that worked for her; two more books nearing completion (no pressure); hosting The Mind of Curiosity with Elaine Pardi almost every Wednesday. Let’s not forget wife and mother. The cooker, the baker, the candlestick maker. And a closet in her studio is full of different, brightly colored hats. She doesn’t make arbitrary choices on which one to wear. Her intuition guides her hand to the right one!
Last, and far from least, Karen. I grew up near Clarion, about an hour and a half drive north these days. There must be some element in the water table that works to freeze a smile on our faces, prevent truthful comments - about anyone, and often state the opposite of our true feelings in order to … Appear insincere? Show we would never challenge someone verbally, especially adults, school teachers, authority figures. I was head strong and resisted those expectations at every turn. Still that was the pro social expectation in the general area. A Saturday night comedy club could have provided a safe place to be appreciated for my sense of humor, but cussing would have been exclusionary.
You helped me see clearly that questioning the family doctor was out of the question, despite inner questions like, “When can I ask questions? I’m my son’s mother! What are you not telling me?” Generationally installed inhibitions outranked your sovereignty as a responsible adult. What’s not outrageous about the expectations you had to live up to? Somehow I thought of the show dogs whose owners have their vocal cords cut, seen and not heard, for Westminster Kennel Club competition. I think the dogs don’t get a vote.
Each of us, from following our respective paths, came to find our voices. And use them. I admire how you calculated the right course of action to set aside the “ways to be” that once held you back. Not a show dog! Hurray!
Thank you Gary for your participation and consistent support. Your generosity of attention and expressed appreciation are gifts.
Yes generosity of attention! You nailed it Gail!
Gary, I second your comments about Gail and Jay and all the hats they wear so successfully. I'm wowed, being a one-hat woman myself. (OK, maybe a few hats on a good day.) Gail nailed it below, Gary--your "generosity of attention" is a gift. Thank you for thinking so deeply about this episode and sharing your thoughts. I didn't know that show dogs sometimes have their vocal cords cut. What a horrible practice, albeit an effective metaphor for what I learned growing up in "practically the midwest" as I've been told. Like you, some of my siblings learned to reject the status quo at home; in fact, my only sister is one of the most assertive people I've ever known. I'm glad to be finally joining their ranks!
Yet another thing to be grateful for! My approach to reading what other people post is simply, “If they took the time and energy to compose their thoughts and create a post, I owe a careful reading to that author, as was my listening today. Recently a writer I follow on Substack praised something I had written. (as a comment on another’s post) and advised that I put it on my Substack!) I am not a Substacker. I follow writers, poets, painters that are. Their cheering squad? The works of so many very accomplished Substackers satisfies my creative brain. Again, best wishes in what you strive for.
I have a similar philosophy. My motto is, "Read something, say something." In keeping with the brevity of that thought, my comments are typically brief, with less "generosity of attention" than your thoughtfully composed works worthy of their own Substack. (But my thoughts are equally heartfelt.) Thanks for your support, Gary!
When I cry at something I’ve written it means I'm healing. Thank you so much Karen.
Thank you Julie for joining us in this week's prompt offering.
Your writing at https://juliebhughes.substack.com models vulnerability, openness, and writing as a road to wholeness.
Next week we get to share our conversation with you! :)
I look forward to listening!
Thank you Karen.
Thank you Gail and Jay! It was so fun to join you both.
Excellent 👌
Hi Margaret. :)
I love that, Julie. My tears of healing contain buckets of often conflicting emotion. Do you find that?
Oh yes, I do find that often. I'm getting better at feeling them all and not let it mean anything other than, I'm human. (not easy)
I hear ya!
It occurred to me that I didn't respond to my own prompt: When I cry at something I've written, it is sometimes related to a release of emotion similar to what Billie, Sharon, Julie, and Gail shared. (Hmm. Maybe I'll post this prompt on Twittex and ask guys to reply!) Often, though, especially in the process of writing my memoir, it means I've nailed a literary moment--the punch of the final sentence in a paragraph, the moving scene, the mastery of a writing skill. My tears mean "I'm truly a writer." Often, of course, on revision, those perfect lines turned out to be not so perfect. But in the moment, it's a beautiful feeling.
When I cry at something I’ve written it means that I have acknowledged the hurt — that I am now walking the path toward better.
Oh yes. Healing can't begin until the hurt is given recognition.
When I cry at something I've written it means that I've met something in myself that I've kept hidden, but now a light can shine, bring recognition, can heal.