It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And Writing Feels Fine)
By Vaughn Roycroft | March 16, 2020 |
Welcome to Spring 2020! Hoo-boy, it’s already a doozy, and it hasn’t even officially started. So far we’ve had fires, floods, and rising tides (to the point of causing houses to fall in here along the Great Lakes). Not to mention political strife (plenty!) and economic upheaval (a veritable rollercoaster!).
And now a pandemic.
There’s real fear out there. Understandably! People are suffering and dying. Whether or not we’re sick, or know anyone who is, it’s a time when we’re all feeling vulnerable and isolated. A crisis like this tends to put the fragility of life into focus. I have to admit, it’s led me to some soul-searching. I’ve found myself asking a lot of questions of late. About my writing and more, of course. For the sake of this essay, I’ll try to stick to the ones about writing. But fair warning: for me writing is tightly entwined with living life.
I’ve always been the type to question myself about my writing. The basic stuff—such as, why do I write?—hasn’t really changed. So let’s skip ahead to questions like:
*Why’d I have to start writing so late in life?
*Why does it have to take so damn long to get it right?
*Why don’t I catch on faster; see the themes more clearly and sooner; thread the changes through more completely; get to “done” more effectively?
*Why couldn’t my parents have lived to my seeing this through? Or my wife’s parents? (I think her dad—a Latin and mythology scholar—might have really gotten a kick out of my stories.)
They’re questions which lead to more questions, like:
*When will this book finally be ready?
*Will it take this long to get each of my five remaining books ready to go?
*How long will I be sharp enough to stay on top of this?
*What if I run out of time? (I really hate the idea of leaving this job unfinished.)
Existential Edginess
Dolorous questions aside, I have experienced a crisis that felt similar to this. I recall the same sort of existential edginess in the days and weeks after 9/11. Several years afterward—after I began writing—I wrote: “Such a strange and tragic day. The earth seemed to tilt off of its axis that morning, and it took a long while for it to return to spinning as it once had.” In those same few years, we experienced a series of losses and dramatic life-changes. They were tumultuous times.
On 9/11, my wife and I still ran our business in Illinois, and I clearly recall how all we wanted to do was get to our cottage in Michigan (now our residence). It was about being home, and together; nearer to family and closer to nature. You know, seeking what’s really important.
So what did we do when we got here? We read. Sure, we also took long walks, cooked elaborate meals, opened nice bottles of wine, fed the fireplace all the livelong day. But we read like we hadn’t in years. (Side-note: Isn’t it funny what we sought then is what’s being asked of us now?) For me, reading like I hadn’t in years meant reading fiction again. I’d read very little of it during our run in business (mostly periodicals and nonfiction instead).
It’s not the first time I’ve realized that this series of events eventually led to my writing journey. In spite of the tragic and sad things that helped bring it about, it’s oddly reassuring to be reminded of it now. One of the first things I read—or I should say, reread—in the wake of crisis was The Lord of the Rings. You have to remember, Peter Jackson’s take on Fellowship was due to hit theaters that December. I clearly recall sitting in the lunchroom at the lumberyard, reading about the upcoming film in the newspaper (remember those?), and wondering how long it had been since I’d reread it. There’d been a time in my life when I reread it fairly regularly. In spite of my skepticism that LOTR could be made into viable movies–or perhaps because of it–I realized it had been far too long.
Soon after, I cracked open my worn copy of The Fellowship of the Rings, and turned a page on my life.
Crisis, Chaos, and Change
I’d hesitate for any audience other than WU, but here I’m pretty sure it won’t be seen as hyperbole when I say that rereading a book led me back to my true self. Like the longing to get to the cottage each weekend, reading an old favorite was like seeking the comfort of home. But it took me beyond homey comfort. Rediscovering fiction in the wake of crisis, I saw that immersion wasn’t the same thing as escapism. Rereading LOTR led to a series of wonderful reads.
Throughout that period of crisis, chaos, and change, reading brought a new appreciation for the applicability of story to real life. It helped me to sort my feelings, and offered cathartic emotional release, at a time when I sorely needed it. Story was a balm and a bridge to understanding and healing. It became the thing that anchored me to my re-found self.
An Anxious Longing
I’ve always been the sort of reader who wants more. When I love a book, I’m left with a sort of anxious longing after I finish it. I’m a reader who not only digs into an author’s catalog, but also researches elements introduced, searches for author interviews and articles, and seeks out similar titles. During that period from 9/11 through selling our business and moving to Michigan (at the end of 2003), I had an intensified version of that anxious longing. First in regard to Tolkien, and then regarding epic fantasy in general. I wanted to know why they worked or didn’t work, which authors were inspired by what or whom. I looked for the origins of the tropes I found satisfying. I dug back into nonfiction, unsure what I sought other than more; more feeling, more comfort, more catharsis, more… answers.
It was as though story had been the taste that woke a ravenous hunger. Or maybe more like the meal that inspired the chef.
Strangely, I still hadn’t quite given myself permission to try to write one. In hindsight I can see the desire as the root of the longing. But I still felt unworthy. I suppose I didn’t want to seem absurd, and that’s how I presumed I’d be perceived. But the longing became too much, and I took the inevitable plunge.
Seeing Such Times
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”—JRR Tolkien
I have only to step back and take a good look at my body of work to see what answers I’ve sought and continue to seek. Even the setting and world-building are revealing: the decline of the Roman Empire; a prophesied tumultuous crumbling of the civilized world that ushers rebirth (the darkness that precedes the light).
Through writing fiction, I’ve grappled with questions like:
*Can discarded honor be re-earned? Can selfishness be redeemed?
*Is love born of desire or is it an essential need? How does it endure or fail? Can it truly fail, or just be spurned? Does the absence of love create hate, or merely fuel it?
*Are those we’ve lost still with us? In what ways? What do we owe to their memory?
As I say, I’m still seeking. Not just for answers, but for how I feel about–and face–life, death, and everything it means to be alive; how big and how small the world really is; and regardless of how small we are, what sort of an impact each of us can make.
Stepping back I can see that my quest was born of crisis and chaos. I wish my writing journey “need not have happened in such times.” But, of course it did. It couldn’t have happened in any other. I’m still seeking, but I’m comforted to have found the perfect vehicle for the expedition.
There is nothing good about a pandemic. The crisis itself sucks, and can f*** the hell off. We must collectively strive to reduce the impact, offer aid and consolation to those displaced or suffering, and mourn those lost. We can pray for healing and hold to hope. But we can also take heart in knowing that the darkness will give way to the light—that good can be spurred by the tragic.
May it be that from crisis many a true self is re-found, and many a quest is launched.
How’s your time of self-quarantine and social-distancing going? Has crisis and chaos ever inspired change for you? For the better? Tell us how story has buoyed you, and which questions you seek to answer through writing.
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
Great post!
Thanks!
Hi Vaughn! Great quote, and very fit in these times, unfortunately … but how fortunate we are to be able to feed on encouraging reads! And how fortunate to have a community that gives us encouragement and a feeling of home.
In the Netherlands, from today on all schools are closed, as are restaurants/cafés, sport clubs etc. People are asked to work from home when possible, and keep to themselves as much as they can. So everyone at the moment is at home, trying to find a quiet spot to work … Going grocery shopping is amazing, as some people apparently think the end of the world is near, and they desperately need: toilet paper!! Weird.
Most of the countries around here are closing the borders, trying to reduce travels to absolute minimum. Which makes me think that at the moment it would be difficult for me to travel to Austria to see my mother, who is 88…. Even if I got there, maybe I could not come back. Good thing there are telephones!
I try to keep up with my writing, not easy with everyone at home. But fortunately I can also turn to my garden, which is a good way to get my zen back. Just imagine being stuck in an apartment in a huge city with no green around… that would be much worse. We have our garden, a lot of parks around and the sea only a 15 minute’s walk away. Lucky us.
So I am hoping for spring to boost everyone’s immune system to give that virus a good kick!
Stay healthy and safe, and keep on writing, as I want to see that epic work of your’s at Amazon in the not so far future!! :-)
Hi J! Wow, that’s got to add to the isolating feeling, not being able to get to your mother. Wishing you and her comfort through the uncertainty.
You’re on to something with gardening–so soul nourishing! I get a similar satisfaction from woodworking. It tethers us to the natural, which I think reminds our souls of who we are. And don’t get me started about getting to the sea (for me, a Great Lake, but very similar). A regular dose of that sort of vastness is both humbling and heartening. I shared one of my Lake Michigan pics on this post for that very reason.
As I say in the post, one thing crisis reveals is how small our world really is. It also provides is the assurance that we’re all in this together. Thanks much for reaching out across the pond, and bolstering that reminder. Wishing you all good health and a fast recovery. Thanks, too, for your encouraging praise!
This is exactly where I am as well. This morning as I prepared to do my usual morning routine, I thought: “this is the end of life as we know it.” I am scared, and at times I feel I’m barely breathing, but yesterday and this morning I heard the Carolina Wren singing in the early sun, and I took several long walks, and although I kept my 10 foot distance I waved at neighbors. I also reached out to online friends to make sure everyone knows I am thinking of them. And I also believe the darkness will give way to light. And today I will write because I desperately hope it’s true that chaos and change will inspire me.
Great post, Vaughn. Take good care, friend.
Hey Julia – The uncertainty just sucks, doesn’t it? But that birdsong, yes! And deep breathing, on long walks–works wonders, doesn’t it?
We’ve taken comfort in waving to neighbors from a distance, too. I think part of that reminder of the days after 9/11 has a lot to do with the fact that folks are showing up here, looking for solace, just as we did then.
I’m so glad to hear you’re going to write today. I’m starting to feel like it’s our civic duty (well, that and social distancing). May the stories produced–at least in part–from this crisis offer the balm and the bridge to those feeling uncertain in the years to come.
Thanks much for contributing to the conversation, my friend! Wishing you peace and productivity.
Vaughn, where do I start? There’s so much richness here, and so many valuable questions. Tolkien wrote the beginnings of the Silmarillion in the trenches of WW1, so it’s interesting that LOTR, with its shadows and battles, has always provided solace for me. For you, too, it seems, as well as a challenge to step into your calling. I’m glad you did. I’m glad that all of us have. Writers and artists give form to confusion and madness, or even more importantly, show us how to live inside the hard-to-answer questions and carry on with dignity and Grace. As Faramir said, such times offer us an opportunity to show our quality. You’ve shown yours here today. That you for the light in a dark time.
Hey Susan–It really does feel like our calling, to sort what it means to be alive from chaos and confusion. This crisis has reminded me of it. And I can see that it’s your calling, too. We’re drawn to do it, and so we must.
Such kind praise, applying Faramir to me today. As you have so often, you’ve buoyed me for the march ahead. Wishing you and yours good health. Onward, my friend!
Vaughn, I hope you know how much I adore and treasure your posts! If all you had written was “immersion wasn’t the same thing as escapism,” that sentence alone would have made this post a keeper for me. But you gave more and more! And that is one of the surprising gifts of a time like this. The abounding generosity that is arising all around and in so many forms. My partner saw how stressed I was (to put it mildly), and he gave me the gift of his puns and jokes. He made me laugh. What can we each give? I can water my plants, attentively. I can cook. Delight in the first signs of spring. Clean, not because I’m afraid of contamination, but because it feels good to tend to the objects in my care. It’s as if this crisis is opening my eyes. Our eyes. We’ll get through it together
Aw shucks, Barbara–such a kind note here. And ha! Deep cleaning going down here, too (my wife/cleaning director is home for the duration). There’s definitely a feeling of satisfaction to be gained in tending to our own gardens right now. And you’ve made a good point about everyone finding their perfect roles. I think it’s part of that impetus to seek our truest selves at a time like this.
Thanks so much for your very kind praise, and for contributing to our collective conversation. I’m starting to feel like it’s a healing thing, for all of us. Certainly is for me.
Vaughn,
This is absolutely beautiful. It stirred me deeply.
Before I sat down to read this, I scratched off the last few events that had remained on the calendar (including a check-up at the dentist for myself … don’t need to open wide and have a pandemic inserted).
The JRR Tolkien quote has spoken so loudly into my heart, which is desperately trying to slow its beat to an empty calendar and full house. I can see and hear the gentle, white-headed Gandalf ensuring Frodo.
Maybe having a pandemic painfully scratch around our time, etching at our souls, will help us ask each other important questions, and more importantly, lead us back to answers and the purpose of humanity.
You inspired me so much today. Thank you for your encouragement, Vaughn.
Heidi–Ha! My wife just canceled her dental check-up this morning. Your line made us both lol.
As for prodding us to ask each other important questions, and leading us to answers and the purpose of humanity–Amen!
Now you’ve inspired me right back! Thank you for your kind praise, and for your insight and excellent additions to the post. Wishing you and yours overall well-being…and healthy gums! ;)
What a fine outpouring, Vaughn. Deep…even deeper than usual. Your view conveys bravery and warmth.
Where many respond to crises, real and perceived, by shuttering heart as well as body, you encourage us authors to do what we do best. To open, explore, taste, feel. So of course trauma is a time of creative riches. In times of stress, that same caring is what makes great leaders out of ordinary ones.
Who knew authors and great leaders have so much in common? Well, probably the whole group of us who face the blank page, driven by passion to connect and each in our own way to guide, light, help humanity…our fortunate readers.
With issues such as you outline inhabiting your writing mind and desk, I have no doubt the fruits will be tasty and devoured. Stay the course and don’t worry about time past. It isn’t in front of you.
Gosh, Tom, this is such a kind and thoughtful note. What a gift it would be, during a time when we are asked to isolate for the greater good, if more open hearts resulted from it. It feels like something for which we can both hope and strive, and that’s a wonderful reminder, too.
And your addition about looking forward is wise, and perhaps the kindest note of all. Even before the pandemic, I’d been feeling the weight of my opening set of questions for the post. And I regret that my striving has kept me from being there for my fellow writers. You in particular. For that, I apologize.
Thank you, Tom. You are indeed a wise and gracious presence. I appreciate you!
Wonderful post! Thank you. It reminded me to go back to Viktor Frankl’s great book “Man’s Search For Meaning.” Reflecting on his experience as a prisoner in a WWII concentration camp, he wrote:
“.. it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life — daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.”
His book and his experience always bring things into perspective for me.
Whoa, Kay–Frankl’s words are deeply stirring, and so apt for the moment. Heading over to Amazon, as that sounds like the perfect book for the moment. Very insightful of you to return to it.
I’m glad the post resonated for you. Thanks so much for your praise and for sharing this wisdom.
Vaughn, I read Frankl’s book years ago, and it changed my life. I’d love to hear your reaction to it.
Reading it right now! What a gift he’s given to the world.
Hey V, good to hear from you!
This is good in so many ways. Thanks for reminding us of how we can handle this.
Gandalf’s quote is my favorite in the trilogy. It really helps to put things in perspective and gives me courage.
I’m looking forward to reading your books.
Stay healthy. ❤
Hi Val! Great hearing from you, too. I was thinking when I looked up the Gandalf quote that I wanted “the book version,” and was so delighted that Walsh and Boyens used Tolkien’s text verbatim in the movie. Shows not just Tolkien’s power, but his enduring applicability.
Here’s to courage, and to old friends, and belief in the light to come. Miss you. Wishing you the very best as you take the next steps. Same–can’t wait to have your book in my hands (it’s coming!). Wishing you and the fam good health and well-being.
“May it be that from crisis many a true self is re-found, and many a quest is launched.”
What more is there to say?
I’m glad you were on the schedule to post today. Providential. Stay safe, friend! And may we all use this time given to us well.
Hey Erin–It’s funny, I had another essay pretty much done for today. But on Friday, I had all of these feelings rushing back, and I knew I had to do this. Maybe that is providence. I’m honored to provide any sort of meaning or solace.
Thanks, Erin! You too–stay safe. Wishing you and your family good health. Here’s to striving to make the best use of this time!
Vaughan I needed this. So much going on in peoples’ lives that we can’t control. When my husband went through years of fighting cancer I often turned to my writing. Now the two of us are home, of course, and he will try to counsel the unemployed over the phone (his retirement giving choice) while I can still write. And read. These are gifts that remain. Hope remains in our fingers and our brains. Thanks for this. Beth
Hey Beth–I think you and I share a very big advantage at a time like this–we’re sharing it with our soul-mates. Isn’t that in itself such a tremendous gift? It means the world to me.
You’re right, we have these gifts, and we’re honor-bound to take advantage and to share what they bestow. As always, thanks much for sharing, and for your kindness. Crisis aside, wishing you and your bestie many healthy happy days together.
Good post, Vaughan. “May it be that from crisis many a true self is re-found, and many a quest is launched.”
Times of crisis really bring into laser-sharp focus what’s important, no? 9/11 was a turning point for so many of us.
For us, life is going on as usual because we already have a monkish lifestyle (read, write, pray) punctuated by college kids coming home for holidays (sometimes with carloads of friends). We are grateful that Mass and Lenten devotions haven’t yet been canceled in our parish. We need them more than ever.
I offer to you Thanksgiving by Joyce Kilmer
The roar of the world is in my ears.
Thank God for the roar of the world!
Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
Against me always hurled!
Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
And the sting of His chastening rod!
Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
And Oh, thank God for God!
Hey Vjaya–Today I truly see and feel what Kilmer offers us through this beautiful poem. It’s actually a consoling perspective, and much appreciated.
Thank you! Wishing you peace and healing in your monkish life – and good health! Please be cautious out there.
What a wonderful post, Vaughn, and so sorely needed. As always, you are someone who inspires the WU community with your kindness, thoughtfulness, and friendship. I hope the darkness of these days does lead to light and a better understanding of who we are and what is important. Stay safe.
Hi Liz! Well, one of the big blessings of this circumstance and this post is that it’s bringing about contact with dear friends. So lovely to see you (even virtually).
Thanks for your kind praise. To quote another 80s song, wishing you peace, love, and understanding. And good health to you and the fam!
This post, and your considerable contributions in the comments of many other WU posts, is why I have a lot of appreciation for you Vaughn.
The half marathon I was going to run yesterday was canceled, but the writing marathon continues undeterred.
Hey James – Sorry about the marathon, but so true about the writing marathon (it’s certainly not a sprint, is it?).
Same to you–I so appreciate your output here. It makes me certain I’ll be reading your books when they arrive. Thanks, and be well!
This is such a beautiful post, V; thank you for it.
9-11 is what connected me to writing, too — at least in a deeper way. I’d been writing health articles for some time, and had tried my hand at picture books, but I’d yet to attempt adult fiction. Tragedy had an effect on my desire to see those “one day” dreams come true, made me take them off the cloud and put them on my desk and do something with them.
That’s the gift of times like these, I think: We are more inclined to go inward, reconnect with our truest selves, as we circle the wagons.
It’s something to think about, isn’t it? In this chaos moment, as we steep in our safe places, what do we hear? Listen for those whispers from the clouds, those dusty dreams, and make change where you can, for yourself, now.
Hey T–How is it that we’ve never talked about the 9/11 impetus thing? Now that I think about it, I can so see those roots in your work. Maybe it’s part of what drew and held me–to WU and to my passion for your books (and the “outpouring” they always incite for ole’ Mjr. W.).
It is something to think about. I would go as far as to say that sort of cloud-listening is incumbent upon we storytellers. I’ve got my “deep-thinking marching-orders,” and I’m seeing the timing of it as a gift.
Thanks, as always, for your wonderful perspective and insight, and for this community! What a blessing it truly is.
As a stay-at-home writer with a homebound mother, I didn’t really feel the impact of the shutdown of society until our local bishop cancelled all public Masses. It’s prudent of course, but at the same time, makes it harder to practice the faith we need more now than ever.
Then it occurred to me that this spring we will still plant our garden, and tomorrow morning the sparrows will still expect seed in their feeder. Nature has a way of putting all things in perspective.
For writers, the words of Natalie Goldberg especially prescient: “In the middle of the world, make one positive step. In the middle of chaos, make one definite act. Just write. Say yes, stay alive, be awake. Just write. Just write. Just write.”
Hi Christine–Sorry about the cancelled servies, but I’m very grateful for your realizations and reaffirmations–thanks much for sharing them.
And thanks for the great gift of Goldberg’s wonderful exhortation. Here’s to taking positive steps, and to acting, each and every day through the crisis.
I think I’ve asked myself every single one of those same questions! And yes, this time of unprecedented disaster and change has brought up all those questions and a whole bunch more. I’m finding I’m a bit distracted from writing at present, but I’m seeking new and creative ways to cope with life in general—I’ve planted garden seeds for the spring (when things get better), I’m baking my own bread to nourish the bodies and souls of my family, and I even made my own disinfecting cleaner. It’s funny how even writers, creatures so used to working in isolation (and who like Hobbits generally prefer it that way), can suddenly think of it as captivity when told they can’t or shouldn’t go out. Hoping everyone stays safe and healthy, and nine month from now, the world will be full of bright and brilliant new manuscripts!
Hey Lecia–The distracting feeling of it is definitely an obstacle, isn’t it? But I think the questioning and the bread-making are a much-needed part of the process. And that home-brew cleanser is the best metaphor for this whole thing I’ve heard! Good for you.
The bread-making is such a universal thing; it’s got to be a soul-memory or something. Isn’t it what John Lennon did when he briefly quit making music to take care of Sean? It’s one of those ways we self-heal.
And your wish for a world full of new stories after the return of the light is one of the most delightful things I’ve heard yet in response to this. Kudos! This Hobbit, for one, thanks you for enhancing the conversation. Wishing you good pondering and productive writing days to come.
Your post is such beautiful timing, Vaughn, thank you. I needed the gathering-at-the-fireside aspect of WU today as a respite from the collective anxiety and distraction elsewhere online, even as I know they are real, sincere expressions as well.
Over the weekend, as things continued to close and shut down here in the Chicago area, I found myself thinking “what can I do?” And the obvious answer–especially when I find myself reaching out for comfort reading, aware of how important that is to have–is to keep moving that pen. Keep breathing, meditating, walking, yes…but keep working as well. Apart from sharing my work space with my husband who is working from home, this is what I wanted and needed to do “before.” More to the point, I’m finding it helps to think of how I can act as opposed to react.
Now that you mention it, I think I picked up Fellowship of the Ring that same fall of 2001, though I was actually reading it for the first time, fresh out of grad school and having left academia for good. It was perfect timing. I already knew I wanted to begin writing again after the long hiatus of grad school (when I wrote only academic papers), and I didn’t really begin that fall, but that was the moment when I could begin to redirect my attention, open my (heavily protected) imagination, and start to listen to the muse.
Sending you and everyone here a wish for good health: physical, mental and spiritual!
Hi Alisha! The timing, coinciding with my WU posting day, seems like a godsend to me, too. I really needed this gather-round-the-fire with my tribe about now. I’m honored to be the moderator of such a lovely outpouring.
That’s sort of spooky-cool that you were reading Fellowship at the same time. And likely not too far from me, to boot!
I love that you’re framing things in an “act rather than react” way. And I’m delighted to think of you settling in for some writing. And not too far away, to boot!
Thanks, as always, for your insight and your generous support, my friend. Here’s to good health, and to muses who speak up over chaos and crisis.
Vaughn, you’re an old soul (though much handsomer than most of my aged leather-bound books). Thank you for the full feeling and the warmth of your words, so much warmer than mere electrons on the screen.
Aye, crazy days. Even before the advent of the viral scourge, this has been a time of tumult. My most mind-stretching is that two people close to me have died—suddenly—in the last three months, and those top a big list of calamities.
Days to come will bring such personal challenges. Yesterday my mom’s assisted living center said that NO visitors will be allowed entrance. Makes perfect sense and is the right move, but she can barely hear us when we call (and she struggles with the phone in general), so it will be a struggle to communicate with her, and she gets a little panicky when my sister, who lives in her city, doesn’t come by for a day or so. These sorts of stories will thread our lives for months to come.
So, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” We could look at that cheerfully as well (maybe).
Hey, in my social distancing yesterday, I cleaned the most neglected areas of the kitchen: behind the refrigerator (horrid), behind the stove (hideous) and on top of all the cabinets (ghastly), which don’t go to the ceiling, so in their gap was a grease grotto. See how fun virus insulation is?
Carry on, my friend.
Hey Tom–Wow, handsomer than books? I actually have some very handsome volumes on the shelves, so that’s the best compliment I’ve had in some time.
I was so sorry to hear about your recent losses. I felt your sorrow, and feel it for you. It’s funny… well, not funny, but this crisis feels oddly ominous in regard to the losses I mention in the post. One of them was my mother-in-law. She became very ill shortly after 9/11 due to a compromised immune system. She ended up succumbing to avian flu, and spent her final weeks on a ventilator. We’d been very close, and one of the things we had in common was a love of reading. There’s so much of her spirit in my work. I mention this to say that, no matter how much it hurts, we are made up of those we’ve lost. They are a part of us, and they become a part of what we offer up in our work.
Ha! Yesterday I cleaned ceiling fan blades and a pair of shelving units (and every book and item on them). I suspect some of the dust and gunk I got rid of yesterday has been accumulating since the last crisis.
Fingers crossed for your mom–I hope she gets through this smoothly and as fret-free as possible. And I wish you peace and healing, my brother.
Vaughn, I would not trust anyone brandishing certainties and answers. I do trust your uncertainties and questionings entirely. They resemble mine as I bushwhack through my WIP, and yours give me courage.
My older son began reading LOTR as a boy after his father and I handed down our original hardbound set. He reread it so many times that the books fell to pieces. I’ll send him the Tolkien quote above while we await your work.
Thank you for this generous, heart-warming, and heart-strengthening essay, so richly suited to these times and this community as we stay connected through our craft.
Ah, I knew I liked and admired you for good reason, Anna. Any parent with a child who wears out LOTR is aces in my book!
I also admire that you question yourself as you bushwhack–it’s bound to make for a better output. Thank you for your very kind praise, and for enhancing today’s conversation. Wishing you and yours good health!
Vaughn,
Your post reminded me how old I am. I was on a train between Boston and Chicago on 9/11. I went into the snack car for something to drink and found a small lady there, some years my senior. She was slender with silver hair, wearing a gray suit and pale rose blouse. The brooch on her lapel was a circular scroll in silver. I could tell by looking that she had Jewish ancestry (as do I). Her eyes met mine, and we smiled ruefully. She stepped a little closer and whispered “shades of December 7”.
I nodded. Those of us who remember WWII were not as shocked by 9/11 as those of you who were younger. Life seems to be circular. The tragedies are much the same – only the details are varied. The ability of the human spirit to bounce back is nearly limitless. I’m grateful for that. And I’m grateful to the writer that have been and are up-coming. We always need good reading material.
Hey Judith–So true, about the generational thing. My mom said the same, that 9/11 reminded her of Pearl Harbor. Long before ’01, whenever she or my dad spoke about those days, I was rapt. I’ve always been one to imagine what life was like, even in tragedy or crisis. Or maybe particularly through those. I guess it’s a part of the writer I became.
I’m heartened by your reminder about the cycles and the human spirit. Thank you, my friend. You’ve always been generous with your insight about my essays, and I appreciate it very much. Wishing you and yours good health!
What a lovely post–and hopeful and helpful. I’ll be sharing.
Thank you, Tiffany! Wishing you good health.
Dear Vaughn, though we haven’t met, your deep reflections allow me to see and know you in special ways. You are thoughtful and insightful, which gives life meaning in chaotic times. I worked twice in New Jersey after 911. Life will happen – do we walk through it with our hands fisted close or do we enter the story with our hands open wide. Thank you for your thoughtful words.
You are so right, Rebecca. Thank you for coming to me with hands open wide today. Now my heart is full. Your praise means much to me.
Really beautifully stated, Vaughn. Thanks for the encouraging words.
Thanks much, Yuvi! Your praise is hugely encouraging to me, so we’re even, my friend.
How long, Oh Lord?
Lord: As long as it takes. It only took me seven days but, heh, I’m God. As for you, why are you stressing? The joy is in the creation. After that, people just mess up the lovely thing you made. They try to “improve” it. Everyone’s a critic. When you’re making it, it’s all yours, no one else’s. Treasure that time.
In fact, I’ll give you the gift of that time. All of you. A couple of weeks, maybe months. Stay home. Don’t travel. Enjoy.
Hey Benjamin–I admire your constancy. You’re ever there with the reminder to live in the moment, and enjoy this great gift with which we’ve been endowed. This time, as a bonus, we’ve all got the time to really dig into your advice. I did today. Feeling very good about it, too. (Taking the advice of a mentor to heart, and feeling that you’re capturing the essence of that advice, is anther bonus.)
I always appreciate you, my friend. Wishing you good health to go with your enduring good outlook. Thanks again for sharing it.
Excellent post for hard times. Your Gandalf quote (I can’t even count the number of times I read LOTR) reminded me of another, from Terry Pratchett of Discworld fame: “May you live in interesting times.” Title of his 17th book in the series and apparently one of the worst things you can say to a resident of Discworld.
In light of all the questions you ask yourself – Can discarded honor be re-earned? Can selfishness be redeemed? – I, too, look forward to reading your books.
Hey M.S.–Ha! I love the twist on the quote, that’s so Pratchett. Thanks for sharing it.
I’m honored by your kind words. Thank you! Wishing you good health throughout these (dare I say?) interesting times.
These last few days have been very emotional for me…reading your post took me back to a community of acquaintances who became fast friends…who loved sipping wine in front of a tiny repurposed building. Fridays at ReLax….those were the days…blissful I would say. Still in the aftermath of 9/11 we all found new friends and a wonderful new community emerging. It makes me wonder…do we only allow ourselves that raw hunger for new beginnings only after such a monumental event? I am so proud to live where we live…because it IS truly small town America and we have such wonderful talented people who take the time to stop…smell the roses…sip some wine…and comfort an old friend…even if it’s from the story you are reading on the internet. You are a minstrel of words…
Thank you Vaughn
Hey Julie! It’s been too long, and I truly miss ReLax. I’m proud of our little community, too. We’ve shown how we can all pull together before. It sucks that this time pulling together means staying apart.
Thank you for your very kind words. Let’s look forward to sipping wine again some summer day soon. Stay healthy. Cheers!
Vaughan, Thank you so much. LOTR wasn’t the series I reread after 9/11 (I have read it to my kids twice since then, though–and The Hobbit three times!). I was knee deep in babies in 2001 and had just moved across the country to begin teaching at a new university; so I didn’t read anything other than what I was teaching and grading, and I didn’t write, and I felt deeply lost. Now? I’m living with teenagers-almost-adults and frantically trying to get my university courses online overnight so that my students can keep learning. But this time I’m taking time to read and write, too, because I know how lost I’ll feel if I don’t. And the time away with books is helping. We’re reading aloud at dinner each night, and the big teens aren’t even complaining that I decided to pull out an old children’s novel. It is a respite from the world, and it prepares us to get back to the work that needs to be done.
Hi Heather! Long time, no see. :) Such a difference between then and now for you! It’s wonderful that you can “self-medicate” with story to avoid what you learned would happen. And I LOVE dinnertime reading. That’s honestly the coolest family-time thing I’ve heard in ages.
Kudos to you, awesome mom, and to your awesome kids. Stay healthy while you avoid getting lost. Thanks so much for reaching out and enhancing the discussion.
Those questions you ask at the beginning of this…yeah. Ouch.
Take care, Vaughn. Keep writing.
Hi Marta! Thanks much, you too–keep writing. And art-making of all sorts, you talented human, you.
(Also, fwiw, I’ve decided our parents are witnessing our seeing it through, and they’re very proud.) You take care, too. Wishing good health to you and your family.
Thank you, I needed that. Particularly the part about ‘Why did I wait so long to start writing fiction’ and ‘Will I live to finish this book?’
It’s nice to know we’re not alone, isn’t it, Sherrill? I know I very much appreciate hearing from my fellow “life-experienced” writers. ;)
Here’s to living our fullest lives, exploring our passion each day that’s given to us. Thanks much for letting me know!
I think it’s the arts, language and words- those are the things that feed our souls. It’s easy to get busy and lose sight of what we need for the difficult times. It’s also times we search out people who “get” it and can talk about it and know the community is right there with you. That’s what I love about the unboxed community.
Amen, Rebecca. And as one of the moderators, I can assure you that seldom is heard a discouraging word.
We really are lucky. Therese has built a foundation that attracts a community that understands the power of what you’re describing. Thanks for being a part of it.
T. Is an amazing and loving gentle soul. But you guys have all brought together the best of a writing group. Can’t wait for the next in uncon! Even as a nonfiction writer it was great. In the last year I’m learning more about the mindset of a writer and what I need. A writing group is a beautiful but scary place to step into. Another stone on the path of vulnerability. I’ve been fortunate to have a group here but other than my coach, none of us are published. Thanks again for the great posts too!
Perfectly timed for J.R.R. Tolkien Reading Day, March 25.
Oh, how fitting, Marcie. Didn’t realize. Thanks!
Thanks for this profound post, Vaughn. I’m still pondering the three questions you say writing fiction has led you to grapple with, especially this one which has driven many of my stories:
“*Are those we’ve lost still with us? In what ways? What do we owe to their memory?”
I am eager to read your books and know they will be fantastic. How do I know that? Because of the way you are able to dig into your emotions and be vulnerable in your WU posts, and because of the deep and important questions you are wrestling with.
Aw shucks, Barbara. Now you’ve gone and made my week. And on Monday! Such a delightful gift from an old friend.
Thank you! Here’s to the deep and important questions, and to continuing to seek the answers.