I was thinking about the cemetery in Savannah this morning. How the tombstones still line the wall, never returned to their rightful places. As deliberate as Sherman was to have his soldiers camp there, the decision to keep open the wound was made.
How am I going to close these wounds?
Because I don’t want the memories to become armor, locking me in place, keeping everyone out.
How do I keep moving forward but not running away?
I had a friend call me up the other day and gently remind me of a lost priority.
Are you done with the book proposal?
No, I said. Almost.
Nice to be applying for the job but will you have time to do it with the book you’ll be writing?
The book will be about this year in politics in Massachusetts and the country, my experience as a lesbian parent and the looming debate about gay marriage. It cannot be written at another time.
I have never thought about my writing or my photography as my number one job. Always second to anything else that comes along. I do not find value in my own work. I find value in working for others.
I’ve had offers to hang my pictures, to film a script (we’re still doing that Julie!), and my gracious friend- who wrote almost all of my book proposal- is patiently drumming her fingers, waiting to review it before sending it to her agent.
I believe, without question, I could be extraordinary at the job I sent a letter of inquiry about.
The timing, another friend said, is suspect.
Is it moving forward? Or just running?
I want to be deliberate.
And I want to close wounds.