Four Things

Hi all,

Bear with me on this one. I’m not sure where I’m going but I have a lot to say.

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On May 30, I attended the Maine Literary Awards. It was inspiring to see how much schools and organizations do to support young writers in Maine. I felt honored to live in a state that holds space for young people to speak and be heard.

What they have to say matters.

During his speech, Morgan Talty said that a story isn’t an answer, it’s a question, or maybe a series of questions that writers are asking themselves about humanity, about the world in which we live, about our place in that world.

I’m wondering, if you write, what are the questions you explore in your stories? Why?

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On Tuesday night I went to Print to hear a little about what Lori Ostlund had to say about her latest book Are You Happy? It was a pretty full house and I saw some familiar faces and Lori said a lot of things that I’m still thinking about. Lori explained that where she is from (Minnesota) people talk up to a point of tension or conflict, they pause, and then they resume the conversation after. What matters, she said, is not what is said, but what is silent. (Or something like that.)

The other thing I’m thinking about had to do with Lori’s ability to fold humor and sadness together because life is filled with both. When I write, she said, I cut to the bone.

I bought her book and I had her sign it and I think that is an accurate description of her writing.

When was the last time you listened to what wasn’t said? What did you learn?

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On Wednesday, my older son and I went out to dinner and played Gin Rummy with a deck of cards I keep in my purse, just in case. Which is, by the way, something I learned from my Abuelita who told me one that I should always travel with an extra pair of wool socks, enough cash (whatever that means), and a deck of cards. After dinner we went for a walk in the Western Cemetery, which smelled like the blossoms of the trees. We saw one gravestone for a man named Cobb who died in 1800 but was born in 1723. After a minute of staring, my son said, He lived through the birth of the country.

My oldest son is like that. For example, when he was in third grade he was really into sunken ships. So deep in that he was listening to sea shanties and that song about the Edmund Fitzgerald and making ships out of cardboard boxes and calling them Cardbordia. And one day he was staring into space and my sister said, What are you thinking about? And he said, All those people who died on the Titanic. 

My sister will remind me of this every once in a while, when I am feeling especially frustrated by the preteen sass that lurks at the corners of conversations when he is tired or hungry or needs some time to himself.

After our walk, we went to see High Noon at Kinonik, which is down by the dock. It was a full house and there were a ton of reels lining the walls and a popcorn machine with little brown paper bags. The movie started with a teaser for the Big Sleep, with Bogart and Bacall, which was a special sort of nod because some of those Neo-westerns of the 50s creep into that noir space and get pretty comfortable.

High Noon holds up and says a bit about humanity that feels unfortunately relevant for all sorts of reasons that I won’t get into.

I’d be curious to hear your thoughts. What did you think?

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Registration for Crime Wave is officially open. I’m going and hope you can come, too. More HERE.

My short story “The Usual Reasons” is out in the July/August Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. You can grab a copy at your local Barnes and Nobel or Books A Million. Or you can get a digital version. Or even subscribe if you don’t already. More HERE.

Finally, I’m getting ready for a week of writing at the Hewnoaks Residency. I am honored to have received the Bodwell fellowship from the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance.

Any recommendations on books to bring? Songs to listen to? Tricks to make the most of the time?

Hope our paths cross soon,

Gabi