From 2013, unnamed agent

Thank you for letting me have a look at your proposal, BEARDED LADY.  I really like the idea of it, but, unfortunately, I didn’t  feel that the writing was strong enough for a memoir.  There is such competition around memoirs these days that the writing either has to be phenomenal or it has to be written by a celebrity.  I’m sorry not to have a better reaction.  I wish you the best of luck with your work.

Today

 

Talking to the class

I went to Baz's class today to talk about what I do for a living. I talked writing. They got it. I have to say, I think they really loved it. Who knew this is what I would do with my life? Who knew it could be this good?

Back from San Diego

 

Today's writing

I picture my hand on the knob, turning. Seeing his feet first, wondering stupidly how is that even possible? Then seeing the swinging, swaying.

 

I screamed. Howled. You little fucker. You can’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Rob came, pulled him down, did CPR. Too late. A little, a lot, we will never know. Unlike his time of birth, I have no idea of his time of death. No one told me, or if they did, I didn’t comprehend it.

 

I’d wanted more time. Less pressure. Less stress. Careful there with those wishes, with what you think would make your life better. A pair of swinging feet, a belt connected to a ceiling fan. A flushed yet somehow pale face. Quiet now, quieter than before. Quiet for good. Quiet for always.

Today's writing

In the car I let him control the radio. He plugged in his phone, queued up Nirvana, “About A Girl.” It was the MTV Unplugged version, the one where Kurt Cobain was filmed wearing a tan cardigan among candles and adoring fans. I’m standing in your line, I do hope you have the time …

 

“Thanks for coming out with me,” I said. It felt weirdly formal to be thanking him like that, this being who used to kick me from the inside out, but I meant it. We’d spent so little time together recently that this felt like a rendezvous of sorts, an adventure. When he was younger I took him everywhere: Sausalito, Pacifica, the train museum in Sacramento where he ran wild and wide-eyed, taking it all in. Always a great traveling companion. Always amenable to being strapped in, observing from the back seat. By the time he was old enough to travel shotgun, he was no longer interested. He started saying no, shaking his head, when I asked. Sorry, Meredith. Can’t today. No reason given. Never a reason. Just a simple refusal.

INXS, "New Sensation"

And the sun
Comes like a god
Into our room