Writing on the Wall, part 2

or why we write

Why I Write

Part 2

I was speaking with my friend on the phone. She is working on a manuscript. She put it down for a while, she is picking it up again. She is an old friend and has been through many changes. There was a time we lost track of each other, our paths have re-converged. We have been good friends from the moment we met, which I estimate was 44 years ago when I first came to St. Louis.

I was telling her about the fellowship we sponsor in the memory of our daughter that recognizes, supports, teaches emerging writers who are doing uncommon work.

From there I went to a piece I had written about why we write. My friend and I talked about that for a while. It gives me hope, my friend said, something like that. It lifts me because I can feel alone with this work, with this life, and when I read these pieces I feel taken up. Lifted. Hope I guess it is I’m talking about. Also, I feel I am learning something that the writer has learned and it means something for me also, something like it meant for the writer.

Yes, I said, that’s good and I might have to rewrite the piece I wrote.

I then mentioned this picture I attach to this piece.

Look at this picture. Someone I do not know took this picture of me, I was talking to my friend mentioned above in the parking lot of Best Buy. Just last week. I don’t know the person who took this picture, she must have taken the picture of me while I was in deep conversation with my pal, though I think I know who took the picture because a young woman said something nice to me as we were both leaving the store. I assume she took the picture.

One of my guitar playing pals is on her Instagram, he sent the picture to me, and told me she’s an artist and I follow her work. Look – it’s you . . .

Look, it’s me. I guess that’s more of a reason for writing than I admitted in the first piece.

Look it’s me, yeah, consider this a rewrite of why I write. Amen.