… you can believe in yourself for 10 seconds.” Good advice from, oddly enough, an anonymous person on social media.

Writing takes up the majority of my day. Some people think that because I no longer have a “traditional job” I must spend most of my time binge-watching Netflix and cleaning my house. First of all, if you know me at all, you know that I would never clean my house if I could do anything else, including have a root canal. I HATE cleaning like other people hate root canals and … well, writing. 

Most nights, I fall asleep thinking about the story I’m working on and whatever knotty problem I’ve gotten my character into. They’re as real as a pen pal, not visible perhaps but vibrantly alive. Honestly, as stupid as this may sound to you, I cried after killing off a beloved character. No kidding. The best part about that particular incident is that I was at Starbucks at the time and a concerned man asked me if I was okay. “Oh, yes, thank you. I’m fine,” I said, wiping my eyes with a napkin and laughing nervously, as I am known to do. 

Ken would understand in a way most people won’t. He produced massive quantities of extraordinary content (but, oddly, he was a terrible editor). Sometimes I think, if only I could bear it, I would like to try to publish some of his writing but his voice is so clear in his words that I can’t even look at any of it right now. Maybe someday. 

It’s been a chaotic Fall. We’re doing the high school search for my youngest son. If you aren’t a Pittsburgher, you might not know that our city schools aren’t well-regarded. So, in addition to our usual activities, we’ve had rounds of private school visits, applications, and essays. The teenager will have to wait until February to know his options, including, in all fairness, the local public high school.

On top of that bustle of activity, we’ve had several other noteworthy experiences:

*The Case of the Missing Halloween Candy, In Which Puppies Exhibit Bulging Tummies: The puppies cleverly planned and executed a mass breakout of their kennel two weeks ago and then enacted mayhem upon the house. Said destruction included, but was not limited to, the discovery and vast over-consumption of the teenager’s Halloween candy. Who knows where their bad life choices would have taken them if they hadn’t been discovered. We considered an emergency vet visit for the puppy who had become canister-shaped but in short order, her body acted to … er, remove the problem. None of this was the teenager’s fault, by the way. Thankfully, after several hours of groaning, the puppies returned to their normal bad behavior. 

*The Mini Says Farewell, In Which The Mechanics Beg Us to Stop Trying: We’ve learned, after 13 years of enduring devotion (on our part), that love alone will not sustain our relationship with our beloved Mini-Cooper. We have finally reached the point where the constant need for repairs has outmatched the value to us of our hilarious, if impractical and expensive, vehicle. So, she’s going up for sale. I’m not sure exactly when we’ll be putting her on the market but she’s gotta go. I’m terribly sad about it, ridiculously so, but our lovely mechanics had a heart-to-heart with me about the financial wisdom of repairing a car that just isn’t that into me (it’s become perfectly clear that she was thoroughly devoted ONLY to Ken). And so, the relationship is ending. 

*The Subaru Strikes, In Which The Owners Find Out About Car Loyalty: We’ve been planning a hunting trip for the teenager for weeks. Of course, the morning that we were supposed to leave, the Subaru enacted its revenge for my disloyalty to the Mini. It refused to start. It resisted all my pleading, offers of battery juice, promises of ever-lasting devotion, sacrifices to the gods. We were fortunate that our extended family was in town for the morning and we were able to hitch a ride, thus stranding ourselves in another city. We were then blessed a second time with the offer of a loaner car to return us to Pittsburgh. So, we’re thankfully back home again but the Subaru didn’t miss us, isn’t threatened by the visitor car, and continues to demonstrate its solidarity to the Mini. We’ll see who wins this contest but thus far the points are all in the Subaru’s column. 

And because I’m doomed to learn of great poets only as they leave us, I have followed my exploration of Mary Oliver’s work with the discovery of Clive James, who seems to have understood Ken’s journey before either of them had yet traveled it. Thus, I leave you with this snippet from Japanese Maple, by Clive James, 2014, and the hope that you’ll find and read the whole poem: 

Your death, near now, is of an easy sort./ So slow a fading out brings no real pain./Breath growing short/Is just uncomfortable. You feel the drain/Of energy, but thought and sight remain….

Wishing you much love as the year nears its conclusion.