Hello Hedge School,
My last two posts were a behind the scenes look at the book building process. You can check those out at the links below.
I had hoped the final post in the series would be out much sooner than now. But the Universe had other plans.
You see, it's been a while since writing has been a major priority.
Three weeks of Covid ravaged our household with the worst hit being myself. Vertigo, insomnia, fever, the list goes on. The forced isolation really made me take a look at all the things I do in life. All the balls that I juggle every day. The forced rest meant that many hit the floor and I took this as a time to reassess whether or not I should pick them back up again. I honoured the slowness required.
Along with Covid, we held space for death. Death has been a constant companion at the family table as we navigated the battle my wife's mother faced with the incessant nature of Cancer. For the past six months, we have seen the end on the horizon. Felt the thin veil.
Sadly, her battle ended on April 5. Her last breath taken with my wife holding her hand.
As you can imagine, it resurfaced old wounds. Familiar but different. I never got the time to say the unsaid things to my brother. His was a sudden departure. An eruption. Margaret, a beautiful human being who lived to be in service to others and to squeeze the most out of life, chose to walk towards the sunset her way. It was a masterclass in dignity. A true blessing to witness.
Conversations with my kids, my wife, have all revolved around what happens when someone we love and hold dear is "gone." That inquiry is still having its way with me so I’ll surface it once I have more clarity.
Amongst all of this, the first copy of my book landed on my doorstop. My tribute to lament, a weave of roses and thorns, showed up as a light amidst the darkness.
A sixteen year journey to the summit now in my hands.
The book arrival was a very average moment. There was no grand affair. It just showed up. For so long, it had been a horizon that I moved towards and ran from. I had built up the moment to be so much more and it was just average. Not a downplay of the moment, just a recognition of the deliciousness of an average moment.
Significant insignificance.
I didn't need to write the book but I did. I chose to unveil the inner workings of my own journey with grief. It also didn't matter if I didn't write the book. Life went on as it does. It was liberating to feel that it doesn't matter and because it doesn't matter, it's all the more reason to do so.
I was also kicking myself for waiting so long. In my head, I had made that summit insurmountable.
But it wasn't that at all.
I instantly starting turning my attention to my next book. Why? Death spurred me on. I love writing. Crafting story and language breathes me alive and so I choose to spend my time hand selecting words and singing songs that reverberate in my heart. And I feel called to help others do the same.
For budding and established writers, I will be launching a community really soon. It will be a space to share your expression, have others listen and feedback resonance and an opportunity to put in the support structures needed to bring your writing to the world. I’ll share more once the offer is live.
For those interested in purchasing Alight in the Lament, you can do so via the link below.
As for the third post in my series about the book writing process, I’ll bring that to light next week.
Till next time,
Steve
The Seemingly Insurmountable Peaks Of Insignificance