“It’s just more insulting to the rest of the world when a woman does what she pleases with her life.” 1000x yes. I so often field queries from men— “You’re not still giving talks on your book, right?” “How are sales?”— that feel like efforts to confirm their hope that I am not successful, that I am not doing exactly as I please. It’s so strange to have to expend energy to ward off someone else’s desire for your unsuccess. Thank you for naming and claiming this so well.
"Everyone, it turns out, is odd." "This publication is always thinking the way a feminist thinks. It’s always looking for the love and comedy in life." That's not odd at all. It's refreshing. "I never left childhood." Brava!
It’s an insult, always has been. When I first left grad school to write is when I was first asked that question. Then thousand of times after from relatives (most often), acquaintances (not friends), other writers, professionals one had to deal with in whatever circumstances, editors. At 79 I no longer hear it because anyone with the slightest negative interest assumes, Of course not, you must have given that up a long time ago. Other than, Are you retired? as if writers retire. They may have only one known reader left, one editor still willing to publish a book, but that’ll do. But then, there are people who say. are you working on a new book? and you think, Maybe I could. I just need an idea.
Beautiful, a thousand times yes. I have sometimes gotten from a nonwriter, "I'm going to write a book over the summer." I say, "Wow, I have a similar idea. I'm going to become a neurosurgeon over the summer and start operating in the fall." Everyone has an operation in them.
Yes! And please reinstutue the Bon Amis! As a supper club! I will bring the best cheese plate and great booze. We will toast to all the excitingest writings about no one thing.
Well said about that annoying question "are you still writing," and the question that comes after. How many times have I experienced it? Too many to count. You nailed, how many of us feel. Thanks!
Love the evocative details of the beach life freedom with Linda and the pup who never runs off. I grew up on a beach (where I still live) with five siblings and countless playmates. Although our beach is rocky and studded with sharp oysters, no sweet sand dunes, we had a cliff swing, a kayak, and a rowboat, plus a raft Dad kept close to shore so the kids could be there safely.
Rosebud: I think many of us had a childhood friend like Linda. Eight to twelve can be the age of absolute freedom and relative autonomy (at least it was when parents didn't hover over their children all the time, like today.) Girlhood with a best friend can be the greatest thing in the world. And we have aspects of it again with our deep adult friendships with women, if men or the spectre of men does not overshadow it too much. Thank you for this.
I remember reading when I was much younger that Anne Tyler was often asked by other mothers at her children's school, "Are you still writing?" Or it might have been, "Are you still just writing?"
Was the former professor you met on the Upper West Side who asked you such a question Serge Gavronsky, by any chance?
Strong piece about childhood at the beach and the pull of those times of friendship and freedom--like the pull of the waves, perhaps?! Martha
I won't tell you who it is here . . . but write to my email. By the way, we just added a writing workshop on July 20, and I have two spaces free at the moment. If you'd like to come, please email me. xxL lauriestone@substack.com
"I can smell the salt air. I can hear the ocean pausing with an intake a breath before another wave crashes to shore." This description is so perfectly formed that a Long Island refugee like myself was immediately returned to the land of my birth, where my lips tasted of salt, and I found myself holding my breath during the ocean's pause too. (A pause I always recognized, but had never before heard named.) I'm entranced. I want terribly to call someone who'd understand and say "I have to read this to you!" I've been self-consciously editing this note, and maybe won't send it. Maybe I'll just sleep to the ebb and flow of the ocean for which I pine. Sheesh. I only went online to find a recipe for croutons.
Laughter! Yes, I subscribed, but not sure it "took" - should be the one year version. It was odd, and didn't give me screens asking to confirm or check out. ?
Funny, the ache that down can cause. I like the story. I like how you do your thing. You're intensely familiar to me because of my upbringing, which brings up all kinds of interesting stuff. I'll keep reading.
“It’s just more insulting to the rest of the world when a woman does what she pleases with her life.” 1000x yes. I so often field queries from men— “You’re not still giving talks on your book, right?” “How are sales?”— that feel like efforts to confirm their hope that I am not successful, that I am not doing exactly as I please. It’s so strange to have to expend energy to ward off someone else’s desire for your unsuccess. Thank you for naming and claiming this so well.
When a woman does as she pleases with her life, it gives all the other women alive a great new idea. xxL
Nearly every sentence of this piece is wonderful. “If you have no plans to have a grave, can you still feel people walking on it? Yes.” Thank you.
Nearly! xxL
"Everyone, it turns out, is odd." "This publication is always thinking the way a feminist thinks. It’s always looking for the love and comedy in life." That's not odd at all. It's refreshing. "I never left childhood." Brava!
Thanks, dear Hal, and for your great support.
It’s an insult, always has been. When I first left grad school to write is when I was first asked that question. Then thousand of times after from relatives (most often), acquaintances (not friends), other writers, professionals one had to deal with in whatever circumstances, editors. At 79 I no longer hear it because anyone with the slightest negative interest assumes, Of course not, you must have given that up a long time ago. Other than, Are you retired? as if writers retire. They may have only one known reader left, one editor still willing to publish a book, but that’ll do. But then, there are people who say. are you working on a new book? and you think, Maybe I could. I just need an idea.
Beautiful, a thousand times yes. I have sometimes gotten from a nonwriter, "I'm going to write a book over the summer." I say, "Wow, I have a similar idea. I'm going to become a neurosurgeon over the summer and start operating in the fall." Everyone has an operation in them.
I'm glad you wrote, are writing, will write.
Yes! And please reinstutue the Bon Amis! As a supper club! I will bring the best cheese plate and great booze. We will toast to all the excitingest writings about no one thing.
Excellent idea. I want the cheese plate now. I want to see you. We have to make this happen. It's hot. Where are you?
“I like to run my tongue over these encounters”, memorable turn of phrase.
Well said about that annoying question "are you still writing," and the question that comes after. How many times have I experienced it? Too many to count. You nailed, how many of us feel. Thanks!
Love the evocative details of the beach life freedom with Linda and the pup who never runs off. I grew up on a beach (where I still live) with five siblings and countless playmates. Although our beach is rocky and studded with sharp oysters, no sweet sand dunes, we had a cliff swing, a kayak, and a rowboat, plus a raft Dad kept close to shore so the kids could be there safely.
Thanks!
Rosebud: I think many of us had a childhood friend like Linda. Eight to twelve can be the age of absolute freedom and relative autonomy (at least it was when parents didn't hover over their children all the time, like today.) Girlhood with a best friend can be the greatest thing in the world. And we have aspects of it again with our deep adult friendships with women, if men or the spectre of men does not overshadow it too much. Thank you for this.
I remember reading when I was much younger that Anne Tyler was often asked by other mothers at her children's school, "Are you still writing?" Or it might have been, "Are you still just writing?"
Was the former professor you met on the Upper West Side who asked you such a question Serge Gavronsky, by any chance?
Strong piece about childhood at the beach and the pull of those times of friendship and freedom--like the pull of the waves, perhaps?! Martha
I won't tell you who it is here . . . but write to my email. By the way, we just added a writing workshop on July 20, and I have two spaces free at the moment. If you'd like to come, please email me. xxL lauriestone@substack.com
"I can smell the salt air. I can hear the ocean pausing with an intake a breath before another wave crashes to shore." This description is so perfectly formed that a Long Island refugee like myself was immediately returned to the land of my birth, where my lips tasted of salt, and I found myself holding my breath during the ocean's pause too. (A pause I always recognized, but had never before heard named.) I'm entranced. I want terribly to call someone who'd understand and say "I have to read this to you!" I've been self-consciously editing this note, and maybe won't send it. Maybe I'll just sleep to the ebb and flow of the ocean for which I pine. Sheesh. I only went online to find a recipe for croutons.
Come for the croutons, stay for the breathing ocean. I’m glad you found my work. Please subscribe if you have not. All best, Laurie
Laughter! Yes, I subscribed, but not sure it "took" - should be the one year version. It was odd, and didn't give me screens asking to confirm or check out. ?
It just went through! Yes, for a year, and please let me know if you would like to be on the list for the next Zoom on July 20. Thanks!!
Yes! I would like to be on the Zoom list. Thanks.
Ohhh, but I do enjoy your musings! Grateful for your writing life!
What was your impression when your former teacher asked? Was he hopeful? A kindred spirit?
The piece is about his wish for me to fail. Was that not clear? No one asks the question with a "STILL" in it, unless they are hoping you'll say NO.
Honestly, no, I didn't get that. If the emphasis had been on WRITING, that would've seemed like sarcasm. Mockery.
Something is always lost when you go to Woodmere.
Ha! Well, yes. In truth I lost Linda before Woodmere. I can still see the down on her cheeks.
Funny, the ache that down can cause. I like the story. I like how you do your thing. You're intensely familiar to me because of my upbringing, which brings up all kinds of interesting stuff. I'll keep reading.
I love the way you write.
Well, that makes me happy. Thanks.
Lovely