I'm new here. New to Everything is Personal, and pretty new to Substack in general. Yours are the only posts here I find myself consistently, eagerly looking forward to, and reading from start to finish. Such a beautiful writer! Most of the writers I am reading on Substack are young, the their thirties. When I realized your age (ten years older than me) I thought "aha! yes, she's written for many years. No wonder. She has something substantial to say, and she knows how to say it." But now I see the you of your writing was already there in your thirties (now shaped and polished through years of life tumbling.) Thank you for sharing these early excerpts with us. So happy to be here. So looking forward to the next installment!
The next ZOOM conversation on writing craft and the content of the posts is SATURDAY JULY 27 from 3 to 4 EST.
To RSVP, please email me at: lauriestone@substack.com. The Zooms are for paid subscribers at any level and are lively and interactive. Right now you can subscribe for $37.50 for the year or $3.75 per month. Sometimes, emails go astray, so please be sure I have confirmed you on the list. If not, I haven’t received your RSVP, so please send me a message here or on FB messenger. The links go out a few days before the event. You can upgrade here: lauriestone.substack.com/subscribe
My dog, in the mid-70’s, was Sasha. She had green eyes, a pink nose, a flag tail (like the drawing of your Sasha). Her coat was reddish blond & she looked a bit like a fox. I was reading your post for more on your Sasha, and it seems that Sasha went with you when you left Tomas, because there’s mention you were in nyc singly, with Sasha. A long time ago. Let’s pretend that both Sashas are still alive, running.
I still have the leash and the tags that used to hang on the front door knob. I'm so happy to meet you in stackland for whatever reason. Yes, Sasha came to the city with me. Gardner and I lasted a long time, it would turn out.
I still have Sasha’s collar, with the metal letters S A S H A fixed to the leather. She was my last dog. She went through so much with me in those 12 years, including cross-country car trips. She used to stand in the front seat, surfing the turns, with her head propped on the dash. She attended my outdoor wedding, barking when people clapped.
my favorite line from this whole luscious post: "Have I fallen into maturity just in time for the aging of my face?"
my old journals: the ones i wrote through recovery i have destroyed. i've had the conversations with my kids, they don't need to see the dredges of my co-dependency when i die and they find them in a box. my other journals though, they are the touchstones of my personal growth. i honor them. if anyone can read my writing later, perhaps they will have some value. thank you for sharing these.
How is it possible I can become even more obsessed with you!? Or your words? I am re-reading my own journals, too. I plowed through 1976 and now I’m in the early 80s. I feel like reading your journals is cheating on my own. I just told my husband we have to find more of them in the basement. I’m scared to open the boxes by myself. You know, maybe mice or a snake. Or maybe something else. (And Jayne Anne Phillips, how amazing to be in close virtual proximity to you)
well, nice of you to leave us on a cliffhanger! i love this line so much: "I have not yet figured out how to make my life unselfish without being bored by the options." also this: "Have I fallen into maturity just in time for the aging of my face?" a simple happiness for me is sipping my big mug of tea with you and your masterful sentences.
Love reading your journal selections from those particular years, 32 and 33. I was in grad school at the time, living with a guy nine years younger, doing drugs from time to time to please him, studying under a famous writer I didn't "use" as a mentor because I was ashamed of the boyfriend, in part. As you suggest, I think, I thought I'd always have all options forever.
This makes me so happy! Are you coming to the Zooms? Forgive me if you are . . . hard to keep track. The next one is on July 27 from 3 to 4 in case you can make it.
Not yet, but I just emailed myself (currently on the app) to upgrade to paid so I can read more of your writing. I’d love to try a Zoom. I hope people realize how difficult it is to write both as casually (not quite the right word…understated, maybe? simply?) and powerfully as you do. It’s a near-impossible balance, and you just nail it.
Thanks, love. I talk about the precise thing you mention. When you upgrade, make sure if you are on your phone, you switch to a browser or do it on your computer. Once I get your confirmation, I will add your email to the list for the links that go out close to the event. It's probably easiest to use this link: lauriestone.substack.com/subscribe
How is it that you seem more grown up at ~32 than I am at 43? At 32 I bought a 15 year old Honda Civic and dated a series of improv comedians. At 32 you owned land in East Hampton and had an actual dog with someone. (I mean, sure, at 43, I have a human I made, 2 cats, and a condo, but even so. We don't even like our cats.)
I totally relate to the revelation you describe: "Sometimes they contain anecdotes and reflections that look out, rather than in, and something of a little world appears. The little world of what I was doing and who I was spending time with and the social times in which I was living."
I remember when I first started journalling and reading back on what I had written, and going 'Whoah, the bits about how I feel are relentless and boring, whereas the bits that describe things that happened are interesting.'
It's important to have a processing space, but there's something to be said for the old-fashioned diary method of 'Went here, saw so and so, ate this.' It's like salting information away for the future. One forgets the specifics very quickly!
I thoroughly enjoyed these snippets from your notebooks, full of details and charm, as I do everything you write. The line that Anne Richardson quotes is also my favorite line! I guess maturity takes a whole lifetime and I find there’s still room for improvement with me. I certainly wasn’t very mature when I was the age you were in these journals. In the late 70s I was at Yaddo at the same as Jayne Anne Phillips, which I’m sure she wouldn’t remember because I didn’t get to know her. She seemed very New York and sophisticated and like one of the cool girls; also she was beautiful. Maybe she felt as insecure as I did, who knows? Also, coincidentally, my mother became friendly with Cloris Leachman on a trip to Iran sponsored by the Shah to inaugurate Iran Airlines, a source of conflict between me and my parents since I didn’t think they should be associating themselves with the Shah. (I worked at a newspaper and every day outside my window Iranian students were shouting, “Shah is a US puppet! Down with the Shah!” Now we know that revolt only to more repression.) Apparently, Cloris and my mother were united in their irritation with Elizabeth Taylor, also on the trip, because she kept everyone else waiting for her every day. They’d all be on the bus just waiting for Liz. My mother and Cloris kept in touch for a while and saw each other when Cloris came to Dallas to do a play. When you get to be a certain age and have lived your life in some relation to the arts community, there are often less than six degrees of separation.
I'm new here. New to Everything is Personal, and pretty new to Substack in general. Yours are the only posts here I find myself consistently, eagerly looking forward to, and reading from start to finish. Such a beautiful writer! Most of the writers I am reading on Substack are young, the their thirties. When I realized your age (ten years older than me) I thought "aha! yes, she's written for many years. No wonder. She has something substantial to say, and she knows how to say it." But now I see the you of your writing was already there in your thirties (now shaped and polished through years of life tumbling.) Thank you for sharing these early excerpts with us. So happy to be here. So looking forward to the next installment!
Thanks for this beautiful comment! Please consider coming to one of the zoom conversations.
Yes! I would like to do that. Are they offered at regular intervals, or do you announce the dates as they come up?
All the information is on every post.
The next ZOOM conversation on writing craft and the content of the posts is SATURDAY JULY 27 from 3 to 4 EST.
To RSVP, please email me at: lauriestone@substack.com. The Zooms are for paid subscribers at any level and are lively and interactive. Right now you can subscribe for $37.50 for the year or $3.75 per month. Sometimes, emails go astray, so please be sure I have confirmed you on the list. If not, I haven’t received your RSVP, so please send me a message here or on FB messenger. The links go out a few days before the event. You can upgrade here: lauriestone.substack.com/subscribe
Ach! Like the nose on my face. Don't know how I missed that! Will RSVP once I'm sure I can make it — would love to join.
Wonderful. Paid subscribers can also receive recordings of the zooms if they can't make one.
My dog, in the mid-70’s, was Sasha. She had green eyes, a pink nose, a flag tail (like the drawing of your Sasha). Her coat was reddish blond & she looked a bit like a fox. I was reading your post for more on your Sasha, and it seems that Sasha went with you when you left Tomas, because there’s mention you were in nyc singly, with Sasha. A long time ago. Let’s pretend that both Sashas are still alive, running.
I still have the leash and the tags that used to hang on the front door knob. I'm so happy to meet you in stackland for whatever reason. Yes, Sasha came to the city with me. Gardner and I lasted a long time, it would turn out.
I still have Sasha’s collar, with the metal letters S A S H A fixed to the leather. She was my last dog. She went through so much with me in those 12 years, including cross-country car trips. She used to stand in the front seat, surfing the turns, with her head propped on the dash. She attended my outdoor wedding, barking when people clapped.
Love it. Boy Sasha made it to 18. I see him. xxL
my favorite line from this whole luscious post: "Have I fallen into maturity just in time for the aging of my face?"
my old journals: the ones i wrote through recovery i have destroyed. i've had the conversations with my kids, they don't need to see the dredges of my co-dependency when i die and they find them in a box. my other journals though, they are the touchstones of my personal growth. i honor them. if anyone can read my writing later, perhaps they will have some value. thank you for sharing these.
Just found this and riveted. A life lived parallel to mine in some ways, that I’m almost convinced our paths must have crossed back then.
Thrilled they have now. Thanks!
Same
How is it possible I can become even more obsessed with you!? Or your words? I am re-reading my own journals, too. I plowed through 1976 and now I’m in the early 80s. I feel like reading your journals is cheating on my own. I just told my husband we have to find more of them in the basement. I’m scared to open the boxes by myself. You know, maybe mice or a snake. Or maybe something else. (And Jayne Anne Phillips, how amazing to be in close virtual proximity to you)
We love and miss you!!
One of my dogs is named Ella. So I loved that a woman named Ella appears here
well, nice of you to leave us on a cliffhanger! i love this line so much: "I have not yet figured out how to make my life unselfish without being bored by the options." also this: "Have I fallen into maturity just in time for the aging of my face?" a simple happiness for me is sipping my big mug of tea with you and your masterful sentences.
Miss you, love you. xxL
same. xx
Love reading your journal selections from those particular years, 32 and 33. I was in grad school at the time, living with a guy nine years younger, doing drugs from time to time to please him, studying under a famous writer I didn't "use" as a mentor because I was ashamed of the boyfriend, in part. As you suggest, I think, I thought I'd always have all options forever.
I am so glad to have found you. Your writing thrills me.
This makes me so happy! Are you coming to the Zooms? Forgive me if you are . . . hard to keep track. The next one is on July 27 from 3 to 4 in case you can make it.
Not yet, but I just emailed myself (currently on the app) to upgrade to paid so I can read more of your writing. I’d love to try a Zoom. I hope people realize how difficult it is to write both as casually (not quite the right word…understated, maybe? simply?) and powerfully as you do. It’s a near-impossible balance, and you just nail it.
Thanks, love. I talk about the precise thing you mention. When you upgrade, make sure if you are on your phone, you switch to a browser or do it on your computer. Once I get your confirmation, I will add your email to the list for the links that go out close to the event. It's probably easiest to use this link: lauriestone.substack.com/subscribe
"Good luck, Comrade." Perfect.
xxL
How is it that you seem more grown up at ~32 than I am at 43? At 32 I bought a 15 year old Honda Civic and dated a series of improv comedians. At 32 you owned land in East Hampton and had an actual dog with someone. (I mean, sure, at 43, I have a human I made, 2 cats, and a condo, but even so. We don't even like our cats.)
You are light years ahead of me. I am 77 and know nothing! I do finally own a house. And now we will have to leave it in November if, you know.
I totally relate to the revelation you describe: "Sometimes they contain anecdotes and reflections that look out, rather than in, and something of a little world appears. The little world of what I was doing and who I was spending time with and the social times in which I was living."
I remember when I first started journalling and reading back on what I had written, and going 'Whoah, the bits about how I feel are relentless and boring, whereas the bits that describe things that happened are interesting.'
It's important to have a processing space, but there's something to be said for the old-fashioned diary method of 'Went here, saw so and so, ate this.' It's like salting information away for the future. One forgets the specifics very quickly!
Yes, good point!
Thanks, I enjoy your writing—we are of the same age
I thoroughly enjoyed these snippets from your notebooks, full of details and charm, as I do everything you write. The line that Anne Richardson quotes is also my favorite line! I guess maturity takes a whole lifetime and I find there’s still room for improvement with me. I certainly wasn’t very mature when I was the age you were in these journals. In the late 70s I was at Yaddo at the same as Jayne Anne Phillips, which I’m sure she wouldn’t remember because I didn’t get to know her. She seemed very New York and sophisticated and like one of the cool girls; also she was beautiful. Maybe she felt as insecure as I did, who knows? Also, coincidentally, my mother became friendly with Cloris Leachman on a trip to Iran sponsored by the Shah to inaugurate Iran Airlines, a source of conflict between me and my parents since I didn’t think they should be associating themselves with the Shah. (I worked at a newspaper and every day outside my window Iranian students were shouting, “Shah is a US puppet! Down with the Shah!” Now we know that revolt only to more repression.) Apparently, Cloris and my mother were united in their irritation with Elizabeth Taylor, also on the trip, because she kept everyone else waiting for her every day. They’d all be on the bus just waiting for Liz. My mother and Cloris kept in touch for a while and saw each other when Cloris came to Dallas to do a play. When you get to be a certain age and have lived your life in some relation to the arts community, there are often less than six degrees of separation.
Jayne has commented here. What a funny surprise collision!
I saw that—that’s why I mentioned her. Also re: jealousy,
Dear Laurie,
What’s your mailing address? I’d like to have a book sent to you.
Thanks,
Greil Marcus
greil@mindspring.com