As I write this post, I’m sitting in a donut shop on a sunny day in our neighborhood. A
cooling cup of coffee and an empty paper bag are situated on the table next to my iPad. I’ve already scarfed down the jelly donut that was in the bag (Saturday: a day off from low-carb). A friend, writer Cindy Zelman (www.cindyzelman.com), is typing on her laptop on the opposite side of the table. We’re in the middle of one of our usual monthly visits, an opportunity to meet up for combination of friendship and writing time. Sometimes we spend more time chatting and griping than writing, so we affectionately named the meetups “Curmudgeonly Coffees.”

Today our laptops are out, and we’re actually writing. The project I hoped to edit isn’t
accessible, however, due to a lost email. It’s a good opportunity to catch up with my
blog and share what’s been happening.

Of course, a lot has been happening in the United States and around the world, and this won’t be the place where I discuss that in any detail. It’s a backdrop that’s important, however. The atmosphere has been divisive and difficult to navigate. I know of many cases of friends and relatives hargujing, and some of these relationships have cooled or even ended. Even within the literary community, some writers feel rejected and alienated by the larger community if they don’t toe (I looked it up, that’s correct) the line on every divisive topic. Everyone is trying to find their way through an incredibly challenging time, and for some it has been worse than for others. While some celebrate and look ahead to what they believe will be a better future, others mourn and feel exceptionally angry — even frightened. It’s a hard time.

With that simmering beneath every moment of our days, it’s been a challenge to move forward with my writing life. During times like this, artists and writers have historically been the source of inspiration and social commentary. I have a deep admiration for those who are speaking up in a public way for what they believe. For me, it’s a bit more complicated.

I have an inherited instinct to survive and be safe. The environment online today does not feel safe. There are people in my life on “both sides of the aisle” who have repeated, supported, or amplified rhetoric that makes me feel unsafe. As a result, I am still finding my way towards the best way to be true to myself and my values during these times.

What might be more important in my case, since I’m not a major name with bestselling books and tens of thousands of fans or followers, is to find a way to keep telling my stories. In truth, I’m not sure anyone cares about my opinions, except people in my close circle who already know them. My stories, whether told through creative nonfiction, fiction, poetry, or even photography, have always been metaphorical. I explore universal human themes, even when the main characters are cats.

Lately,I’ve been working on another book project with European artist Anya Lauchlan, who illustrated my recent book Soul to Soul: Tiny Stories of Hope and Resilience. This project is a charitable one, and the details are still under wraps. The more I work on projects like this, the closer I get to discovering who I am as a writer—and perhaps as a person—and who I am not.

The one thing I know is this: I want to bring hope to others, and I do that best by
exploring how to find it myself. I’m therefore still here, tapping away on the keyboard across the table from a writing friend while one of my favorite pop tunes, “Shut Up and Dance With Me” by Walk the Moon, is blaring through the speakers in the corner of the ceiling.

“So, don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me.” Somehow, we’ll make it.