MONOmother

The last book that I read that I really loved was called, "Bird by Bird." It is by a writer named Anne Lammott, and I usually don't like all that life of a writer type stuff but she really hit the nail on the head for me. Even though I have friends that write and I have hung out with writers and I talk to them I don't always get that they have the same battles I do--with writing and life in general. And why should they, everyone is different, but Miss Lammott really got me. It was like she was patting me on the back. I remember once in grade school I was upset and I'm pretty sure it was for no reason. I was a terribly sensitive child; I could cry over nothing. I think this was one of those moments when I was crying over nothing and I was in the office because my teacher didn't know what to do with me and the principal came out of her office and she said, "I know what's wrong," and she gave me a hug, and I remember my face being smashed into her belly and her belt, that had gold thread in it, hitting my cheek. This hug was great. Reading "Bird by Bird" was like a getting hug, but at the same time a good kick in the pants. She made me really think about why I write and who I write for, when you treat your writing like it is a gift for someone else it makes it different. Just like when you write and you are worried about who will read it, it changes the writing. I think when you have a blog that no one reads like me, you don't have to worry, but I still do. I think my readership is at about two, and I would certainly never censor anything from you two guys *wink*.

I wrote a story a couple months ago, the last story I completed, and my mom asked if she could read it and I am worried about showing it to her because the character of the mother could very much be taken to be her and I just don't want it to be about that. It is true that I will take autobiographical moments but I always make them better or more, you know, literary. They are jumping off points; they aren't the whole thing and my mom seems to walking a very fine line these days and I don't want to hurt her or piss her off anymore than she is already either. And she is a lot, of both. I guess she'll just have to read it when it's published in The New Yorker.

P and I were talking the other day--we had just exited my mom's and she had gotten angry about something and Paterson said, "You need to learn to just say, 'okay,' and walk away." And sure, maybe I do, but maybe I have too much of my mom in me to do that. Which brings me to the scary part--my dad called a half hour later ot invite us to lunch. I had to decline because I wasn't able to swallow at that point in my disease, but Paterson said, "Why are moms so annoying and dads so great?" And, maybe this doesn't go for everyone, but it goes for me, and then he said, like I needed this, "That's what you're going to be like one day." I think he is right, and that it is unavoidable. I remember being fifteen and really disliking my mom--and feeling so right about it. I felt right about everything when I was fifteen. So, basically, I can't have a daughter becasue she will certainly hate me, some day.