Unlike many of my posts, I'm quite uncertain today if I have a lot of company on the bell curve; I hope to find out. If you don't want to comment publicly (or have difficulty doing so), please figure out another way to let me know if my experience has any resonance for you.
During my adult life, I have written several letters (both in the pre and post e-mail years) to different musicians, authors, and filmmakers whose work has moved me. I have mailed only one - to author D Patrick Miller about his 1994 volume "Little Book of Forgiveness". I believe the main thing that has held me back is a fear of appearing to be a deranged fan. Since I know anyone can easily choose not to acknowledge receipt of a letter from anyone else, this is clearly irrational. My letters are brief; they do not stray from discussing (in a rational way) the work that has moved me and why. Still, they are unsent letters. I have never once even been tempted to send an e-mail of this nature to anyone. Just letters - unsent.
Wally Lamb's 2009 novel "The Hour I First Believed", moved me very much. In my paperback version, the book is followed by an interview with Lamb where he talks about how he loves hearing from his readers. I wrote a letter. It remains unsent. I am mystified by my reticence. Non-therapeutic insights, anyone?
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Unsent Letters. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Unsent Letters. Sort by date Show all posts
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Giving Ourselves Permission
http://reflectionsfromthebellcurve.blogspot.com/search?q=Unsent+Letters
Of the three communications I've initiated with authors since writing the post above (one via US mail, two via author blogs), only Theo Pauline Nestor ("Writing Is My Drink") responded directly. And though her response was wisely terse, it felt sincere.
Soon after re-reading my post, I realized my public "confession" three years ago about unsent letters acted as a catalyst and gave me permission to do something I'd long resisted, i.e. telling an artist what their work has meant to me. The letter I sent to author Amy Bloom about her novel "Away" is dated June 2, 2011. Later in the year I also contacted Nina Sankovitch ("Tolstoy and The Purple Chair") via her blog, attaching my post (below) about her remarkable memoir, which had assisted me to climb out of a serious dip. Although I didn't receive a direct response from Sankovitch, that post immediately became a highly viewed one, making me reasonably sure she read it and possibly forwarded it to others. Good enough.
http://reflectionsfromthebellcurve.blogspot.com/2011/09/literature-as-lifeline.html
Next: A short note (short for me anyway) to Barbara Ehrenreich's blog right on the heels of finishing "Bright Sided" (2009) - terrific, if sobering book about positive thinking. Glad I gave myself permission to begin doing this. What have you resisted giving yourself permission to do?
Of the three communications I've initiated with authors since writing the post above (one via US mail, two via author blogs), only Theo Pauline Nestor ("Writing Is My Drink") responded directly. And though her response was wisely terse, it felt sincere.
Soon after re-reading my post, I realized my public "confession" three years ago about unsent letters acted as a catalyst and gave me permission to do something I'd long resisted, i.e. telling an artist what their work has meant to me. The letter I sent to author Amy Bloom about her novel "Away" is dated June 2, 2011. Later in the year I also contacted Nina Sankovitch ("Tolstoy and The Purple Chair") via her blog, attaching my post (below) about her remarkable memoir, which had assisted me to climb out of a serious dip. Although I didn't receive a direct response from Sankovitch, that post immediately became a highly viewed one, making me reasonably sure she read it and possibly forwarded it to others. Good enough.
http://reflectionsfromthebellcurve.blogspot.com/2011/09/literature-as-lifeline.html
Next: A short note (short for me anyway) to Barbara Ehrenreich's blog right on the heels of finishing "Bright Sided" (2009) - terrific, if sobering book about positive thinking. Glad I gave myself permission to begin doing this. What have you resisted giving yourself permission to do?
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Took The Wind Out Of Me
I had difficulty centering myself enough to blog last night. When I finished Anna Quindlen's 2010 novel "Every Last One" at about 8:00 p.m., I wasn't sure what I would do next. At the risk of over-dramatizing, all I felt I could manage right away was taking a shower.
This isn't the first time a book or movie or piece of music took the wind out of me. I'd like to know about similar experiences of yours. Hours later, I continue to process my reaction to fictional events from a book. But here's something really weird: Quindlen is among the authors to whom I've written one of the "unsent letters" I spoke of in my last (Tuesday, 5/31) blog posting. And when I wrote that earlier posting, I hadn't even started "Every Last One". I spent the bulk of yesterday reading the novel, stopping several times when I broke down. OK, another weird thing: I knew nothing about this book - never read a review, no one recommended it, etc. I picked it up in what I've come to call a "library drive-by". Amanda Quick's novel ("Second Sight") had been recommended to me. When I read the jacket for that book while at the library, I decided against it; Quindlen's books were right there - I grabbed one I hadn't read based on my past enjoyment of her work. Somehow calling all this weirdness coincidence seems inadequate. Your thoughts?
So I showered then journalled then watched an inane movie then slept then got up and ate then did some errands. Then I decided blogging might help me process further. When something hits you like this, what is your way of processing? When a book (movie, music) takes the wind out of you, who in your life are you most likely to discuss it with? I can't recommend this book to many; it's so much work to process it.
This isn't the first time a book or movie or piece of music took the wind out of me. I'd like to know about similar experiences of yours. Hours later, I continue to process my reaction to fictional events from a book. But here's something really weird: Quindlen is among the authors to whom I've written one of the "unsent letters" I spoke of in my last (Tuesday, 5/31) blog posting. And when I wrote that earlier posting, I hadn't even started "Every Last One". I spent the bulk of yesterday reading the novel, stopping several times when I broke down. OK, another weird thing: I knew nothing about this book - never read a review, no one recommended it, etc. I picked it up in what I've come to call a "library drive-by". Amanda Quick's novel ("Second Sight") had been recommended to me. When I read the jacket for that book while at the library, I decided against it; Quindlen's books were right there - I grabbed one I hadn't read based on my past enjoyment of her work. Somehow calling all this weirdness coincidence seems inadequate. Your thoughts?
So I showered then journalled then watched an inane movie then slept then got up and ate then did some errands. Then I decided blogging might help me process further. When something hits you like this, what is your way of processing? When a book (movie, music) takes the wind out of you, who in your life are you most likely to discuss it with? I can't recommend this book to many; it's so much work to process it.
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