I’m often asked where I get my ideas for stories, and why I write about the subjects I choose. I bumble around for a bit, then say that my stories seem “given” to me. That is, they show up in my mind, travel through my fingertips onto the keyboard and appear on my laptop screen. My main job is to stay out of my own way and try not to let my mind edit or censor prematurely. The hardest part about the early drafting of a story is to let it emerge organically, with faith in the creative process, and with the knowledge that there will be plenty of time for “clean-up” later. At the end of the day, it’s about trust, patience, and often, chocolate.
Still, an actual person, experience or image is often the point of departure—an entry into the semi-conscious stream which, in the best case scenario, results in a story. Such is the case with my first published story, “Lucky Lady,” which originally appeared in the Montreal Review. “Lucky Lady” is inspired by my Grandma Rose, who was a great champion of my writing and of me, generally. She and my Grandpa Moe are the original models for the characters Netty and Eddie, and although the fictional piece is in large part invented, the connection between these two characters is entirely based upon the magnificent love affair between real-life Rose and Moe. Their unconditional love for one another and for our family continues to be both grounding and uplifting. Grandma Rose, who would have been 95 this month, is a constant source of strength for me, especially in the decade since her passing, and I dedicate this web site and my creative efforts to her. If I’m able to maintain my faith in the process of writing in the same way that she had faith in me, I know there will be many more stories to come.
I hope you’ll feel free to comment on my stories as you read them. My intention is to create a dialogue around questions that overtake all of us at significant moments in our lives. Each of us grapples with struggles, desires, hopes and fears. What is our purpose here? What happens after we’re gone? How are we connected to one another?
Though the act of writing is isolating, the sharing of it is about connecting.
That connection is my purpose.