| Kathy Fish |
Write about the things or
the people that won't let
go of you. Or that you
can't let go of. Go at them
directly or fictionalize,
but write them. Look
closer, draw that moment,
lift it and color it from
your memory, then get
distracted and show what's
going on outside the window
or under the table, even if
it doesn't matter.
Especially if it doesn't
matter. Allow non sequiturs
to spring forth from
somebody's mouth. You can
edit them out later if you
must. However you need to
go about it, if it haunts
you, you'd better write
about it. Write around the
edges of it if you have to.
Hand the whole thing over
to the little kid in the
corner. If you can't stop
thinking about the exact
way the sky looked when you
were standing on your back
porch the morning your
nephew died, then you must
find a way to write about
it. Or show us another sky.
Or no skies at all, only
how it feels to have things
suddenly look very
different to you.
Many years ago, my older
brother quietly came
through the back door of
our home and sat alone in
the dining room in the
dark, eating a slice of
watermelon. It's the one
thing I keep trying to
write because everything
I've ever really wanted to
say is contained in that
small moment. Honest.
the people that won't let
go of you. Or that you
can't let go of. Go at them
directly or fictionalize,
but write them. Look
closer, draw that moment,
lift it and color it from
your memory, then get
distracted and show what's
going on outside the window
or under the table, even if
it doesn't matter.
Especially if it doesn't
matter. Allow non sequiturs
to spring forth from
somebody's mouth. You can
edit them out later if you
must. However you need to
go about it, if it haunts
you, you'd better write
about it. Write around the
edges of it if you have to.
Hand the whole thing over
to the little kid in the
corner. If you can't stop
thinking about the exact
way the sky looked when you
were standing on your back
porch the morning your
nephew died, then you must
find a way to write about
it. Or show us another sky.
Or no skies at all, only
how it feels to have things
suddenly look very
different to you.
Many years ago, my older
brother quietly came
through the back door of
our home and sat alone in
the dining room in the
dark, eating a slice of
watermelon. It's the one
thing I keep trying to
write because everything
I've ever really wanted to
say is contained in that
small moment. Honest.
