Love this: "That which feeds us is important, that which brings us comfort and keeps us warm. Those who feed us, those who bring comfort, those who help us build and tend our fires, whose care keeps us warm." And how we give meaning, assign value -- beautiful pottery -- I can hold it, admire it, love the art -- but it comes alive when it's a memory, a gift, something that has narrative in it.
And why are chairs all made for people over 5 foot -- what's that about? :)
I'm a new subscriber. Found you from the NonfictioNOW Conference last week--you and I briefly interacted in the auditorium of the last talk of the last day. You gave me your card, and here I am, reading your exquisite words.
Consider me a blank slate. I don't know anything about you, or your origins, or how you got here. I remember you telling me not to read your first books, and I get it. I get it, only in the sense that I once wrote books I feel a bit cringey about today, but they are artifacts of who I was then, imprints of who I was becoming.
Anyway, this is what struck me most about your post today: "and it startled me - it always does - what gives each of us a sense of purpose, of value, what signals to us that something has meaning, how vast a divide there really is between what matters to any one of us and anyone else..."
What gives us meaning...yes. That's the essence of storytelling, isn't it? Not just the situation, what happened, but the story, the meaning. I love how you said at the conference last week that stories about real people--ordinary humans--are what we need now, and I've thought about it a lot since then. A week has transpired, and I'm still thinking about what you said.
And I've come to conclude that being a writer at this point in history is vital. If we lose our stories, we lose ourselves. We lose our familial histories, our cultural connections, our identities. So that's why, like you, I'm committed to sharing stories, and often the most profound ones happen in happenstance encounters for me. Yesterday it was at the Tuckaleechee Caverns in Townsend, TN, while on a vacation to visit one of my friends who lives here.
All this to say, I am deeply grateful to have encountered you, to have listened to you speak, and to find you here on Substack. Glad to be sharing this digital space with you, Marya!
Jeannie, I’m so happy you’re here! Thank you for this beautiful, thoughtful, thought-provoking note. I hope you’ll join us over at @caravanwriterscollective - it would be so great to see you in one of the writing rooms!
Hi Marya! Thanks for the reply. Could you tell me a little more about the writers collective? I’m not sure what type of commitment it would entail (time, money, etc.) It would be great to interact with you and your community for sure!
My cat thinks he’s more important than he really is, but who cares to judge something like that. He’s certainly more accommodating than, say, a dissatisfied spouse.
The funny thing is that when I saw you on a recent Zoom thing, I kept looking at your sundress. At least I think it was a sundress. It might have been a shirt. It reminded me very much of one I wore in the 80s, one I might have forgotten entirely were it not for the photograph of me in it that I can't find now. I was at a society luncheon, part of a story I'd like to figure out how to tell except that my memories of it are so thin I'm not sure there's still a story there at all, and my dress was shades of pink and blue while yours was shades of olive and ochre. Oddly, that feels important.
It sounds like you, and that bird, and your mother, and your feet are cut from similar cloth. It sounds like you know what you need when you're not getting it. I love that you notice butter!
Coincidentally, I made a playlist this week. I look forward to listening to yours.
I'm grateful for the ways you pay attention, Marya.
Loved this so much. Picturing you sitting there listening to that man recite his Ode to an Important Chair, I thought of similar conversations where I was held hostage by my own politeness. At least it’s good material.
Fantastic! The curated photo collections, courtesy of phone. The sundresses. The china being smashed on the street by your mother. The secret of it. What a tapestry. Which makes sense for this prompt, at least to me, because summer is a bit of a tapestry of images and smells and movement and memory.
This line “ His hand worried the smooth wood of the arm of a chair the way another man might absently reach out and rub another lover's arm”… it says everything one needs to ever know about that man. Yee Gaaaadds. Don’t blame you at all for wanting outside. Anywhere to get away from that kind of person. Not your tribe.
You’ve inspired me now to someday write about “Dave” and his home full of antiques, and the entire room frozen in time, dedicated to his dad. Perhaps one day.
Tey- so good to hear from you. Funny you’d say that - tonight’s class is on microcharacterization - makes me wonder if most of us can be evoked in a gesture? 😏 xo
Hmmmm. A beautiful thought to ponder. I suspect that it might only be the most smarmy and one dimensional among us who can be unmasked by a look or a gesture. Everyone else, as in those I love, are too complex for such a limited glance.
Being human is so fucking complicated. Sometimes ... often, actually ... I watch a fox, a chipmunk, a raccoon, a dragonfly, blue jay -- or "Willis," the odd little sparrow that's been keeping me company every day since last summer -- and I envy their single-minded focus on the task at hand.
Of course, their task is -- to quote The Bee Gees -- the stark, simple-but-not-so-simple job of staying alive, a reality considerably more harsh than romantic. With supermarkets, refrigerators, and the miracle of electricity, our lives are infinitely easier, but with that relative ease comes the confusion of being human. Civilization brings abstraction which then breeds confusion.
"I'm sitting there in my person suit trying to person and then here it comes, the building wave, it looms, it roars, it crashes down ... let me out."
Marya, this is life giving in too many ways to comment upon, but maybe I will just say at least this: I feel like wearing bare feet all summer and bright watermelon lipstick to the pool are suddenly radically, deeply important to me.
Sometimes I struggle with whether I should find the right word for something or just let it remain a mystery. Often, I end up making up words instead of using the “correct” ones. Somehow, that makes me feel like I understand the thing more deeply—like we’ve created a private language, just the two of us. Naming it in my own way makes the connection feel more intimate, more real.
“Words have power. Language does more than convey meaning; it shapes it. We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.”
Love this: "That which feeds us is important, that which brings us comfort and keeps us warm. Those who feed us, those who bring comfort, those who help us build and tend our fires, whose care keeps us warm." And how we give meaning, assign value -- beautiful pottery -- I can hold it, admire it, love the art -- but it comes alive when it's a memory, a gift, something that has narrative in it.
And why are chairs all made for people over 5 foot -- what's that about? :)
Indeed, what is with these chairs for giants? I so appreciate your thoughtful readings, Jan - see you tomorrow!
Hi Marya,
I'm a new subscriber. Found you from the NonfictioNOW Conference last week--you and I briefly interacted in the auditorium of the last talk of the last day. You gave me your card, and here I am, reading your exquisite words.
Consider me a blank slate. I don't know anything about you, or your origins, or how you got here. I remember you telling me not to read your first books, and I get it. I get it, only in the sense that I once wrote books I feel a bit cringey about today, but they are artifacts of who I was then, imprints of who I was becoming.
Anyway, this is what struck me most about your post today: "and it startled me - it always does - what gives each of us a sense of purpose, of value, what signals to us that something has meaning, how vast a divide there really is between what matters to any one of us and anyone else..."
What gives us meaning...yes. That's the essence of storytelling, isn't it? Not just the situation, what happened, but the story, the meaning. I love how you said at the conference last week that stories about real people--ordinary humans--are what we need now, and I've thought about it a lot since then. A week has transpired, and I'm still thinking about what you said.
And I've come to conclude that being a writer at this point in history is vital. If we lose our stories, we lose ourselves. We lose our familial histories, our cultural connections, our identities. So that's why, like you, I'm committed to sharing stories, and often the most profound ones happen in happenstance encounters for me. Yesterday it was at the Tuckaleechee Caverns in Townsend, TN, while on a vacation to visit one of my friends who lives here.
All this to say, I am deeply grateful to have encountered you, to have listened to you speak, and to find you here on Substack. Glad to be sharing this digital space with you, Marya!
Jeannie, I’m so happy you’re here! Thank you for this beautiful, thoughtful, thought-provoking note. I hope you’ll join us over at @caravanwriterscollective - it would be so great to see you in one of the writing rooms!
Hi Marya! Thanks for the reply. Could you tell me a little more about the writers collective? I’m not sure what type of commitment it would entail (time, money, etc.) It would be great to interact with you and your community for sure!
Jeannie, you'll love Marya's writing so much. I am so excited for you. She makes everything come alive. ✨️
Kendall 🥰🙏🏻
I'm excited to see you in this space, Kendall! I met Marya briefly last week at the writing conference I attended.
That's so amazing!
"Merlin" : A phone app that IDs birds by their song. Free, I believe.
You're right. Things are just tools, conduits to enjoyment. Like Scamp.
I was going to recommend the same app. On this morning’s walk it identified 12 birds.
Marvelous app!! Thank you, Peter!!
My cat thinks he’s more important than he really is, but who cares to judge something like that. He’s certainly more accommodating than, say, a dissatisfied spouse.
but what if your cat IS that important? 👀🤣 good to see you, Kevin!!
The funny thing is that when I saw you on a recent Zoom thing, I kept looking at your sundress. At least I think it was a sundress. It might have been a shirt. It reminded me very much of one I wore in the 80s, one I might have forgotten entirely were it not for the photograph of me in it that I can't find now. I was at a society luncheon, part of a story I'd like to figure out how to tell except that my memories of it are so thin I'm not sure there's still a story there at all, and my dress was shades of pink and blue while yours was shades of olive and ochre. Oddly, that feels important.
It sounds like you, and that bird, and your mother, and your feet are cut from similar cloth. It sounds like you know what you need when you're not getting it. I love that you notice butter!
Coincidentally, I made a playlist this week. I look forward to listening to yours.
I'm grateful for the ways you pay attention, Marya.
It was a sundress! 😊 thank you, Elizabeth- you, too, are wonderfully aware of detail, and I love that in your writing and way of being in the world
Loved this so much. Picturing you sitting there listening to that man recite his Ode to an Important Chair, I thought of similar conversations where I was held hostage by my own politeness. At least it’s good material.
Thanks, Chris - I can absolutely see you stuck in just such a chair 🤣🙌🏼
Fantastic! The curated photo collections, courtesy of phone. The sundresses. The china being smashed on the street by your mother. The secret of it. What a tapestry. Which makes sense for this prompt, at least to me, because summer is a bit of a tapestry of images and smells and movement and memory.
Thank you, lovely - see you soon
This line “ His hand worried the smooth wood of the arm of a chair the way another man might absently reach out and rub another lover's arm”… it says everything one needs to ever know about that man. Yee Gaaaadds. Don’t blame you at all for wanting outside. Anywhere to get away from that kind of person. Not your tribe.
You’ve inspired me now to someday write about “Dave” and his home full of antiques, and the entire room frozen in time, dedicated to his dad. Perhaps one day.
Such rich writing. It’s yummy.
Tey- so good to hear from you. Funny you’d say that - tonight’s class is on microcharacterization - makes me wonder if most of us can be evoked in a gesture? 😏 xo
Hmmmm. A beautiful thought to ponder. I suspect that it might only be the most smarmy and one dimensional among us who can be unmasked by a look or a gesture. Everyone else, as in those I love, are too complex for such a limited glance.
What a beautiful piece! (And that photo from Virginia 2023 is quite impressive! : )
Thank you, Melissa!! 😊
Nice.
Being human is so fucking complicated. Sometimes ... often, actually ... I watch a fox, a chipmunk, a raccoon, a dragonfly, blue jay -- or "Willis," the odd little sparrow that's been keeping me company every day since last summer -- and I envy their single-minded focus on the task at hand.
Of course, their task is -- to quote The Bee Gees -- the stark, simple-but-not-so-simple job of staying alive, a reality considerably more harsh than romantic. With supermarkets, refrigerators, and the miracle of electricity, our lives are infinitely easier, but with that relative ease comes the confusion of being human. Civilization brings abstraction which then breeds confusion.
"I'm sitting there in my person suit trying to person and then here it comes, the building wave, it looms, it roars, it crashes down ... let me out."
Oh yeah.
Complicated indeed. I hear tell there are ways to simplify it - or at least Thoreau would have us believe so
Marya, this is life giving in too many ways to comment upon, but maybe I will just say at least this: I feel like wearing bare feet all summer and bright watermelon lipstick to the pool are suddenly radically, deeply important to me.
Thank you for you! And happy summer!
Thank you so much, Allison - and I am so glad!!
Great fun
so glad you enjoyed, Susan!! Thank you!
Love this.
loved yours!!
Sometimes I struggle with whether I should find the right word for something or just let it remain a mystery. Often, I end up making up words instead of using the “correct” ones. Somehow, that makes me feel like I understand the thing more deeply—like we’ve created a private language, just the two of us. Naming it in my own way makes the connection feel more intimate, more real.
“Words have power. Language does more than convey meaning; it shapes it. We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.”
— Toni Morrison
"...the measure of our lives." As usual, Toni Morrison tells it true. I love this - and I am SO EXCITED you're on Substack!!!!
And then there is an old man sitting in an old unfamiliar yet comfortable chair. He don’t know where it came from. It’s not his.
It’s storming outside and the sun is waking up.
He listens to your narrated writings and finds such peace and comfort that nothing else matters.
He feels the comforting nod of a morphine buzz in your words.
Thank you my Friend.