Acorn to Oak

I have been writing since I could hold a pencil and I don’t know what I have been seeking through this pursuit. Money? Fame? Recognition? Sanity? All of the above? I think I would settle for money and sanity, fame and recognition I couldn’t care less about. I am an introvert and don’t need eyes on me for fear that I’ll do something horrifically embarrassing though I do like live readings, those are fun. I am, however, a drop in a bucket of Substackers clambering to be seen for one reason or another and it’s starting to feel pointless or less poignant maybe.

I don’t say any of that to gain sympathies or subscriptions, in fact I have reduced my subscription cost because I figured…why not? I say all of that in an attempt to deduce what, exactly, I am doing here writing to all of you. From the painfully private stories to the purely absurd tales, I have shared elements of my life for three reasons—1. With all the craziness that surrounds me, I need to piece everything together like a puzzle at the end of the week and make something meaningful from it. 2. Words itch my brain and I need to release them. 3. When I share what I have written, I can put that shard of my life to rest and move on. I know that my style is not all that; at times my pieces are rambling at best. I’m not fishing for compliments, I just know that I am not trained in this art and certainly don’t read enough to improve much. I know where I rank among the giants. Yet, I keep coming back and doing this ritual thing that I do because I can’t help myself. That has to count for something, right? Just one problem—it just hasn’t been enough lately.

When I took on the task of putting Dad’s book onto Kindle, I thought he would have some glimmer of realization of what had been done. To my chagrin, he didn’t understand, he had long forgotten that he had once written a book. Tragically, I didn’t bother to try and engage him more on this. I could’ve read it to him, nightly. I should’ve done that. I should’ve talked to him about the process way back when and asked why he was so obsessed with Herman Melville, whales, and whaling. Instead, I rolled my eyes when I heard him start to talk to some unsuspecting soul about his vast knowledge on the topic. I’d see their eyes glaze over a bit and feel ashamed that he didn’t realize that his passion was not shared. It turns out that I was proud of what he did, I just never let him know it.

As the days become shorter and this Nor’easter clings to our shores, my family’s new goal of taking Dad/Grampy’s book and editing/modernizing it for a new audience is daunting but exhilarating. His language was flowery and beautiful, there are passages and lines that read like poetry. His handle on writing for a society that was just waking up to a lot of trespasses of the past, however, was clunky. The heavy presence of religion in his prose was too…..heavy. The story and history woven together, however, is remarkable and thorough. Where, when, and how this will be released I have no idea. What I do know is that this will be a worthwhile new purpose and will hopefully fill a hole that remains in my heart. His voice comes alive when I read that book and it is a small comfort during these increasingly dark days of Fall turning to winter. Perhaps, come spring, this little acorn of a project will have taken root. Knock on wood, Mama’s got a brand new project.