I am in the words of these pieces, yes, because they are my words. But even words have their limits. Look for me instead, if you will, between the lines…in the gaps between each letter, in those empty inviting margins, across each and every hoary space without boundary or punctuation. Come to know me there. Then let me lead you inward. Take in this abiding truth: by that transaction, though we may never meet, we are inextricably connected. We are, in that moment, part of the same book! Now turn your eyes to some other dusty tome, maybe that gentleman over there or that woman across from you there. Read them too. Let their lines, but especially the spaces in-between, tell you their constant crazy clumsy comely grace-filled story of life. In your heart, dog-ear the important pages, underline your favorite passages, highlight their days. 

The transaction of reading and writing. 

There is a transaction that takes place when you read another’s writing, a connection in the moment (and beyond, if we are lucky) between reader, speaker, character, and writer. It seems like another lifetime ago when I used to dedicate much of my time to writing or, if I wasn’t writing, going into schools and talking about it or reading it. I loved those moments of connection. I still do that on occasion. So, if, for some reason, you’d like me to talk to your class/group (kindergarten on up), I’d be happy to. But if not, if a particular piece speaks to you, I’d still love to hear from you. I’d love to hear about that transaction and what specifically resonated with you. Or feel free to reach out for no other reason than to tell your story.