Just came home from errands to find a letter in my mailbox from Ann, a former student. Reading it is a great reminder of why we writers do what we do:
Your book practically broke my heart and restored it. I felt so engaged. Your journey, so intimately described, resonated with me down to my bones. I was in Vancouver in '79, attending the Arts Club and other theatres, and you brought back so many memories and made me feel as if I was there, with you. So thank you for sharing your life with us. Kudos, too, for the diligence in getting it published after all your hard work and perseverance. You epitomize the purpose of your "True to Life" teachings, setting an example for us to aspire to, reminding us that our stories are worth telling, and worth telling well.
Thank you so much, Ann. How kind of you to put these warm words on paper and in the mail.
At the risk of overkill, here's another email from old friend Peter Blais: Loved it all. I laughed, I cried, looked in the mirror and loved again. What a complicated plot told with such effortlessness. The L'Arche stories were fresh and wonderful for me. And Greece. And of course life in France. Naturally the theatre thread was at times painfully familiar. It's a wonder you survived to achieve the robust age and personality you can rightly claim as a great success story.
Thank you, Peter. Okay I can retire now since I have achieved writer nirvana. Not. Got scolded by a savvy friend about my laziness on social media, how I should be increasing my twitter followers by following many myself, working LinkedIn and Instagram... I will try, I promise.
More importantly, it's a stunning day. I gathered all my basil and made a big batch of pesto. (My mother's milk jug is where I keep my garlic.) And then Ruth and I went for a walk in the 'hood.
O Canada.
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