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I have an Inner Critic that goes in and out with me;
She’s known as Miss Anxiety of 1953.
Normally I spend hours writing these posts. But it’s late, and I’m sore from changing out yet another tire (different story) so let’s just get to the goods, shall we? I. Know. A. Great. Story. Trust me, you want to read it. Everyone else is reading and loving it right now and, for once, everyone else is right. Where the Crawdads Sing is a wonderful story about the heaven and hell of spending most of your life alone. And we’re not talking Thoreau-in-Walden voluntary solitude here. The book opens with little Kya Clark watching her mother walk out of her life. No tears, no hug, not a wave goodbye, just a door slamming in their shack on the Marsh. And, once Mama goes, Kya’s siblings follow her down the road, until there’s only a six-year old trying to survive a live of privation and her hard-drinking Daddy. Finally, there’s no one’s left in the Marsh shack but Kya. And the child has to provide for herself. Kya grows up wise in ways of the natural world if unskilled when it comes to people. Having no other guide, she tries to understand people in terms with the marsh beings she knows:…
There’s no predicting how a person or a town will react in the aftermath of a devastating loss.
financially, it’s never been a good time for me to fly to New York. So I dreamed and figured someday I would go there. I just never thought my money would get there first.
when we’re being whipsawed by change and conflict, we may not see the puppetmaster manipulating us through our connections.