Today I was thinking about what I could do with my wish to rearrange my writing life. What will make me happiest in these last years? Part of it would sort of wrap up my writing energy for my family. Nobody’s going to want to keep my blog up or collect my slim royalties. Maybe Al would. Talking things over with him is the number one thing. He still thinks we’re gonna live forever. If I go first, he’ll at least have to call my publisher to say I’m dead. Does this sound morbid? It doesn’t to me.
I said last month that I would talk about my idea of what happens when we die. I don’t “know” anything. I sense that the afterlife will be a vast multiverse full of energy we cannot comprehend. We may see some of our folks but it won’t be in the form we’d recognize, nevertheless we will nod to each other as we swirl by on our otherworldly business.
And I know my sons will be grateful if I manage to clear up as much of my precious stuff as possible. They will be ecstatic if Al gets the garage cleaned out. Good luck. I left all my stuff in Michigan and he brought the entire garage down here. I have asked and nobody wants anything. Jessica likes my picture frames! One of my nieces will take my Granny’s hope chest, over a hundred years old now. I used to be quite the antique shopper and some of my loveliest frames are antiques. I left a lot of that in Michigan in an estate sale. But not my prints and photos and frames.
I have not been able to stop buying books, but they are all research books on British Regency. I saved my favorite authors to read in my old age, not knowing tastes change and a miracle named The Kindle would come along. Some other history nut, like my new friend, Al’s cousin, Sandy, might like the research books. I knew her from a family reunion at least 25 years ago and then we reconnected at Dad Harrison’s funeral. She’s a fiction writer too. She’s good. We’re reading each other’s work and emailing about it. And we’re going to meet up in Michigan when we visit this summer.
Today I got a little idea of how to close out my writing life. Nobody wants me to write a memoir (not even me). But I was thinking this blog could be a sort of memoir. I’ve pretty much wrung dry (or forgotten) every word about writing I’ve learned. That’s ok. It’s all in a book I once wrote, my first book, also a kind of memoir, free on Amazon.
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