The Writing

I would not have been a poet
except that I have been in love
alive in this mortal world,
or an essayist except that I
have been bewildered and afraid,
or a storyteller had I not heard
stories passing to me through the air,
or a writer at all except I have been wakeful at night
and words have come to me
out of their deep caves,
needing to be remembered.
~ 1994, VII (excerpt) Wendell Berry

This November marks the second birthday of the publication of Hey, White Girl, but the novel was close to ten years in the making. I’m not sure of its actual beginning, because I didn’t know it was the beginning, or that it would be important. I think there are a lot of experiences in life like that. Things happen and we don’t recognize how pivotal they are until we look back.

Obviously, I’m not a fast writer. I’m a processor. In Hey, White Girl I wrote to try to figure out what I was seeing, to analyze what I was remembering, and to fictionalize both, to see if I could learn a new way of understanding. The writing process serves me well in sorting out life. On dark news days, of which there have been a lot lately, writing helps me swim back up for air when it feels like the world’s need will drown me.

These two years of getting my words out into the world have had many moments of uncomfortable self consciousness, but many more moments of meaningful connection. I’m so thankful for the people I’ve met through the process, the conversations we’ve had, and for the way the encounters I’ve shared have deepened my understanding of equity, history, and authenticity. I’m grateful that there is more to learn, and that folks like you are on this journey with me.

So in this month of Thanksgiving (and book birthdays 🥳) I thank you for reading, supporting, and sharing Hey, White Girl. I wish you moments of reflection that gift you depth and gratitude. And I encourage you to pick up a pen and play with the writing process as part of your own journey!