Now loss, however cruel, is powerless against possession, which it completes, or even, affirms: loss is, in fact, nothing else than a second acquisition—but now completely interiorized—and just as intense.
I can't love this post as it broke my heart so. I'm so sorry for your loss. I loved the parts of that journey you shared with us on the train. It made me want to do the trip. Sometime, in the middle of June, I lost all my notes in back up of my books I'm working on. My husband and computer nerd has been traveling and busy so I carried on like a dutiful soldier but here I am in September afraid so go back through my back ups and find all of it won't be there so I'm not looking. I keep telling him "tomorrow." "Let's do it, tomorrow." He says he's available this morning so I think tomorrow arrived just now. Wish me luck. Speaking of luck...lucky shopper who picked up your notebook for a buck. heart here. smiley too
Oh, I'm so sorry you're going through the same thing. I'm glad that tomorrow is today for this because I bet it will be a big relief (worth a celebration) if/when (and I'm thinking when, or I hope when) you retrieve your words.
And ... I hope the right person bought that notebook somehow. Short of that, thanks for your kind words about my trip.
I found the files I was looking for! Yeah. Now my only concern is the files that I don't know I'm missing that I will need later. But I'll deal with that when and if I need them. Have a spectacular week!
In 2008, as the movers were loading the last boxes from our home in Florida to be transported to south Carolina, they took a box designated for the car, not the truck. This box contained precious pictures and also my notebook filled with 42 years of my original poetry.
Less than two hours after they pulled out, their overloaded trailer burned to the ground. My 42 years of poetry reduced to ash. I've never written another.
Oh my gosh, this might be the worst "lost writing" story I've ever heard. Please go back to writing. Perhaps start with a poem that is a tribute to those lose poems. I know that I feel genuine mourning for my lost journal, and I think it's important to recognize that emotion.
I am so sorry about the loss of your precious poetry but also about the loss of your writing practice and the joy you surely found in it. I hope you find your way back to it.
A long time ago, when I was trying to earn my Bachelors Degree, my computer died. That laptop had been my pride and joy for 5 years, and one day I went to turn it on. The screen went black losing hundreds of short stories, poems, and random bits of dialogue. This happened before internet was a thing.
Oh, that's such a sad story. I haven't had that happen with a computer, but I fear for it. Even with internet back-up. I hope those lost writings somehow found a way to speak through you.
Each morning, I read your posts and the comments. They are deliciously better than the best mocha!
So much food for thought, bringing up memories.
My friends and I were also jumped by a gang when I lived in the Mission (where I grew up). I knew one of the members who pulled me aside and told me to run, which I did. My girlfriend and I locked ourselves in a phone booth, while our guy friends ran house to house, asking for help. Police came and drove us home. We were shook up, but not hurt.
I also lost precious items in a fire. Even though I wish I had those items, my life has been fine. But that’s not comparable to losing a journal.
You all may have thought of this, write on the first page: Please return to . . .
Maybe your journal will find it’s way back to you, Grant. One can hope!
One of my favorite lines, “so to be in a cafe wasn’t to sit in a cafe with people on their devices, as it is now, but to feel the pulse of life happening all around.”
I love imagining what this looked like, sounded like, felt like. In my imagination, I’m there.
Thank you for these delicious posts. You offer much to think about.
Ah, thanks so much, Marlene! I'm going to cherish your comment about this "being better than the best mocha" over ... many a mocha! I appreciate your encouragement, and I'm glad the newsletter resonates.
Your story is harrowing. Thank God for the gang member who protected you. And it's true, per your fire story, that we tend to be fine when we lose things. From now on, I'm writing my name in all journals.
Those Mission cafes ... I don't think we'll ever see anything like them again because they were such a part of the pre-internet world. I remember the cafes bursting all of the time, and everyone had something they were passionately engaged in, even if they were just passing the time. Thanks again!
My grandmother was an avid, lifelong reader. Books were always a topic of conversation between us, sharing recommendations or talking about what we were currently reading, etc. She had kept a journal in which she chronicled each book she read, dating back forty years. When she passed, I was across the country and days away from giving birth. By the time I made it back to our hometown, a month later, my uncle had "cleaned out" her house, which included throwing away that journal. A part of me will never forgive him.
Oh, my. I'm so sorry. Something similar happened to me. The man managing the estate went through the house before I got there, and he threw away what he called "trash," but which I knew to be letters and more. I would feel like you do: unable to forgive. What a treasure to have that journal, those thoughts. I'm sorry.
What a devastating loss! My mom has always donated the books she'd read, but I'll never forget the day when I was four years old and we got my first library card. I wish I had that!
A lost journal is a terrible thing! The journal my daughter had been keeping for her son's first two or so years was in a bag that was stolen. All the firsts, the funny moments, the wonderfully strange interpretations in the world. I still think about it!
Grant, I feel for you. That last notebook sounds incredibly rich. I sense a short story coming about one day seeing one of your ideas in there realized by the person who bought it! Could be twisty! I'm also thinking of Kathryn Schulz's amazing book Lost & Found. Have you ever found a piece of writing that you didn't remember writing but it turned out it was pretty damn good? The other side of the ampersand.
Someone just mentioned to me that the lost journal should be the beginning of a novel about my small town. I like that idea. I like your idea as well, to have the person who has the journal do something with what's inside as well. We'll see. Per finding past "gems," yes, I've had that experience. It's good for every writer to remember that most writing that we consider bad sometimes, or often, isn't.
I never lost a notebook or a journal. But I lost my first address book that contained all my friends and girlfriends addresses up to 1986. In hindsight, I barely remember who might have been in it, even though I recall the neat, blue, fountain pen inked writing with which I filled that book. I realize all the addresses and phone numbers probably now belong to other people.
About rewriting, in the computer age, about twenty years ago, I recall the gut-punch of completely losing a 2,000 word music review I had spent an entire day writing and revising. To cope with the loss, I rewrote it from memory in a frenzy in about an hour and still met my deadline. This was a "second acquisition" of sorts, and I suspect the rewrite might have been better than the original. Love that you included that Hemingway story. I think it's no surprise in life that sometimes the weight of loss is just so great we have no choice than to fully remake what we lost in some form or another.
Your address book story makes me realize how precarious people's contact info once was—how you could literally lose a person. I once wrote letters to an ex-girlfriend, assumed she received them, but never received a reply, only to find out years later that she'd moved and they'd never been forwarded. I often wonder if I miss an important email that goes to spam, but I'm now intrigued by your lost address book. I guess you reconnected with the most important people in it.
Here's to second acquisitions, and I bet your music review was better the second time around ...
When I was twelve, my mother attempted suicide & I went to live with another family while she recovered. I had a diary with pink pages with an easily pickable heart-shaped lock. I was fifteen when I threw away the diary, deeming it childish & embarrassing. Only many years later, when I finally started therapy, did I long for those loopy, doodle-filled, melodramatic journal entries. I expected the words could help me access the confused thoughts & feelings of the little twelve-year-old who still lives inside me.
I also have a loss of words. I had a storage unit due to a small apartment with an even smaller, singular closet. The answer to this was a storage unit. All of my journals and saved letters from 13 - early 20's were in there. I, like many, hit a rough financial patch in the beginning of the COVID epidemic, and missed two payments. They repossessed all of the contents, likely to be auctioned. No matter how I plead for those 3 boxes that were worthless to anyone but me, they would not relent. It was a loss, but a grain of sand compared to all the loss and pain in the world at that time. With the advice from a wise friend, I was able to reframe it as a "shedding of my old self" and my rebirth as a writer.
I popped in today because my current writing assignment in a seminar is brevity. Write a six hundred word story, edit to two hundred and fifty, then 100. Who better to check in with for inspiration! Thankful for my copy of The Art of Brevity! 🙏🏼
This was such a powerful post. I hope your notebook travels its way through the universe, to creative minds that interpret your words are write their own stories in the back, and it finds its way back to you in the strangest, most beautiful way!
I’m a little embarrassed to share this, but I’ve lost words because I neglected to follow a basic rule for writers: Write it down. When I get an idea, I often start writing in my head. It all sounds so good! I realize that when I sit down to actually write, it will be flawed but that I can polish and edit to my heart’s content. IF I had written the idea or sentence down in a notebook …
I especially liked this line: "You might say that writing is a way of asking to be loved that can’t be asked for some reason in real life."
As a memoirist, that felt like Truth to me. I shared it with writer friends this morning, and they agreed. Quite profound, my friend.
Ah, thanks so much, Joan!
I can't love this post as it broke my heart so. I'm so sorry for your loss. I loved the parts of that journey you shared with us on the train. It made me want to do the trip. Sometime, in the middle of June, I lost all my notes in back up of my books I'm working on. My husband and computer nerd has been traveling and busy so I carried on like a dutiful soldier but here I am in September afraid so go back through my back ups and find all of it won't be there so I'm not looking. I keep telling him "tomorrow." "Let's do it, tomorrow." He says he's available this morning so I think tomorrow arrived just now. Wish me luck. Speaking of luck...lucky shopper who picked up your notebook for a buck. heart here. smiley too
Oh, I'm so sorry you're going through the same thing. I'm glad that tomorrow is today for this because I bet it will be a big relief (worth a celebration) if/when (and I'm thinking when, or I hope when) you retrieve your words.
And ... I hope the right person bought that notebook somehow. Short of that, thanks for your kind words about my trip.
I found the files I was looking for! Yeah. Now my only concern is the files that I don't know I'm missing that I will need later. But I'll deal with that when and if I need them. Have a spectacular week!
I love this: “You might say that writing is a way of asking to be loved that can’t be asked for some reason in real life.”
What a phenomenal line that hit home immediately. Definitely a quote to be saved!
Thanks so much, Britta!
In 2008, as the movers were loading the last boxes from our home in Florida to be transported to south Carolina, they took a box designated for the car, not the truck. This box contained precious pictures and also my notebook filled with 42 years of my original poetry.
Less than two hours after they pulled out, their overloaded trailer burned to the ground. My 42 years of poetry reduced to ash. I've never written another.
Oh my gosh, this might be the worst "lost writing" story I've ever heard. Please go back to writing. Perhaps start with a poem that is a tribute to those lose poems. I know that I feel genuine mourning for my lost journal, and I think it's important to recognize that emotion.
Thank you. I may, though at 82 I'm not sure
My heart breaks for you! For your poems and your photos. I hope a muse comes to you a whispers the first line for you to begin again!
NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO! It's never too late to start over. Please, continue writing poetry!
OMG. What a horrific twist!
I am so sorry about the loss of your precious poetry but also about the loss of your writing practice and the joy you surely found in it. I hope you find your way back to it.
A long time ago, when I was trying to earn my Bachelors Degree, my computer died. That laptop had been my pride and joy for 5 years, and one day I went to turn it on. The screen went black losing hundreds of short stories, poems, and random bits of dialogue. This happened before internet was a thing.
Oh, that's such a sad story. I haven't had that happen with a computer, but I fear for it. Even with internet back-up. I hope those lost writings somehow found a way to speak through you.
Definitely! I was a fool in my 20's, as most of us are. That little lesson has stuck with me for years.
OOF. Your loss just gave me a stabbing sensation in my chest. :-(
Back up! Often!
I'm so sorry! That said, please learn from my shortcomings as a 20-something.
Each morning, I read your posts and the comments. They are deliciously better than the best mocha!
So much food for thought, bringing up memories.
My friends and I were also jumped by a gang when I lived in the Mission (where I grew up). I knew one of the members who pulled me aside and told me to run, which I did. My girlfriend and I locked ourselves in a phone booth, while our guy friends ran house to house, asking for help. Police came and drove us home. We were shook up, but not hurt.
I also lost precious items in a fire. Even though I wish I had those items, my life has been fine. But that’s not comparable to losing a journal.
You all may have thought of this, write on the first page: Please return to . . .
Maybe your journal will find it’s way back to you, Grant. One can hope!
One of my favorite lines, “so to be in a cafe wasn’t to sit in a cafe with people on their devices, as it is now, but to feel the pulse of life happening all around.”
I love imagining what this looked like, sounded like, felt like. In my imagination, I’m there.
Thank you for these delicious posts. You offer much to think about.
Ah, thanks so much, Marlene! I'm going to cherish your comment about this "being better than the best mocha" over ... many a mocha! I appreciate your encouragement, and I'm glad the newsletter resonates.
Your story is harrowing. Thank God for the gang member who protected you. And it's true, per your fire story, that we tend to be fine when we lose things. From now on, I'm writing my name in all journals.
Those Mission cafes ... I don't think we'll ever see anything like them again because they were such a part of the pre-internet world. I remember the cafes bursting all of the time, and everyone had something they were passionately engaged in, even if they were just passing the time. Thanks again!
My grandmother was an avid, lifelong reader. Books were always a topic of conversation between us, sharing recommendations or talking about what we were currently reading, etc. She had kept a journal in which she chronicled each book she read, dating back forty years. When she passed, I was across the country and days away from giving birth. By the time I made it back to our hometown, a month later, my uncle had "cleaned out" her house, which included throwing away that journal. A part of me will never forgive him.
Oh, my. I'm so sorry. Something similar happened to me. The man managing the estate went through the house before I got there, and he threw away what he called "trash," but which I knew to be letters and more. I would feel like you do: unable to forgive. What a treasure to have that journal, those thoughts. I'm sorry.
What a devastating loss! My mom has always donated the books she'd read, but I'll never forget the day when I was four years old and we got my first library card. I wish I had that!
It could set you free, as in the end everything is taken^^
I agree. We have to practice loss, and our attachments tend to bind us.
A lost journal is a terrible thing! The journal my daughter had been keeping for her son's first two or so years was in a bag that was stolen. All the firsts, the funny moments, the wonderfully strange interpretations in the world. I still think about it!
Oh, no! That's way worse than mine. I hope your daughter sat down and tried to remember everything.
Grant, I feel for you. That last notebook sounds incredibly rich. I sense a short story coming about one day seeing one of your ideas in there realized by the person who bought it! Could be twisty! I'm also thinking of Kathryn Schulz's amazing book Lost & Found. Have you ever found a piece of writing that you didn't remember writing but it turned out it was pretty damn good? The other side of the ampersand.
Someone just mentioned to me that the lost journal should be the beginning of a novel about my small town. I like that idea. I like your idea as well, to have the person who has the journal do something with what's inside as well. We'll see. Per finding past "gems," yes, I've had that experience. It's good for every writer to remember that most writing that we consider bad sometimes, or often, isn't.
I like that idea too. Every time you talk about where you grew up, it piques my interest!
I never lost a notebook or a journal. But I lost my first address book that contained all my friends and girlfriends addresses up to 1986. In hindsight, I barely remember who might have been in it, even though I recall the neat, blue, fountain pen inked writing with which I filled that book. I realize all the addresses and phone numbers probably now belong to other people.
About rewriting, in the computer age, about twenty years ago, I recall the gut-punch of completely losing a 2,000 word music review I had spent an entire day writing and revising. To cope with the loss, I rewrote it from memory in a frenzy in about an hour and still met my deadline. This was a "second acquisition" of sorts, and I suspect the rewrite might have been better than the original. Love that you included that Hemingway story. I think it's no surprise in life that sometimes the weight of loss is just so great we have no choice than to fully remake what we lost in some form or another.
Your address book story makes me realize how precarious people's contact info once was—how you could literally lose a person. I once wrote letters to an ex-girlfriend, assumed she received them, but never received a reply, only to find out years later that she'd moved and they'd never been forwarded. I often wonder if I miss an important email that goes to spam, but I'm now intrigued by your lost address book. I guess you reconnected with the most important people in it.
Here's to second acquisitions, and I bet your music review was better the second time around ...
When I was twelve, my mother attempted suicide & I went to live with another family while she recovered. I had a diary with pink pages with an easily pickable heart-shaped lock. I was fifteen when I threw away the diary, deeming it childish & embarrassing. Only many years later, when I finally started therapy, did I long for those loopy, doodle-filled, melodramatic journal entries. I expected the words could help me access the confused thoughts & feelings of the little twelve-year-old who still lives inside me.
I'm sorry for your experience and loss of the journal. That is something no child should have to endure. I hope your progress in healing continues.
I also have a loss of words. I had a storage unit due to a small apartment with an even smaller, singular closet. The answer to this was a storage unit. All of my journals and saved letters from 13 - early 20's were in there. I, like many, hit a rough financial patch in the beginning of the COVID epidemic, and missed two payments. They repossessed all of the contents, likely to be auctioned. No matter how I plead for those 3 boxes that were worthless to anyone but me, they would not relent. It was a loss, but a grain of sand compared to all the loss and pain in the world at that time. With the advice from a wise friend, I was able to reframe it as a "shedding of my old self" and my rebirth as a writer.
I popped in today because my current writing assignment in a seminar is brevity. Write a six hundred word story, edit to two hundred and fifty, then 100. Who better to check in with for inspiration! Thankful for my copy of The Art of Brevity! 🙏🏼
This was such a powerful post. I hope your notebook travels its way through the universe, to creative minds that interpret your words are write their own stories in the back, and it finds its way back to you in the strangest, most beautiful way!
I’m a little embarrassed to share this, but I’ve lost words because I neglected to follow a basic rule for writers: Write it down. When I get an idea, I often start writing in my head. It all sounds so good! I realize that when I sit down to actually write, it will be flawed but that I can polish and edit to my heart’s content. IF I had written the idea or sentence down in a notebook …