Monday, January 19, 2015


When people think of memoir they tend to think lifetime events, the biggies. By the time they get around to writing about them their brains have gone into shock, their memories paralyzed with self-doubt, fears of not getting it "right."

In FROZEN they sing about letting go. In my book Freeze Frame: How to Write Flash Memoir, I encourage readers to let go and write in the smallest, briefest of glimpses. A moment may not have a beginning, middle or end--often it just is.
 In 2015 I am resolving to write more of these glimpses. Even if it is just to pause and smell the roses or observe a sunset or the lighting of a lamp, the flame reflected in a darkened window. Dig below the surface of lethargy and tell yourself, all I have is NOW.
Lighting the Lamp
At the dune shack with the blue door, the light subsides, blue has left the sky, and there is a stillness within the insect-infused dusk, a veil settles, softening the sand peaks, yet sharpening the pinpricks of stars, the outline of the Pilgrim monument in the distance.

And, when the last ounce of sun has left the sky and the shadows have all fled, I light the lamp.

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