The Furious Spinner

Had to go to Eugene today, where we were supposed to go the day Linda died. Had to come right back, however, because Mario has work in the morning. We had a good time. We always have a good time together. Although I'm still so dazed and confused and tired. I'm starting to dream again, which is good. Had about eight dreams this morning. Dreamed my mother died. Not good. And I had a leopard as a kind of house pet. Or a jaguar.

Lay on the couch most of the day Monday. Serena came over in the morning, sat down near me and worked on something. I was so sure she'd disappear from our lives the day after the memorial service. It was good to have her near. I had to resist the urge to hug on her. She's not a mushy child. So I don't mush on her...too much.

The rest of Linda's family went home. They were all so gracious and kind, even when I was cranky. I admire that kind of grace.

Monday night they had the book discussion of Mercy, Unbound at our library. It was fun to sit and listen to people discuss my book. I wanted to join in, but I try to wait as long as possible because as soon as I talk at these things conversation often comes to a halt. One person described the book as a compassionate look at one girl's life (or something like that, although he said it better). I liked the word compassionate because the world could always use more compassion. And I do think it is a compassionate story. No villains. No bad guys. I think stories without villains are harder to write, as I'm sure I've mentioned previously. When you have a villain, it's so easy to write a story. In real life, most people are just doing the best they can; they aren't villainous.

Today I got an email from one of my teachers about Mercy, Unbound, and she mentioned compassion, too. I'll reprint the letter below, not because I'm trying to show how great I am or anything, but because it's such a lovely letter and it meant so much to me. As I've said before, when someone compliments my books, it feels as though they are praising something separate from me but something beloved, almost as though they are praising my kin—or my children.

The letter reads, in part:

"I have finally found time to read your beautiful new book, Mercy, Unbound. I finished it tonight and then looked at the inside back cover, which calls it a book for teens. Well maybe, but I wept through the whole last section, so I think it maybe has more potential than that—I'm almost 60.

Your voice in this book is so compassionate and poetic. I think you've really found something, a kind of grace. It's fabulous. I hope it really makes a big impact. I was so touched from the beginning....it's very healing in general, speaking to the whole disorder of society.

Good for you!! You've made one of those grand healing gestures through literature. Brava!"

Isn't that lovely?

I am so fortunate.

And I'm off to sleep.

May You Dream in Beauty!

Labels: Linda, Mercy Unbound

2 comments

2 Comments:

Lovely letter, Kim. Feels good when people not only like but get what we do, doesn't it?

That big kitty visiting your house may have been a totem saying hello from Massachusetts. :)

By Theriomorph, at 5:18 AM  

Kim, it was a lovely letter, and it was a lovely book. I have now read it twice, and find wonderful healing moments in it every time I pick it up.

... so hope my dear, that you are resting and being kind to yourself. Losaing a dear friend is a heartbreaking experience. Love, Cate

By kerrdelune, at 6:26 AM  

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