Oh Mary, I love how you've woven in a sense of the dreamy in so many of the lines... “She’d go up the stairs, and that silky scarf—an airy wake behind her.”, beautiful, I can imagine it entirely! And, the suitcase again... As Jeffrey says below, another layer... 💛
Ah the secret unfolds -- how hard it must've been for Lena. Even though I wrote it, I feel it differently now and with more empathy for both my characters here: Lena and Robert ... Funny how the writing becomes separate from the creator. Do you experience this, too. Susie?
Oh yes Mary I do! Not so much in my journal writing but absolutely in the short fiction I am battling with ever absent time to finish, it is the strangest feeling and one I am yet to understand. Again time… and perhaps the absence of experience will teach me to accept this, for the moment however it is a journey, an adventure even, that I must make with all senses open. x
Wow, a drug-fueled waking dream going who-knows-where until it spirals right back down into the suitcase. It reminds me of that old joke from Annie Dillard's parents that takes weeks to tell and ends with the brick flying through the window. But this time it's no joke. Incredible.
This piece feels like if Faulkner, a fever dream, and a noir film had a baby and tucked it inside a suitcase—which, apparently, is where the baby ended up anyway. It’s got that gorgeous, drifting, elliptical quality, where conversations circle around truth without ever pinning it down, and every line carries the weight of something unspoken. The whole thing reads like whiskey-soaked memory wrapped in silk and cigarette smoke, with just enough mystery and melancholy to leave you wondering whether you’re chasing a ghost, a metaphor, or both.
... she reveals as much as she conceals, dark secrets hidden in the suitcase with the baby?
Where creepiness mingles with intrigue and yearning, like the cocktail mixed from the contents of the velvet bag, inducing delirium, chasing sleep, chasing dreams, chasing death in a doomed cycle?
God I love this reflection. So many dark secrets swirling around that dream-inducing, realty-distorting cocktail. But also not too different than Lena on any ordinary day—she has such a complex psyche!
Wow! Heavy stuff. You write what you feel, allowing me to feel it too. Connected.
What a great comment for a writer. xx
Oh Mary, I love how you've woven in a sense of the dreamy in so many of the lines... “She’d go up the stairs, and that silky scarf—an airy wake behind her.”, beautiful, I can imagine it entirely! And, the suitcase again... As Jeffrey says below, another layer... 💛
Ah the secret unfolds -- how hard it must've been for Lena. Even though I wrote it, I feel it differently now and with more empathy for both my characters here: Lena and Robert ... Funny how the writing becomes separate from the creator. Do you experience this, too. Susie?
Oh yes Mary I do! Not so much in my journal writing but absolutely in the short fiction I am battling with ever absent time to finish, it is the strangest feeling and one I am yet to understand. Again time… and perhaps the absence of experience will teach me to accept this, for the moment however it is a journey, an adventure even, that I must make with all senses open. x
Wow, a drug-fueled waking dream going who-knows-where until it spirals right back down into the suitcase. It reminds me of that old joke from Annie Dillard's parents that takes weeks to tell and ends with the brick flying through the window. But this time it's no joke. Incredible.
I love that joke by Dillard. I think it's in This Writing Life-- will have to look. Thank you! Honored by the comparison to the fab Dillard.
Lena as Ophelia, victim and seer. Another layer to the drama!
Ah, another layer, indeed. Love your insight here that is so on the mark. More coming ...
This piece feels like if Faulkner, a fever dream, and a noir film had a baby and tucked it inside a suitcase—which, apparently, is where the baby ended up anyway. It’s got that gorgeous, drifting, elliptical quality, where conversations circle around truth without ever pinning it down, and every line carries the weight of something unspoken. The whole thing reads like whiskey-soaked memory wrapped in silk and cigarette smoke, with just enough mystery and melancholy to leave you wondering whether you’re chasing a ghost, a metaphor, or both.
Oh my, I am so honored by the eloquence and specifics of your words about mine. Thank you so, Angela.
... she reveals as much as she conceals, dark secrets hidden in the suitcase with the baby?
Where creepiness mingles with intrigue and yearning, like the cocktail mixed from the contents of the velvet bag, inducing delirium, chasing sleep, chasing dreams, chasing death in a doomed cycle?
God I love this reflection. So many dark secrets swirling around that dream-inducing, realty-distorting cocktail. But also not too different than Lena on any ordinary day—she has such a complex psyche!
A beautiful build on Veronika's eloquence, my dear Kimberly. And with my thanks for the generosity of your words about mine.
A perfect read -- but then you are perfect, mu virtual friend.
Oh my goodness! The bones found in the suitcase from an earlier chapter... I am hooked, Mary, and will keep reading fervently each week. 😍
Yes, the bones are key. So grateful for you, Susan.
I love the way you write dialogue … feels so like a genuine conversation.
Thank you, Julie ... xx