“She’s a spitfire!”
That’s how my latest financial advisor referred to me the first time he met with my life partner and beloved, Adrienne, a couple of weeks ago. I had only met with him twice. I didn’t recall anyone ever calling me a “spitfire,” so I looked up its meaning. The first definition is, “a person, especially a girl or woman, who is of fiery temper and easily provoked to outbursts.” The second is, “a British fighter plane with a single in-line engine used by the R.A.F. throughout World War II.”
So I’m a British fighter plane. This makes sense because I am presently fighting a battle to save and ignite my creative drive. The day of this writing marks a month since I received an email informing me that I would not be offered “a spot as a General Contributor (“attendee”) in Nonfiction 2018 Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference” in August. This is a very tough conference to get into, nevertheless, one that I had always wanted to attend. Last summer, Adrienne and I actually participated in the conference “from the sidelines” as visitors of the then-executive director. Inspired and determined, I applied by submitting the preface and two chapters (nearly 6,000 words) of a memoir I’ve been working on for 37 years (yes, you read that right). Alas, words that I had written to cope with profound childhood abandonment . . . abandoned me. A lifelong beloved, Charlotte, sent a card that said:
What a horrible, horrible blow. Words continue to fail me. I can’t even begin to imagine how it feels to receive such a blow. I cannot figure out how to move on — I just know that somehow you need to survive this blow — please — you are an artist. You are a writer. Find your way to who you are.
Spark and Spitfire — a place where hell hath no fury like a woman inspired is one of the ways I am finding my way to who I am. Many thanks to my beloved pastor friend, Carol, who encouraged me to begin another blog — the one I had begun and regularly fueled in 2008 sputtered out when I did about a year ago. Yes, it was time for a fresh start, er “spark.” Thanks, too, to my beloved friend, Beth, who sponsored the first year of “hosting” this blog — a drop in the ocean to all the ways she supports me and my story. Last, but not ever least, endless gratitude to Adrienne. She is the spark in this spitfire.
Thank you and much love to all.
So your blog is a way to transformation because as Powers says your story is “witnessed and shared.” Bravo! You found your way not only to survive but to live fully and deeply.
Thank you, dear Charlotte. I’m surviving and once the kinks are worked out, yes, I’ll be able to not only live fully and deeply, but BREATHE fully and deeply.
Your love and support mean the world to me. xoxo
I will always remember my first contact with Spark & Spitfire. I read your first posts while standing on the morning dock at the island in the middle of Cable Lake, beauty before me digitally and all around me. With congratulations, love and loon calls, I celebrate this new milestone with you!
Thank you, dear Beth. I know exactly where you are standing and wish I were standing next to you.
And thanks again, for a year of Spark & Spitfire hosting!
Thirty-three years ago today, my twin sons were born. We ALWAYS celebrate the summer solstice in our family now! Birthing a blog is certainly a type of “labor,” too. Bear with it, and we will bear with you. Remember to breathe, as it helps. Believe me, your efforts will be worth it. They already are.
Forgive the delay, Beth. One of the glitches that I’m trying to iron out is that I’m not getting emails letting me know when a comment is posted. I checked the “Settings” and it is clearly marked that I want to receive emails. Gremlins? The heartbreak of psoriasis? GRRRRR.
That being said — the birthday of your twins on the day of the Summer Solstice . . . WOW . . . and what fine men they are. I’ve always wished that I could have experienced the miracle of giving birth — to children — but I also know that I am talented at giving birth to creativity that can change and perhaps even heal the world. Like parenting, it’s an awesome responsibility. Thanks for bearing with — and believing in — me.
So very happy to see you back online! To feel your spark and your spitfire. We need you, I need you. Keep up the good work, dear Friend.
I need you, too, my dear Friend! Thank you for nudging me to light the spark and create the spitfire! So much love to you.
I love you. xoxo
You are the nicest and most courageous British fighter plane I have ever met.