As a writer, you are your brand. As a self-published writer, your brand is the most important thing you have. But what happens when that smiling, professional, upbeat, media-friendly you isn't any of those things?
My grandma is dying.
Any minute, I could get the call. I saw her one last time and I told her I love her, and then, because there was nothing else for me to do about it, I had to go back to work and back to real life. But I can't think of anything except how the world is suddenly lacking in security. If anything was ever wrong, I knew I could go to Gram's and all the bad stuff would go away, at least while Gram fed me lunch. In case of apocalypse, my mom always said, "Go to Gram's." The ranch is somewhat remote, and would presumably have been safe (and defensible) from anything from Communists to zombies.
But it was the people who made the ranch a home base, not the zip code. Now, the last of those people is about to leave forever and I don't know what the hell else to do or think about. Made-up stories haven't felt this stupid to me in a long time.
When you are your brand, it's a luxury to go radio silent on social media. But I have to, for a few more days. I can't think of anything to say that would enlighten you or help you or generally advance the conversation about writing. I will try to fix that, once I figure out where my next apocalyptic safehouse is going to be.
Take care of yourself first. Come back when you're ready. I say this because I did certain things at the wrong times when I didn't realize I was still grieving.
ReplyDeleteMaybe the next "apocalyptic safehouse" will be your house, and you will be there for someone to make that sandwich.
ReplyDeleteWhen my wife's grandmother passed, she inherited her famous noodle pans. They were just two, large pans, with nothing else significant about them, except that for decades, on holidays, her grandmother had used them to make the noodles and mashed potatoes in. The entire (older generation) family recognizes those pans, and there is warmth and comfort in seeing them.
So, it has come to pass that we have her family's gatherings at our house now, and we always break out the noodle pans, and the worn index card with grandma's noodle recipe in it (even though we know it by heart).
For those who remember her, there is comfort in the pans and the familiar smells. And for those who cannot remember, the next generation...ours is the safehouse, where new memories are made, the smell of noodles fills the air, and ancient, tattered pans are kept in the cupboard for almost no apparent good reason.