Thanks to Pen-L Publishing for this lovely cover of my soon-to-be released novel Freefall: A Divine Comedy. 

“These fascinating characters will fill your imagination, defying expectations about aging, art, and what truly matters in life.”

—Laurie Ann Doyle, author of World Gone Missing.

“This is an enchanting story about old friends reuniting as they struggle with thoughts on aging, religion, motherhood, men, art, and death. A delightful trip in every respect, with plenty of surprises and laughs along the way. A Divine Comedy, indeed!”

—Mark Willen, author of the novels Hawke’s Point and Hawke’s Return.

Freefall will appear this summer. 

Do visit the rest of my blog!

 

 

Are gifts ever free of coercion?

Since the holidays, I’ve been thinking of gifts and their multiple natures. There are gifts that feel free of coercion, not purchased for a particular occasion like a birthday or a religious holiday. They’re just simple, natural expressions of affection and friendship. The sweet peas my friend Solace brought me some time ago with the used book on my hometown Calgary seem in that category. Spontaneous. She came across the book while browsing in a used bookstore for something for herself. The flowers were for my then 93-year old mother, an acknowledgment of her age and person.

But there are gifts that feel laden with weight that I don’t want to receive. At first, the gift my husband brought me the one night had this quality. When I walked in the door, he told me to close my eyes and put a small box in my hand. I opened my eyes and looked. The label on the outside said Oak’s Jewelers. Now I know my reaction will seem strange, but my first impulse was to bolt. I didn’t want to open the box. Why? I didn’t feel it was a free and open expression of his love, especially when he said it was to thank me for putting up with his son, who had been making our lives miserable for some time.

Gifts can be coercive. They can obligate us to feel thankful when that might not be our true response. And that’s what happened with the Oaks Jewelers’ box. I felt awful rather than uplifted. In the past few weeks, I hadn’t been particularly welcoming of my stepson. Rather, I had wanted him out of our house and into his own pad and was very vocal about my feelings. So I didn’t feel I deserved my husband’s gift of gratitude.

It wasn’t until he said he meant it to symbolize having our honeymoon cottage back that I was able to receive it graciously. What was the gift? A small opal pendant on a gold chain—my birthstone, a wonderful reminder of his caring and of our relationship. It can sustain us through difficult times.

Still, gifts rarely come without having strings attached. That’s one of the problems with them. They either insist that you like the giver, or they grant the giver power over you. As a recipient, you feel beholden. Obligated. And sometimes you’re left waiting for the other shoe to drop. But when they are heart felt, gifts really are offerings with no strings attached. I believe the opal pendant belongs in this category.

 

book-1760998_1920This reflection leads me to the heart of this piece: if we’re writers, how do we receive the gift of writing, a God-given talent that we ignore at our peril? What if we have chosen not to accept the offering? I’m thinking of a student I recently had at the Fromm Institute of Lifelong Learning who took my flash nonfiction class. She had produced something that I felt deserved a wider audience and urged her to publish it. She frowned and then laughed nervously: “I couldn’t do that. I’m not the writer in the family. I have two older siblings who are professional writers. I’m not.”

It pained me to hear she assumed that because her siblings had taken on the writer’s mantel that she couldn’t also. Her interest and pleasure in creating with words had to be hidden and not shared. But perhaps my emphasis on publishing was wrong in her circumstance. Writing itself gave her immense pleasure. There’s no rule that what we compose needs to find it’s place in the external world. It can be enough just to wallow in words and the worlds they create. I experience this gratification myself, especially when I write poetry. Though I like having readers and discovering how my work resonates with them, it isn’t why I write, and I feel no obligation to publish everything I produce.

But I do believe that some writers have a responsibility to exercise their skills in ways that enlarge not only their way of experiencing the world but also to enrich their readers’ lives: the gift that keeps giving. Some might feel this expectation as coercive. But if it’s in the service of a larger good and an organic process, then it seems born more out of necessity than duress.

 

 

by lilyionamackenzie

Lily Iona MacKenzie sprouted on the Canadian prairies under cumulous clouds that bloomed everywhere in Alberta's big sky. They were her first creative writing instructors, scudding across the heavenly blue, constantly changing shape: one minute an elephant, bruised and brooding. The next morphing into a rabbit or a castle. As an adult, Lily continues to seek instruction about fiction from clouds. Just as they provide the earth with much-needed water, she believes that stories have a similar function, preparing the mind to receive new ideas. Magical realism pulses at the heart of her narratives, her work celebrating the imagination.

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