The thing that struck me about this piece, Steve, is the idea of an experience’s power to transform. The writer’s job is to convey that transformation. And done well, as you have in the book and in your essays, the experience of reading transforms the reader. It may not even be a “second act” — just a continuation or what Mary Oliver called “one long muscle.”
This book means so much to me. We need more books like it.
“Even though it had just come out, the book felt like an historical artifact. As though it belonged to someone else.” I know this feeling. I remember sitting on my couch night after night for about a week, the box of my author copies next to me (no job, no money—I see you) reading it all the way through (quick read) and wondering, who wrote this? And who allowed it be something anyone might read? Oh, all the feelings. And oh, the surprise of the reader who reaches out. Onward!
I think I'll be sitting with your question about "what will make me worthy of this experience" for some time. Thanks for this beautiful post. And I did see that asterisk beside "first book"!
I am so heartened by this, Steve! Breaking into the Backcountry has become one of my all-time favorites — one I share, one I reread. I know will keep opening it and rediscovering, and what an enduring gift that is.
And thanks also for the gift of a new mantra: Be changed.
The way you describe it, your book’s second act is like a rebirth (or dare I say, reincarnation) of the solitary young writer you were into the multidimensional husband, parent, teacher and writer you’ve become. A writer’s life becomes bigger by embracing it with all its pain and complications. Although I often mourn how the years I spent juggling parenting, career and freelancing hurt my chances to seriously practice writing poetry or pursue an MFA, I am happy with my life choices. At 65, I might be the oldest MFA-less, two chapbook, “emerging” poet at a writing retreat, but I’m probably the wiser for it. Bravo to rebirth at any age. The book sounds like a wonderful read!
As always Steve, you get me thinking and quietly contemplating my assumptions, opening chinks in the walls I've surrounded myself with, to see there's so much more to understand about life. Thank you!
This is such a powerful post, Steve. To be worthy of all that is thrown at you in life, both good and bad, to come away transformed from the experiences, to have learned, and shared the lessons. Yes, what a gift.
Your experience with your son, alone is incredibly worthy and painfully and intensely human. Somehow, when we navigate the pain of our lives, some of us still with a bleak seed of hope. I think that seed is magic and certainly, yours brought you here. I'll check out the book. Congratulations!
Steve, your post arrived in a timely fashion for me. Just this afternoon, hours ago, I learned that one of our five kids needs extensive orthodontic work to the tune of three grand. And Sarah needs four teeth pulled as part of her complex orthodontic regimen that we've been mired in for two years and counting.
Our FSA ran out last week. I have about a thousand dollars of medical bills on the horizon - out of pocket, after insurance - and after I drove home from the orthodontist, I seriously asked myself, "Who do you think you are, trying to be a writer? You need to get a real, paying job. Like, now."
I felt foolish, a bit selfish, and delusional, too, for investing so much in my creative work - so much of my time, that is. Which is to say, investing myself.
When I read your post, something clicked in my mind about timing. Your memoir is still participating in conversations after fifteen years! There's no way you would've imagined that when you were chronically sleep deprived, struggling for money, and trying to figure out what was going on with your newborn.
The thing that struck me about this piece, Steve, is the idea of an experience’s power to transform. The writer’s job is to convey that transformation. And done well, as you have in the book and in your essays, the experience of reading transforms the reader. It may not even be a “second act” — just a continuation or what Mary Oliver called “one long muscle.”
One long muscle! Yes! 🙌🙌
https://www.quietmindstudio.com/poetry-inspiration-pink-moon-the-pond
Love this. Will
Share it with your fan club round here. Thanks Steve!
Awww 🙏🙏🙏
This book means so much to me. We need more books like it.
“Even though it had just come out, the book felt like an historical artifact. As though it belonged to someone else.” I know this feeling. I remember sitting on my couch night after night for about a week, the box of my author copies next to me (no job, no money—I see you) reading it all the way through (quick read) and wondering, who wrote this? And who allowed it be something anyone might read? Oh, all the feelings. And oh, the surprise of the reader who reaches out. Onward!
Thank you for teaching it!!!
I think I'll be sitting with your question about "what will make me worthy of this experience" for some time. Thanks for this beautiful post. And I did see that asterisk beside "first book"!
Ha! 🙏❤️
I am so heartened by this, Steve! Breaking into the Backcountry has become one of my all-time favorites — one I share, one I reread. I know will keep opening it and rediscovering, and what an enduring gift that is.
And thanks also for the gift of a new mantra: Be changed.
Yes, gotta be changed.
Thank you, Allan! Means the world. 🙏🙏
The way you describe it, your book’s second act is like a rebirth (or dare I say, reincarnation) of the solitary young writer you were into the multidimensional husband, parent, teacher and writer you’ve become. A writer’s life becomes bigger by embracing it with all its pain and complications. Although I often mourn how the years I spent juggling parenting, career and freelancing hurt my chances to seriously practice writing poetry or pursue an MFA, I am happy with my life choices. At 65, I might be the oldest MFA-less, two chapbook, “emerging” poet at a writing retreat, but I’m probably the wiser for it. Bravo to rebirth at any age. The book sounds like a wonderful read!
To always be “emerging”!!! 🙏🙏🙏
I have a poem in my latest book about being reincarnated as a Galapagos tortoise. “Enough Homo Sapiens. I’m done.”
I love that! & how true!
That is so cool that you were able to be with a book club whose members read your book all these years later!
It was such a treat!
Sea scape : precious share, sir.
Kindest regards
Carol Power
Johannesburg
South Africa
Thanks for sharing this with us and happy Monday
Happy Monday!
Just bought a copy. Thanks, as always, for your thoughts.
Oh awesome! 🙏🙏🙌🙌
As always Steve, you get me thinking and quietly contemplating my assumptions, opening chinks in the walls I've surrounded myself with, to see there's so much more to understand about life. Thank you!
Thanks for reading! Always grateful for someone who gets it.
This is such a powerful post, Steve. To be worthy of all that is thrown at you in life, both good and bad, to come away transformed from the experiences, to have learned, and shared the lessons. Yes, what a gift.
We're all trying! Thank you!
Your experience with your son, alone is incredibly worthy and painfully and intensely human. Somehow, when we navigate the pain of our lives, some of us still with a bleak seed of hope. I think that seed is magic and certainly, yours brought you here. I'll check out the book. Congratulations!
Thank you!
Steve, your post arrived in a timely fashion for me. Just this afternoon, hours ago, I learned that one of our five kids needs extensive orthodontic work to the tune of three grand. And Sarah needs four teeth pulled as part of her complex orthodontic regimen that we've been mired in for two years and counting.
Our FSA ran out last week. I have about a thousand dollars of medical bills on the horizon - out of pocket, after insurance - and after I drove home from the orthodontist, I seriously asked myself, "Who do you think you are, trying to be a writer? You need to get a real, paying job. Like, now."
I felt foolish, a bit selfish, and delusional, too, for investing so much in my creative work - so much of my time, that is. Which is to say, investing myself.
When I read your post, something clicked in my mind about timing. Your memoir is still participating in conversations after fifteen years! There's no way you would've imagined that when you were chronically sleep deprived, struggling for money, and trying to figure out what was going on with your newborn.
Thanks, Steve.