JW

 I finished reading Why Be Happy when You Could be Normal by Jeanette Winterson again. I love when she writes about her  early endeavor to learn prose A-Z. If there is such a thing as an internal yelp of excitement, you could say I was on a journey of a roller coaster. She mentions all of my favorites… Emily Dickinson, Virginia Woolf, Adrienne Rich, Katherine Mansfield, Ann Sexton etc.. the list goes on but these are the notable women that helped me in my youth of exploring the written word. A big mighty YES! 

Jeanette’s memoir stirred quite a bit in me. She exposed herself perhaps in more ways than I could ever at this moment. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not… I found myself reading passages of my favorite author that shocked me. I have always loved her, despite what the media or her critics might say…it’s comforting and confusing to read the realities of someone you look up to. The woman is mad…brilliant at writing…but mad. And I found myself relating to her later in the book when she talks about this madness. I think I could have very easily gone to the depths of madness she did… but I had just the tiniest bit of more control and I think I know myself well enough to not go there again. Each of us have our own demons… 

I wish I had the book with me now. There are a handful of passages that I would love to share… on loss, on love, on the regrets of not allowing yourself to feel too much. Perhaps later. 

I’m happy she’s in a better place now. But without those horrible experiences, would she be the writer she is today? I’d guess not.