She found the place where I've been hiding
Have I the grace to let her in?
-- Hal Ketchum
I'm often asked about my writing process. People seem endlessly curious about the nuts and bolts, from equipment to office to hours. One of the things I've always said is that the books that really fly are the ones I have a sound track for. Music that has either inspired the story, or fit it so perfectly it might as well have. And throughout my career there has been one person who continually hands me the creative spark I need. One person whose lyrics consistently inspire or provoke ideas, or simply fit an existing story so well that just playing the song will put my mind back in that fictional world every day. One person who always seems to be on my wavelength, who handed me the hero for WILD HAWK (I have taken love/I have taken trust/given little in return/I have held a match to my careless dreams/stood and watched them burn) the entire plot of FIRE HAWK, (the quote above) the lovely title for THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN, (Someday when there's nothing left to lose/when trouble's the only one to stay long/you no longer live the life you choose/there'll be somebody waiting/on the morning side of dawn) and themes and characters for countless others, some yet unwritten. I've thanked him in print and in person, but for reasons I'll go into below, it's time to thank him again. So once more, thanks, Hal. I truly needed that!
September/October, 2003
I'm late with this newsletter, but there is good reason. Summer is nearly over, may be by the time you read this, and a minor miracle has occurred in my writing life. It has to do with a very good friend and the man I quoted here.
As some of you know, for the past three years I've been dealing with my husband's very serious medical situation. And somewhere along the way, through the maze of paramedics, airlifts, emergency rooms, hospital rooms, months on end of rehab, and so many people with so many letters after their names, I lost the music. At a time when every minute seemed eaten up by crisis after crisis, when every day seemed to bring a new disaster, there was no time left for non-essentials. And silly me, I somehow put music in that classification. No, probably not silly, for there was a time when it was simply too painful. Music was for that world I didn't live in anymore, and didn't know if I would ever get back to.
But thanks to the intervention of a friend and the great talent and warm concern of Mr. Hal Ketchum, a man who has been through a few crises of his own--and knew exactly what I meant when I told him caregiving is a tough gig--I have the music back. And I don't think I'll ever again make the mistake of considering it a non-essential. For it is essential. Circumstances can change the kind of music I need, but I still need it. Always.
And a special thanks to my friend and fellow photographer, Julie. She knew I'd lost something important, and set about bringing it back. As Hal told me, I've got a good friend there.
For those who might be curious, I'll post a photo I took of Hal when I first saw him, more years ago than either of us cares to admit, I'm sure! I'm afraid neither of us looks as we did back then-living on the edge of disaster takes a toll--but we're still here, still writing, and determined to keep telling stories.
Justine
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