A story I’m telling myself about myself

Although I decided to practice self-compassion when it came to my work on my David and Saul novels, and I have managed to make some progress, it’s time to get working a little more seriously again.

I considered this method.

me next to a statue of a person with a book tied to his or her head

But I’m not certain that tying the manuscript(s) to my head would do anything other than satisfy my latent need to punish myself for not working as much as I could have.

Perhaps merely being in the presence of those building blocks of language — words — would help.

me in front of an airy metal statue of a person that is made up of letters

No, it will require actual effort to get back into the stories, finding both their roots and tracing their repercussions.

bright metal sculpture of a ball with roots growing out of it all around

So no more giving myself an irritated pouty face.

a statue of a girl pouting

No more wallowing.

me imitating a sculpture of a person tired and despairing

Time to reach towards the light, towards the life-giving water, hand upraised, ready to receive.

my hand, reaching through a crack in a rock towards a waterfall


I love going somewhere and finding a story. This story courtesy of a recent trip to Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park. Photos were all taken by me on a superhot sunny day, except #5, which was taken by Hannah Van Houten. Unfortunately, I didn’t do due diligence, and I don’t have the details of one of the works; I apologize.

  1. Bill Woodrow, Listening to History (thank you, Ken Verhulst!)
  2. Jaume Plensa. I, you, she or he…, 2006
  3. Roxy Paine. Neuron, 2010
  4. Tom Otterness. Mad Mom, 2001
  5. Hanneke Beaumont. Number 26 and Number 25
  6. Indoors in what we always called “The Jungle” when the kids were little.

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