Gizmo and I usually take our last walk sometime around 11 p.m. Last night I appreciated the cool autumn night, the growing fullness of the moon . . . but I was also thinking about all the writers whose books have influenced me. A couple of times I stepped on Gizmo's leash. An interesting blend of being present and wandering through my past.
This week I read another soul deep memoir by Sue Monk Kidd and her daughter, Ann. Traveling with Pomegranates weaves together Sue's internal struggle with turning fifty and Ann's struggle to discover who she really is after college graduation. The mother-daughter story plays out against the myth of Demeter and Persephone (and that's a way too simple description.) Kidd also unfolds how she came to create the amazing novel The Secret Life of Bees.
Being outside in nature while I contemplated this book I've only read once, but already love, led me to trace many of the books and authors that have influenced me as a writer, or whose work feels part of a stream similar to mine. Once upon a time I would have started such a list off with the names Dorothy Parker and Anne Sexton. Now Kidd and Elizabeth Berg and Jane Austen's names came to mind.
Not saying I write like any of the above. But the quick and snappy one liner, or the dark confessional mode no longer accurately describe my work. I've loved Jane Austen's description of her novels as her few square inches of ivory. Her work deals with much more than that--the conflict and coalescence of masculine and feminine, for one. Sue Monk Kidd and Elizabeth Berg explore similar worlds, with a rich awareness of the mythic depths beneath the surface of every day life.
I seem to be swimming in the same stream, or at least paddling along the edge of the banks. Will be thinking about this for a while, especially while Judith cools down for me to start rereading this latest draft.