Writer Playing Dead

Writers often ask me: how can I write about my life and not hurt the people close to me? Nadine Gordimer, in today's Writer's Almanac (scroll down page to see her bio), has the answer: Write as if oneself and one's readers were already dead.
I love this idea and will use it. What do you think?

Time Out

Rushing back to my car from the gym (finally worked out, after several whirlwind weeks of traveling--sittting for long hours on planes, with clients, and in workshops,) I looked up as I headed down the purple-railed stairs in the parking area and saw a cluster of birds high in a bush.

I stopped and watched them hop to the top of the bush, call out, then drop down to lower branches. They reminded me of the group of women I'd just seen inside the gym, sitting in a circle chatting. I think they were stretching before taking off on a run.

What were these birds doing? What made them cluster there? Are they always there and I've never noticed them before? Are they en route to South America? from New England? What kind of birds are they? Is there a lead bird? A bully? Lots of questions. No answers.

Stopping to observe was answer enough.

Rain Rain Rain

In Boston yesterday the rain poured down--3 inches of it.
I checked the weather in Chapel Hill . . . sunny, sunny, sunny.
Forever ahead in the forecast--sunny.
As my friends and I waded through puddles and tried to keep
our umbrellas from turning inside out in the blustery wind,
I thought, well, rain, anywhere, must be good for the planet.
I've had this image of the planet drying up, from the inside out,
like a prune--and eventually caving in on itself.
What images come to mind when you think of rain and the
future of the planet? Write about them.