There was a time, in the years after my daughter’s death, when the traditional tale had no power to hold my grief. I turned to writing. My mind had no way to TELL the personal story then, but my pen did. Six years later, the writing keeps coming—writing I never could have imagined, memoir in dictionary form, poetry and wild-ass fiction.
I host a monthly writing community, read my work in house concerts and open mics, and I have led retreats and workshops encouraging others to explore their lives through writing.
My work has been published through a university press, in a collection of short memoirs and in e-books. Through writing, I have found words to bounce my daughter, Liz, off the page, so writing becomes telling, so people who knew Liz, and people who never did, are laughing and crying. I have found fierce words to fight for what I believe is right. And there horses and tigers, small boys and dragons and a rail road man dead on the tracks that have busted open the art of fiction for me.
“Susan Gordon’s writing takes me to place I have never been, into views I have never seen, into a heart I feel I have always known-but never known so well.” ~ Jo Radner, Storyteller, Past President of the National Sttorytelling Network.
The Land by Susan Gordon
We are on journey towards the reclaiming of land, creek and woods. I learned this love of land as a girl walking through the farm fields and woods of the insane asylum two roads behind my white painted house. You learned it, I think, from summers in the Catskills, from boy scout camping, the daring of a merit badge, won far from the treed streets, brick duplexes, ocean and wooden beach cottages of Far Rockaway, earned in trips to small mountains upstate and the Colorado peaks where you jamboreed.
We came together and you said: “Land, we must have land” and we always did and we do now, for in the paths between the living and the dead, we are partners still. You are the pencil, writing grey lines between your dreaming and my doing.
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