Singing on a Rock

 

 

I love the drawing of this horse: his alert ears, his eyes that ask questions.

Jill Kandel, so many africas, in-between culutre,

I love these words: “On the breeze he heard a shrill song, it was a cricket, singing on a rock.”

Lately, all I do is listen. And write.

I hear the singing of crickets. Then write about the rocks. 

Rock writing is difficult. I’m totally immersed in my next book: The Netherlands, my father-in-law and our difficult relationship, WWII, Nazi Germany, The Hunger Winter, euthanasia.

Yesterday, I typed a doctor’s name into the google search engine, his name, and the word ‘death.’ I wanted to find out when he’d died. Searching for his obituary.

And google served me up a meal. “Doctor Jack Kevorkian’s 1968 Volkswagon Van has sold to a reality TV Star.” Say what?

I rift off on the story. And study vans, and clinics, and T4, and Thanatron, and and and.

I go to sleep with these stories, and wake up with them, and pound out the words till my hands are tired. I’m writing one to three thousand words a day. Riding a freight train that I can’t stop. I’ve never written this way before. So fast and steady. It’s like this book NEEDS to be written NOW.

Okay. Okay. I’m doing the best I can. After eight hours in front of the computer my brain is mush.

So. That’s where I’m at. Tearing up the daisy chain. Hibernating from my friends. Eating Ramen. I won’t tell you about the state of my bathroom.

It’s a kind of scary place to be. So much vulnerability pouring out onto those white pages. So much darkness to embrace. 

I spend my days circling and writing boulders.

And while I write, I listen for the singing. There is always singing. 

Tags:
Jill Kandel
jill.kandel@gmail.com
2 Comments
  • Dennis Kooren
    Posted at 09:47h, 06 April Reply

    Am going through much of the same with our pension fight. It can consume you, ripping you into little pieces, of which you do not have the energy to pick up and put back together.

  • Linda Carlson
    Posted at 10:32h, 06 April Reply

    I admire your dedication dear friend, but please take time to listen and just breath. I know the cost of burnout. Love you Jill. Linda

Post A Comment