FARGO — In “Bird By Bird,” a classic book on the craft of writing, Anne Lamott recalls a childhood memory of watching her brother cry over a difficult school assignment about birds. Exasperated, her brother asked how in the world he would get it done in time for class the next day. Their father’s response was perfection.
He said the only way to work through is “bird by bird.” That creative detail, also a metaphor for the creative act, helped Lamott make sense of her grief for people and places she missed. Her art practice came to the rescue when she struggled to find the right words, and in that way, art was always on her side like it has been for me and so many others who choose creativity to make sense of loss.
As a child, digging in my mother’s purse for lip balm meant encountering three distinct items: linty sticks of gum torn in half, wads of kleenex, and a fingernail clipping (or two). I love thinking about her purse, especially now as I process her death from early-onset Alzheimer’s a year ago. While the items seem inconsequential and ordinary, the array of emotions they evoke for me are powerful, treasured, and I wouldn’t have discovered them without the creative practice of writing.
In reading about my memory, you might find yourself responding with your own version of the “purse memory.” Perhaps you return to the image of candy your grandfather kept in the top drawer of his dresser. Or you uncover a stash of cigarettes hidden under oil change r.