Sometimes a piece of writing finds its way into the world and you notice the path it takes. Some of you know the looong journey I’ve been on, in more ways than one.
I started a Substack called Letters from the Road Home to stay close to the work and reflect along the way. That road has brought me here, today, to this place, playing my new record player (best Mother’s Day gift ever) listening to my life in music. 🎶 I know that home is inside me. Music has always helped. (And to think I almost took the box full of records to Good Will before my trip to Winchester…) But I also know there is another Home down the road…
There are all the unexpected gifts along the way—my family, by blood and “by love,” my friends at Wisconsin Writers Association, and an unexpected note from an old friend encouraging me on when writer’s doubt takes hold…
I’m still working through edits on the larger manuscript— now leaner by 14K words at a publisher’s suggestion with about 1,641 words to go. 😅 That process has become part of the writing itself…
“Writing Us Home” was published by the Wisconsin Writers Association in the recent issue of Creative Wisconsin.
Thank you. 🤍
_______
Abstract by JR Korpa
My friend’s new memoir: “Talking of Michelangelo” by Peter Giersch
/pub/debfarriswrites/p/writing-us-home?r=18l5of&utm_medium=ios
I remember the years when I’d get home late from work, Todd would be patiently waiting, or texting…”What? Where am I? Who am I? What time is it…?,” I’d pull into the garage, turn off the engine, and in the dark, I’d sit and pray. “Please, God, send my Charlie someone special to love and be loved by….”
But God. Gave him so much more, a whole family… And I just never expected to be so loved, too. ❤️🙏
Getting ready to make some Anniversary popcorn, but had to stop and share: 27 years today!❤️ But there were 30 years of friendship before that. Who knew?! Here’s to 27 more! Or…um, well, maybe…?❤️❤️ Happy Anniversary sweetheart❤️
In 1959, that VWBug was the Wenzlermobile. It might have started there…tent on top, 3 kids in back—
somewhere between countries, not knowing the road would one day lead me here.
It’s where I watched the world pass by through windows—miles unfolding, places changing, a sense that life wasn’t something you arrive at all at once, but something you move through. I didn’t know then how much that would shape me… how much it would become the way I see, the way I write, the way I understand faith and healing.
My new space—Letters from the Road Home—is where I’m writing from the in-between places—along the road, not from the destination—where faith is formed, healing begins, and art finds its voice. These are not polished answers or finished conclusions. They are letters written in the middle of things: in questions, in waiting, in becoming.
There’s more ahead—come along. xx dwf
Debfarriswrites.substack.com
This piece was first published in Creative Wisconsin—my first literary publication, and a turning point for me as a writer, mostly because of the people I met along the way.
I’ve started writing a little on Substack as a kind of beginning again to share what I’ve come to value along the way.
Because the questions it asks—about characters, truth, and the relationship between writer and story—are the same ones I’m still living into.
Maybe they always will be.
After ten years of working on this novel, I can finally see the end in sight.
The photographs in this piece are by JR Korpa, a photographer based in Málaga, Spain.
Read here:
/p/when-your-characters-start-talking
Today, sitting with
“through this door:
wisconsin in poems”,
I was reminded how poetry can open our eyes to the small things. I am grateful for the poets, editors, and the space to see—to read, to write—something new...
One Small Thing
How is it that words
so carefully,
so soulfully gathered,
sometimes reduce me?
Perhaps the point
is to be drawn into the silence
of the space—
the poet’s room—where
something seemingly small
is perceived, witnessed,
regarded,
and given rhythm,
beats,
life,
opening our eyes—
to prod, to prick, to soothe—
to see what’s in front of us,
to leave behind
a head-full, heart full,
of small thoughts and whispers…
It may be the beginning or the ending—the opening or closing—
but the filling takes place in the middle,
where we’re opened up to see
the sparrow of great worth,
the meaningful word,
the life in everything
that matters.
Isn’t it the quality of that word—
that life—
that gives it worth?
The poet helps us
better see the
small things in life…
and the life in small things,
so that I am able to whisper:
Please take from me
my ego-driven demand to be seen,
and in its place,
let me see better.
Then I give thanks
for the poets.🧡
Dear Sandra Dermond, Thank you for my bear buddy 🎶 🩵🩵 Do you think I look like my dad (the original Charlie Bear)? Gma says her pops had a cap like this! 🩵
Love, Charlie Bear
