To give a little insight to the whole writing and publishing process, I wrote this piece last year, just before Gryffin turned 12. It was then revised, workshopped, and edited many times over and then, finally finding a potential home with Literary Mama, revised and edited still more. Gryffin will turn 13 at the end of the month and the piece is only now being released into the world.
Here’s a brief excerpt:
The Proust Effect
The night my first son was born I stayed awake until dawn. My husband fell asleep at once on the hospital-issue couch and did not move until morning, but I couldn’t sleep. I was scared that if I drifted off, something—I wasn’t sure what—would happen to the six pound person positioned between my knees. Instead of sleeping I stared at his face and his fisted hands. I stared at his eyelashes and his nostrils and the arc of his nearly invisible eyebrows. I watched as his chest moved almost imperceptibly up, down, up, down. More than staring, though, I smelled him. I touched my cheek to his and gently sniffed the tiny bowl made by his collarbone. I unswaddled him and filled my lungs with the scent of his stomach, his legs, his hands, his feet.
There are no longer tiny fingers and toes to smell, but since that night the extraordinary power of smell has been brought home to me again and again. Last month, when I was reorganizing our guest room closet, I briefly conjured the dead…
To read the full piece, click here!