I didn’t join the neighbors for coffee on Saturday morning. Didn’t buy groceries or top off the washer fluid in my car ahead of the heavy snow or vacuum the rugs or take a shower. I had every intention of finishing the post I wanted to send you Wednesday. None of that happened because I reached for my phone as I always do first thing after I wake up, and opened my inbox.
Scrolling further down, I found out why.
And then I found out who. It was the wonderful
, curator of this week’s Substack Reads. She’d chosen to feature two of my recent posts, Twist and Shout, I Told My Dying Husband and 13 Ways of Looking at Socks. It’s an enormous honor. I am deeply grateful.What’s more, I got a badge.
Over the weekend, I wrote two more essays. You’ll see them soon. I’m writing a lot, more than at any time in my life. Writer, interrupted is a labor of love. It brings me enormous joy. I want to send you only my best work.
When I sent out my first post on November 3, I had no subscribers. At midnight on Friday, 648. At 2:14 a.m. on Monday, 847. I love every single one of you. (But please, can I make it an even . . . Never mind.)
Now I’m going to get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with that problem child post. And — ahead of April and in spite of the snow — a poem about lilacs.
What a wonderful interruption for a writer, interrupted. Congratulations!
Congratulations, Mary. You write powerfully in a way that touches my heart and many others. I'm so glad you are here, writing, and getting the recognition you so deserve.