
“A writer finds peace in silence, speaking only to the page, yet the words survive only by stepping into the noise of the world to be seen, heard, and held by others.”
― Lawrence Nault
I have found a great deal of peace in the silent world of writing, “speaking only to the page.” First as an insecure and introverted girl, and later as an adult, writing has provided a safe place for me. A place of comfort and security, and a place to grow.
In my experience the act of writing places the writer in a sacred space both inside and outside of the constraints of normal consciousness. It’s also a place of discovery and healing. Writing has probably saved me from a thousand unknown terrible fates by keeping me grounded, probing, perceptive, and awake. At least it feels that way. Writing has awakened in me a million possibilities, become my friend, my coach, my inward eye. Writing has shaped my existence.

And so, it with great trepidation that I send my writing into the world. The tension between the safety of my personal writing bubble and the “noise of the world” is immense. Sending your manuscript out has been compared to sending your child to school for the first time (“Sending a book out into the world is a lot like sending your child to the first day of kindergarten. You hope the other kids play nice and that she makes friends”—Mitchell Zuckoff), and having a child has been compared to giving your heart away (“Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body” ―Elizabeth Stone). These are apt descriptions of my state of mind as I wait to hear from my publisher.
The contract has been signed, and the editor will soon be digging into my manuscript. This stage feels surreal after a lifetime of reading, writing, studying and dreaming. And years of querying agents and publishers. There’s not much to tell yet, but it looks as though there will be a book with my name on it coming out at some undetermined date in the future. I’m guessing it will be many months from now. I don’t even know if the title I’ve chosen will be used. I can say this, it is a World War II homefront historical fiction novel. It’s set in Lake Arrowhead, California, USA. The protagonist is named Mary Miller. And there are bears.

Write what is in your heart. With love.

































Book Review: Glimpses, Grandfather’s Life During World War II by Stephanie Peirce
I have had the privilege of friendship with the talented poet, Stephanie Peirce for some years now. We met at Goddard College where we were both pursuing our MFAs in creative writing, Stephanie as an aspiring poet and I as a writer of novel length fiction. It was love at first sight (for me anyway!) when I sat in on a poetry group she was in. She was, I fancied, a younger and more talented version of me. We both had the same long, wild mass of hair, though mine was beginning to silver by then and hers was golden. Somehow, though we were on different paths and didn’t see much of each other at school, we began a long distance friendship after graduation, checking in on each other’s writing journey and eventually serving as reader-editors for one another’s manuscripts.
Glimpses is Stephanie’s newest achievement, and it is wonderful! I recommend it heartily, and I am so proud to introduce you to it here.
Glimpses: Grandfather’s Life During World War II | Barnes & Noble®
Glimpses is a slim volume of letters, photos, and commentary that offers precious glimpses into the lives of the author’s paternal grandparents, Catherine “Treenie” Barham Peirce and Chichester “Chit” Tapscott Peirce Jr., who was killed in Germany on February 9, 1945. It tells a compelling story of love and loss, one that is carefully compiled and beautifully rendered. It is an absolute treasure, a gift not only to the memories of Stephanie’s grandparents, but also to the countless lives altered by World War II, and to readers and historians everywhere.
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Filed under Authors, Books, Commentary, Nonfiction, Reading, Relationship, The Greatest Generation, Uncategorized, World War II
Tagged as Book Review, Books, Family, Friendship, poems, poetry, Writing