PORTLAND WRITER NIGHT, @WILWRITE, ON WRITER RADIO

On Portland Writer Night everyone’s a writer

To express feelings, first you’ve got to find them. That’s what writers do.

Feelings about a nice day, delicious food, good company, and a warm bed? Not so much. Too easy.

The veneer of the shared moment turns to smugness on definitions.

Instead, find the feels for loss and despair and hopelessness. Readers need more of that. Why?

Give the audience a chance to feel better than the pathetic loser full of despair and hopelessness.

That’s the memoir you want to star in.

Then show how to overcome, how to persist, how to resist the idea of quitting, and instead get your shit straight.

This is the message I look for in writers and their stories, my preconceived bias.

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Every first Tuesday of the month the Old Church fills with writers out to listen to other writers talk about writing.

That’s the idea, and a good one, to pull a group of socially awkward introverts away from their keyboards and put them on stage.

Sometimes it works out better than others.

Last night Suzy Vitello stood up neither awkward nor introverted.

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On the drive in for Portland writer night I listened to Richard Ford reading from his new memoir.

When he was a kid he heard his mom screaming, walked in to see her shaking his dad and yelling, “WAKE UP.”

After she stopped, Richard took over on his dead father.

It was a grinding thing to hear. Anyone who’s outlived their parents gets it, but Richard was just a kid at home.

Even his reading sounded stricken enough to whack listeners through their speakers.

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Inside the Old Church Suzy talked about accessing the deep, dark, human, feelings we share through evolution, yet ignore with socialization. Don’t want to be rude.

But where to look? In a deep, dark, place. Like Richard Ford.

Before you skip along, take another look at the top pic, then click her name. It points to her About page.

She knows deep and dark through losses you never want to suffer. But it happens. When it does, you gather what’s most important and find a way to carry on.

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I’ve heard people claim they feel invisible, pushed to the fringe of importance, lost.

Their old role doesn’t apply. Empty nest means find a way to carry on, not disappear. Being single means making new friends. It takes time.

Besides, when they talk about feeling invisible while they’re with you, they might be saying you’re invisible. You might be?

Suzy Vitello was not invisible on Portland writer night.

She stood up, explained what voice meant, and showed how it fits.

Does she practice what she preached in church?

Give her an Amen:

Suzy’s novels include THE MOMENT BEFORE, and THE EMPRESS CHRONICLES, and about to be released, the second in the Empress Series, THE KEEPSAKE.

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One question kept popping up on the drive out of Portland: how do people overcome the forest fires in their life, the earthquakes, the tsunamis, avalanches, the volcano eruptions?

How do family and friends react to health news like cancer, heart disease, mental illness? To death?

None of it sounds easy.

If you reach a certain age, after living through your own deeps and darks and still know where the holes are, then you’ve come through intact. So far.

To understand completely I needed The Beatles on Portland writer night.

This is the song for all ages, for writers and pre-writers (everyone else), when they question The Voice of their moments.

From azlyrics:

I’m looking through you, where did you go?
I thought I knew you, what did I know?
You don’t look different, but you have changed
I’m looking through you, you’re not the same

Your lips are moving, I cannot hear
Your voice is soothing, but the words aren’t clear
You don’t sound different, I’ve learned the game
I’m looking through you, you’re not the same

Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight

You’re thinking of me, the same old way
You were above me, but not today
The only difference is you’re down there
I’m looking through you, and you’re nowhere

Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight

I’m looking through you, where did you go
I thought I knew you, what did I know
You don’t look different, but you have changed
I’m looking through you, you’re not the same