In the end, though, I think it’s not selfish, because I think we have to find a way to keep ourselves strong, protected, and on balance. Maybe we need retreats from the world–I know I certainly do. so I understand the appeal of a contemplative life, especially if it is paired with a return to work–the work of writing and teaching and sometimes simply being–simply being in the world doing small good: being a kind person, caring about others. I’ve been surprised, lately, to hear that very small things I did were very helpful to people–sometimes just a few words of encouragement. I think we can’t forget how small gestures, too, have great value sometimes.

And this blog, for example. How often I’ve read it–much more than I’ve commented!–and been moved and grateful for your words, Karen and Nancy. They are important, and whatever keeps you strong enough to keep working is valuable! Thank ou again!

And while this is a digression from your main point, to me this also sums up the difficulty, sometimes, for the writer in academia. There is the perception that the way we talk about writing, the way we work, is somehow not intellectual enough, not rigorous enough. But creative works begin in passion, I believe, or they should, and that must be acknowledged too, and first, we must get people to engage with the work, to love it, to enjoy it. Perhaps from there we will go to analysis. But the first, most important thing, is engagement and joy. (And “dangerous” not to analyze? Some people’s definition of danger is quite different than mine.)

For me as a writer, sometimes all there is to counter the worst in the world is the spirit of survival, but I also try to add moments of beauty, which is often found, for me, in the natural world. Something to sustain us, whatever that might be.

And I just read The Snow Child, and loved that book too–it captured Alaska so very well, and was so beautiful…

Thank you, again, for the wisdom of your words!