Paper, unfolding

I’m somewhat of a speed reader, but I slowed down to a simmer as I savored Julia Cameron’s book The Sound of Paper. I’d actually stalled on reading it altogether until I gave myself permission to skip over the exercises this time.

My sister Sal introduced me to Cameron’s earlier work The Artists Way one spring I spent with her in Corfu, and the kick-start it gave me on writing fiction was amazing. I’m sorry I set it, and my fiction, aside. As we journeyed through mystical lands together, Sal and I couldn’t help but buy books. We were browsing the Pilgrim’s Bookstore in Kathmandu, Nepal, when a book on a high shelf fairly leapt into her hand. It was The Vein of Gold, a sequel to The Artists Way, appearing in a way so befitting of our travels that fall. Of course, it made the trek home with us.

While those books are akin to 12-step programs for artists, The Sound of Paper is more of a gentle reminder of what it takes to fill the well, to get the pump going, and to make writing flow. Cameron unfolds writerly truths through the passage of time in her life, from the measured pace of New York City to the languid long days in Taos. Her descriptions of Taos make me think of my cousin the novelist, Sean Murphy. He’s lived and taught in Taos for many years, crossing contrails with other creative souls. His award-winning books simply don’t get enough face time in the big box stores, and that’s a damn shame. His last two - The Finished Man and The Time of New Weather - are deserving of major press. Especially The Time of New Weather, a morality play writ large on the landscape that is our dissolving country. It’s funny and poignant, and I urge you to find it and treasure it.

Someday I’ll get to Taos. Meanwhile, it’s time to pull out the pen and notebook - for that’s the only way I can write fiction - and listen to the sound of paper.