A voice in favor of the complex beauty of female power
“A few hours in the ICU radically and rapidly resets your perspective. Seven years ago my biggest problem was a bad date. But now, as I held his warm, unresponsive hand, the monitors’ beeps circling us both, I knew that my life before today was just an extended adolescence.”
These are the first lines of my novel, at least in its current form (the second draft, waiting to be edited again and again and again).
Cloud Cuckoo Land, which instantly became one of my favorite novels when I read it in October, is a layered, moving story about the power of stories:
“ ‘I know why those librarians read the old stories to you,’ Rex says. ‘Because if it’s told well enough, for as long as the story lasts, you get to slip the trap.’ ”
What’s the trap?
I’ve been thinking a lot about joy (and the lack of it) lately. In some ways, 2021 has felt harder than 2020. And yet . . .
I have mixed feelings about writing fiction. First, I have no formal training, other than a class I took as an undergraduate in college 40 years ago. Second, I understand non-fiction, which is journalism adjacent. Having been a PR person for decades, I feel comfortable with reportage, commentary, essays. Third, I feel grounded with non-fiction, because when I write an essay my job is to elucidate as clearly as I can a set of real facts and feelings on a specific timeline. Finding a jewel of clear truth while cutting away everything that dims it is a great pleasure as a writer.
But fiction? You make up absolutely everything. Will I ever feel like I’m any good at this??
I’ve written so much about loss – mostly because I’m trying to harvest the meaning of the most powerful experiences in my life. Some of my losses were visceral surprises, some echoed inside and opened ancient wounds. It’s those doubly powerful losses I had in mind as I wrote an essay called “A Brutal and Sacred Gift.” Here are the first few paragraphs…
In May I took my first real vacation since lockdown started in March 2020. I was in beautiful Park City with two dear friends, all of us vaccinated, floating in the hot tub after a hike, when I felt something strange, vaguely familiar and delicious.
Lisa Poulson, a voice in favor of the complex beauty of female power, was once a tech industry badass, a grieving almost-widow and a faithful Mormon all at the same time. Now a writer in San Francisco, Lisa writes about grief, love and the complex beauty of female power.
You are reading of your own will and choice. How you read, act on or don’t act on what you read here is up to you.
While lisapoulson.com does use cookies, which helps us understand how you engage with our site and where you’re from, we do NOT save your personal information - like e-mail, name or address. And, if you join our mailing list or comment on a post, we will not share (or sell) your contact information. We are not responsible for commenters or other third parties here.
Lisa Poulson is the legal copyright holder of this blog. Contents may not be used, reprinted, or published without written consent.
Lisa Poulson is a voice in favor of the complex beauty of female power, the descendant of fiercely resilient Mormon pioneers and a woman who survived the death of her fiancé four months before their wedding. Lisa lives in San Francisco, where she spends her time absorbing and creating as much beauty as possible.
You are reading of your own will and choice. How you read, act on or don’t act on what you read here is up to you.
While lisapoulson.com does use cookies, which helps us understand how you engage with our site and where you’re from, we do NOT save your personal information - like e-mail, name or address. And, if you join our mailing list or comment on a post, we will not share (or sell) your contact information. We are not responsible for commenters or other third parties here.
Lisa Poulson is the legal copyright holder of this blog. Contents may not be used, reprinted, or published without written consent.
