A few days ago I shared an essay titled “The Bear.” It’s from my first book and I’ll link the essay here, but to summarize, my grandmother used to tell a story about a bear and an old woman who was stirring her soap.
Paul, I cannot tell you what a balm your writing is. Every single goddamn time I read something you write, I first want to throw my computer away because I'll never be this good at writing, but mostly I just put my hand over my heart and thank the universe you exist. Thank you for sharing pieces of you with us. And Grandma, too. If you don't mind me asking, can we know her first name? If not, no worries. Thanks again.
And here is where we petition Substack for something to click when the heart doesn't quite express how much a piece just bowls you over...
What a testament to the power of story-- for your grandmother, expressing a deep truth that couldn't/ wouldn't be told another way-- and now you, sharing it with us so beautifully. And wow, the detail about the soap... so telling. I am curious about where she heard or came to know this story that meant so much to her.
Edited to add that I love so much that at your urging, she tried to write her own story, too.
Gives a completely different color to the “the man or a bear” that was circulating a while ago. (Women were asked which they’d feel safer meeting in a dark wood, an unknown man or a bear. Almost to a one, women felt they had a better chance of survival with the bear).
I love that she was your drunk dial for love. That she trusted you with the story. Trust well placed. 💗
My gawd, your talent stuns me. I mean, it levels me when I read your stuff. I am crying even now. Thank you for sharing your gift. I am very glad to have found you. 💜
We all want our story told with eloquence and dignity, regardless if it is beauty or brutality. You did that for your grandmother. Goddamn those who want to force their ending on any woman’s story. Goddamn them.
Silenced by this piece—your love for your grandmother, her insistence on survival, even in her silence, your holding the baton and taking it all way home. Beautiful.
" I used to drink back then and sometimes while deep in my cups I needed to hear her voice. To be taken back to childhood. To hear the rhythm of her words and remember being a child fighting sleep, fascinated with the darkness of the world." A gorgeous line among many.
Paul, I love this follow-up post, your grandma and her stories, the faith she had in you, and the message here about telling the stories of those who can't tell their own. This piece had me welled up and wiping my eyes nearly from start to finish.
Thanks for adding it to the Caravan bears collection. Such a wonderful addition.
This is wonderful, Paul. We're very glad you shared it too. Tell the stories for people who can't tell their own. A beautiful message. And what a strong and wonderful character your grandmother is.
Thank you, Paul. It’s our job to tell these stories. We’re writers. We’re passionate witnesses with huge hearts. We see and understand injustice, what it feels like to be small and lost. We have to tell and tell and tell. Thank you for seeing me, your grandmother, my little Jane. All the women who’ve been oppressed and robbed of their agency. I will not disappear because of fear. I’m just going to write more loudly. xo
Paul, I cannot tell you what a balm your writing is. Every single goddamn time I read something you write, I first want to throw my computer away because I'll never be this good at writing, but mostly I just put my hand over my heart and thank the universe you exist. Thank you for sharing pieces of you with us. And Grandma, too. If you don't mind me asking, can we know her first name? If not, no worries. Thanks again.
Thank you so much (and please don't throw your computer away!). Her name is Bonice. <3
This whole thing— and the previous bear essay— are just so fucking good. But that Paul Allen paragraph? Took me out, bro.
If your grandma is half as proud of you as I am, then she’s been bragging to her friends about you for lifetimes.
I seriously thank god for men like you.
Men like me were made by women like her, and you'd love her, sister <3
Men like you who were listening, who were paying attention with their heart to what wasn’t said, were made by women like her.
And I have no doubt I’d love her. xo
I am weeping.
And here is where we petition Substack for something to click when the heart doesn't quite express how much a piece just bowls you over...
What a testament to the power of story-- for your grandmother, expressing a deep truth that couldn't/ wouldn't be told another way-- and now you, sharing it with us so beautifully. And wow, the detail about the soap... so telling. I am curious about where she heard or came to know this story that meant so much to her.
Edited to add that I love so much that at your urging, she tried to write her own story, too.
What would we call that button?
Well, a bowl would be too literal... Maybe a fireworks button?
Gives a completely different color to the “the man or a bear” that was circulating a while ago. (Women were asked which they’d feel safer meeting in a dark wood, an unknown man or a bear. Almost to a one, women felt they had a better chance of survival with the bear).
I love that she was your drunk dial for love. That she trusted you with the story. Trust well placed. 💗
Thank you for sharing this.
May we all shout from the rooftops the stories we cannot afford to lose.
Thank you for reading. Keep shouting.
My gawd, your talent stuns me. I mean, it levels me when I read your stuff. I am crying even now. Thank you for sharing your gift. I am very glad to have found you. 💜
I’m so glad you’re here. Comments like this keep me going. For real <3
I’m very glad you’re here. Thank you for the beautiful comment 💙
A few days ago I told a class I was teaching, “when we tell our stories the healing begins”. I sure hope it is true.
Wow. Just realized I need to ask her that. Thank you <3
We lucky readers, privy to the wisdom of your grandmother, passed through and amplified in you.
I read to find gems like this. So good on so many levels. Thank you for sharing your voice. I look forward to reading more from you.
Thanks for reading, and for taking the time to tell me. I really appreciate it.
We all want our story told with eloquence and dignity, regardless if it is beauty or brutality. You did that for your grandmother. Goddamn those who want to force their ending on any woman’s story. Goddamn them.
Terrific, Good for you. I hope she knows. Thank you.
She does. Thank you. I gave you a shoutout the other day live on Substack and everyone hearted it <3
Silenced by this piece—your love for your grandmother, her insistence on survival, even in her silence, your holding the baton and taking it all way home. Beautiful.
Appreciate you reading, and the kind words 💙
" I used to drink back then and sometimes while deep in my cups I needed to hear her voice. To be taken back to childhood. To hear the rhythm of her words and remember being a child fighting sleep, fascinated with the darkness of the world." A gorgeous line among many.
Paul, I love this follow-up post, your grandma and her stories, the faith she had in you, and the message here about telling the stories of those who can't tell their own. This piece had me welled up and wiping my eyes nearly from start to finish.
Thanks for adding it to the Caravan bears collection. Such a wonderful addition.
I love that so many people are reading about her. Makes my year <3
This is wonderful, Paul. We're very glad you shared it too. Tell the stories for people who can't tell their own. A beautiful message. And what a strong and wonderful character your grandmother is.
I am so happy so many people are reading her story. Thank you so much <3
Hi Paul,
This really tugs at my heart. I love that you're sharing your grandmother's story.
As loud as I can, as often as I can <3
Thank you, Paul. It’s our job to tell these stories. We’re writers. We’re passionate witnesses with huge hearts. We see and understand injustice, what it feels like to be small and lost. We have to tell and tell and tell. Thank you for seeing me, your grandmother, my little Jane. All the women who’ve been oppressed and robbed of their agency. I will not disappear because of fear. I’m just going to write more loudly. xo
100%, to everything here. <3
Thank you. xo