I still think about this piece often, Tonya - your conjuring of "Alex"'s sad little soul (& your own poignant childhood one as well) feels so achingly universal, relatable, mysterious & beautiful. May he rest in the peace he was denied in life. Thank you for honoring him as you so eloquently did.
It was this piece that pulled me to JUKE, and I’ve been following it ever since. The way you carry Alex from the forest to that break room has stayed with me. Nor can’t I shake the kitten in the kitchen, or the two of you behind that locked basement door. That last turn into “living is an act of repair” feels truer each time I read it, and it was a real, complicated pleasure to come back to this on the page. Thank you much.
I'm so happy to know that, Luciano. I'm very grateful you found the piece, became a reader here and eventually, of course, now, a valuable contributor. It's always amazing to me how language can accomplish so much, bring people in and out of our lives. Thank you very much for following this piece into Juke.
What is interesting to me (and wonderful about the story) is that it begins as one kind of story, which is what I thought the entire piece would be) and then turns in another direction entirely. Yet, at the end, it is still perhaps that same initial kind of story, a reminiscence and an introspection.
I really appreciate this comment, Steven. It's harder for me to see the path of the story, because of course I knew where it was going from the outset, so it's valuable to hear what kind of journey it takes for the reader.
I still think about this piece often, Tonya - your conjuring of "Alex"'s sad little soul (& your own poignant childhood one as well) feels so achingly universal, relatable, mysterious & beautiful. May he rest in the peace he was denied in life. Thank you for honoring him as you so eloquently did.
Thanks so much, Ellen.
It was this piece that pulled me to JUKE, and I’ve been following it ever since. The way you carry Alex from the forest to that break room has stayed with me. Nor can’t I shake the kitten in the kitchen, or the two of you behind that locked basement door. That last turn into “living is an act of repair” feels truer each time I read it, and it was a real, complicated pleasure to come back to this on the page. Thank you much.
I'm so happy to know that, Luciano. I'm very grateful you found the piece, became a reader here and eventually, of course, now, a valuable contributor. It's always amazing to me how language can accomplish so much, bring people in and out of our lives. Thank you very much for following this piece into Juke.
What is interesting to me (and wonderful about the story) is that it begins as one kind of story, which is what I thought the entire piece would be) and then turns in another direction entirely. Yet, at the end, it is still perhaps that same initial kind of story, a reminiscence and an introspection.
I really appreciate this comment, Steven. It's harder for me to see the path of the story, because of course I knew where it was going from the outset, so it's valuable to hear what kind of journey it takes for the reader.
“Living is an act of repair.” Just beautiful. All of it.
Thank you for the kind words, Brad. Much appreciated.
Your writing is consistently the best I read here. Thank you, Tonya.
Thanks so much, John. I'm glad to have you as a reader.