A Week

What a difference a week makes.

Since I posted last Thursday, so much has happened, both in our little world of lesbian fiction and my personal world.

Of course, by now, everyone has heard the terrible, sad news of Sandra Moran. I won’t go into any of that here, since so many others have gone into excruciating details about what’s been happening. I mention it only because last week, the news was bad but so many of us had hope that something could be done. Now, a mere week later, the news is grim.

A few days ago, I was told that an acquaintance of mine—the sister of an old friend—was not doing well with her own illness. I already knew that she had been battling breast cancer for at least a couple of years, but the news was that things were not going well for her. Then, two days later, I heard that she’d passed away.

My mind began spinning with all sorts of thoughts and emotions. Part of me remembered that life is short, no matter how long you live, and we have to make the most of it while we’re here. There must be no procrastinating because tomorrow may never come. The other part of me wondered, why bother? We work and work and work and in the end, what does it do for us? In the end, we’re just another bunch of bones in a box (or ashes in an urn or in the wind, or whatever).

I kept going back and forth between these extremes and I cried. Many writers in the lesfic community have taken Sandra’s plight as a message that they need to just jump into what they love to do and just do it. I did, too—when the other part of me wasn’t saying, “What’s the use?”

But I know what the use is. It’s what we leave behind. At the end of my life, whenever that happens to be, I want to be able to look back and be proud of what I’ve done. Sometimes I think that the people who have no goals and just go about their business have it better—no stress (at least, not from trying to achieve anything). Those people can go to the beach on a summer day and not worry that they have a project to finish by deadline. But at the end of their lives, will they be proud? Will they feel that they’ve lived a life worthy of remembrance?

There are probably no black-and-white answers, but I know this much: When I leave this earth, I hope that one or two people will pick up my books and say, “Yeah, R.G., I remember her. She was a pretty good writer.”

All of this, and more, has happened in a week’s time. All the things that I knew to be true last week are the complete opposite this week. All the more reason to never let fear get in the way of what you want to do. There’s no room for fear. There’s no time for hesitation. Because time stops for no one.

What a difference a week makes.



  1. Thanks for putting into words what the rest of us are feeling, R.g. And he’s, you are a pretty good writer. That’s a given. 🙂


  2. The other pretty dramatic result of the last week, for me, is realizing how much I’ve come to care for these writers I haven’t met but have gotten to know online. My new goal is to not be shy anymore and whenever I’m in a room with other writers I admire, I’m damn well going to come up to you and say so! So, R.G., until we meet… 😉

    And the beauty of books is that even if no one remembers me, someone, somewhere, someday might pick up my book and think, “This story gave me something to think about.” And I don’t even have to be around for that. 🙂


  3. Thank you for this – writers are remembered and like Elaine says above the news has made me realise how connected I feel to the writers whose work has impacted my life and how small and useless we are in the face of such news. For now, please just keep writing


  4. Another thought provoking blog, thanks RG for saying what many of us were trying to get our heads around. I agree with Elaine and feel so privileged that the writers I enjoy reading so much make themselves human to me, share so much of themselves through Facebook, Yahoo and blogs. Even though I live in Australia and will most likely never get to meet many of you, I still feel like part of the lesfic family. Thank you


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