She was one of our lifetime's very greatest. A woman whose poise and voice conveyed that she was a force for wisdom, for compassion. She asked to be heard and she was: A poet, a thinker, an activist. I read her work and bought her cards and pinned her to my board as one of my heroes. She was one of the most beautiful people--true beauty, the sort that makes you want to be better yourself. She was as important as James Baldwin, and today I learn she has passed. Her life was often difficult, her actions bore dire results (the beating death of the man who raped her), but she dove into reading and learning and carried on with a dignity that I can only aspire to. What a life she led. When I searched for an image, each one captured her signature smile, and a face so alive it almost burst forth. I even loved her name. I will miss knowing you are in this world, Ms. Maya Angelou.
"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story in your soul" -- Maya Angelou
She was one of our lifetime's very greatest. A woman whose poise and voice conveyed that she was a force for wisdom, for compassion. She asked to be heard and she was: A poet, a thinker, an activist. I read her work and bought her cards and pinned her to my board as one of my heroes. She was one of the most beautiful people--true beauty, the sort that makes you want to be better yourself. She was as important as James Baldwin, and today I learn she has passed. Her life was often difficult, her actions bore dire results (the beating death of the man who raped her), but she dove into reading and learning and carried on with a dignity that I can only aspire to. What a life she led. When I searched for an image, each one captured her signature smile, and a face so alive it almost burst forth. I even loved her name. I will miss knowing you are in this world, Ms. Maya Angelou.
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![]() “Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.”—Norman MacLean I relish a reason to blog (shame on me). I was tagged a little while back by the wondrous Linda Graziano Niehoff, a wildly talented writer and photographer I have come to know through the meandering channels of social media and gatherings of “emerging writers”. We have both been published in, and have a robust affinity for, Mike Joyce’s Literary Orphans. Linda’s piece here, My piece here. Linda writes extraordinary stories, her immense talent is palpable and varied. I feel a bond with Linda, our mournful observations and strange departures are thumb-tacked to unexpected map locales and demographics. Then she has the added threat component of this eye—an eye that sees the transcendent and evocative components of ordinary relics such as antique buildings, gas stations, silver water towers, Laundromats. Check out her visions here. So thanks for the tag, Linda! So, to the meat of this exercise. |
Pamela LangleyIn the past decade I have written memoirs for a nun, tutored children from Somalia, edited a college literary magazine, interned at Literary Arts in Portland, published a few stories, graduated from University with highest honors, given a speech to a packed house at the Schnitz, remodeled a fixer-upper, written grants for programs that helped, extended my emotional /intellectual horizons, made an intra-state move, started a business, regained my groove, placed my finger back on the pulse, joined Facebook, Pinterest and LinkedIn, bought a smartphone, traveled, raised puppies, and most importantly--honed my writing skills. I bare myself here on The Paper Garden and hope some moments will resonate with you. Archives
September 2014
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