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best words, best order: deirdre lewis
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best words, best order: deirdre lewis

an excerpt from the essay "waving not drowning," by deirdre lewis.

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The Nomination by Anna Schott

“Deirdre’s writing has it all: it’s got the rhythm and the melody and the pathos and the fun — doesn’t matter what it’s about, could just be a quiet encounter with one neighbor while she’s out looking for another neighbor’s cat. The writing is incredibly observant; of people, of feelings, of place. Something about the cadence just pulls me along and at the end of every piece I think the same thing: “damn, that was good.”

Anna Schott, She’s Gone Chilaquiles


waving not drowning – an excerpt

“I walked past an old dusty Plymouth with a shattered windshield and when I looked up I was startled by a man with tubes up his nose wheeling a tank of oxygen behind him. He might have been more frightening if he hadn’t looked so frail and old. But still. He wasn’t that frail and old. And he was not the least bit concerned or surprised to see someone on his property.

“Hello,” he said.

I explained that I was looking for my neighbor’s cat and I thought he might have run into his yard.

“Oh,” he said, “a cat will never make it out here.”

“Oh!” I said.

“The coyotes will tear him apart.”

“I mean—"

“You won’t see any cats around here. No.”

He was silent for a spell. He was a sweet guy, despite the brutal honesty.

“Well,” I said, “he’s very smart, he used to live on the streets.”

“Nope, not here, he’ll never make it”.

I let out a laugh, what else could I do? “I don’t like to think that way,” I said.

“Good for you,” he said. He was touching his nostrils where the hose was blowing oxygen into his nose. “It’s very strange getting old,” he said. “Nothing lives forever.”

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this line of thinking.

“Me, I’m on my way out,” he said.

“Do you mean to the--”

“Three months.”

“Ah,” I crossed my arms, “Is your family staying with--”

“Let me tell you something,” his voice trailed off for a second and it seemed like he was going to get sad. He cleared his throat, “Let me tell you the three things I’ve learned so far.”

“Okay,” I said. I noticed his hand shaking by his side. I thought I saw Percy’s tail under a hedge and I pointed and then walked towards it. The man turned to follow me.

“Whenever you’re stuck at an impasse, when you’re fighting with someone or you’re not getting along, try saying, Thank you, or I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” I said. It wasn’t the cat. I turned back towards him.

“It’ll get you out of any bind. Trust me.”

“Okay,” I said again.

“The second is: be with people who light up when they see you.”

Something about the way he said it made me smile, “I like that one.”

He closed his eyes for a second like he was searching for the right words, and then he said, “Be with people who turn your lights on.” He paused and whispered the word yeah and it sounded like eeeyah.

“Always,” I said. We walked a little further on the path. I was going his pace now.

“And the last is,” he waited for me to stand and look at him, “The last one is, listen to what a person does, not to what he says.”

“Listen to what he does,” I repeated, “I like the way you put that.”

“I think that’s right. It’s Iyanla Van Sant. Do you watch her?”

“I don’t.”

“She’s sensational.”

Across the yard a middle-aged woman walked out of the house in her bathing-suit. I watched her walk down another path and straight to a huge swimming pool. I looked back at the man.

“You should check her out,” he said. “She’s on you-tube.”

Full essay here

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Feel something.

A selection from The Gondolier, a story from the 100 Stories collection.

“But nobody was coming for Mikhail. He wouldn’t have allowed it. Houston wouldn’t have allowed it. There was no Hail Mary plan.

'“This is it,” an ancient inner voice observed indifferently.

There were no more tasks, no more missions, no more men, nothing to focus on but the hopelessness of his situation and the black expanse that awaited him.”

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