Did you read WU on Friday? Monica Bhide submitted a lovely essay, aptly titled Powered by Hope, in which she offers a link to her Sound Bites project of the same name. Monica says she’s providing this service because she knew she “had to do something,” in response to the messages of fear and despair she was receiving due to the pandemic.
Monica’s post raised my spirits. But I have to admit, as I write this, I’m feeling pretty hopeless. It seems like hopes are tough to hold on to these days. Every time I feel like I have a grip on them, something new pops up and gets the darn wrigglers slithering away again. Which is what happened between reading WU on Friday and writing this post over the weekend.
The disheartening turn of events this past weekend got me thinking about hope—its vital role in our lives and its fragility. As elusive as my hopes feel at the moment, I realized that we writers have a pretty special relationship with hope. In fact, I’ve come to realize that we’re hope experts.
Hope Experts
I hope that if there’s one thing you take with you from WU today, it’s the belief that it’s true—that you are indeed a hope expert. I’m sure you already have some understanding of how vital hope is to the gig. In fact, whether you realize it or not, I’m willing to bet that the very force that first compelled you to put pen to page to tell a story was born of, and buoyed by, hope. After all, hope is a sort of anticipation, an optimistic expectation for a fortuitous result. But at the crux of it, hope is a desire. You anticipated a positive result. But beyond that, you desired to create something. And not just any ole’ something.
When we writers set out to tell a story, we desire to create something that will elicit anticipation in others. In other words, we hope to create a form of hope for our fellow humans. How’s that for requiring expertise?
But wait, the need for expertise only grows. How do we do it? I mean, we can’t just write willy-nilly, call it a story, and hope it will create anticipation. We have to create more than just the desire for others to begin our story. We must provide the desire to continue consuming it to “The End.” In other words, our desire to create hope for others must be so strong that it inspires us to strive to sustain it for them.
Seems like a lot of hope expertise already, doesn’t it? You know there’s more, though, right?
So how do we sustain hope in readers? Well, we have to start by putting our readers into the shoes of our characters. How? By giving our characters hopes of their own, of course. Once we accomplish that, how do we keep readers in those shoes to “The End”? Yep, you guessed it—we’ve got to dash those hopes. I kid you not: to sustain the anticipation of our readers, we have to learn to manipulate the hopes of our characters.
In other words, in order to strive for success as a writer, you have to hope so fervently to create hope in others that you’re willing to work long and hard to master the art of toying with the hopes of your characters. You have to do it well enough to keep your readers hoping for them all the way to each story’s resolution.
And that’s all before considering your career hopes, for which you have to leave readers hoping for more stories.
Now do you believe you’re a hope expert? I hope so.
Naivety Blindfolds, But Hope Evolves
As I contemplated how entwined hope and writing truly are, I thought about how my hopes have evolved as a writer. And how there was always a certain level of naivety to my writerly hopes prior to each evolution.
Through my young adulthood, I only managed to hope to get back to writing… you know—someday. My future seemed vast and the possibilities nearly endless. In my naivety, writing was just another desired facet of the kaleidoscope of life. It was a faint hope, but an enduring one.
When we first left the business world, I hoped writing could be a sideline that would serve as a creative outlet. My naivety made it a secondary pastime that would naturally make life richer. I hoped it would provide effortless reward.
Once I became invested in the story that became my first trilogy, I gained a work ethic, but I only really hoped to get to “The End.” I was a pantser, and had a growing desire to find my way to a satisfying resolution. My naivety kept insisting that storytelling came naturally to real writers. My hope presumed to make me a member of a secretive club.
During the drafting of a second long story arc over three manuscripts, and countless revision passes, I mostly just hoped to get a book deal. By this time, I managed to be canny enough to bury my naivety away. But, deep down, my naïve conviction insisted that traditional publishing amounted to some sort of finish line—that all of my ephemeral cravings would be satisfied by this single accomplishment. That my desire would be sated, my anticipation resolved.
Through it all I presumed that via some singular outcome, my hopes would be fulfilled. See the need for further evolution?
I’ve been at this a long time, and of course my hopes for my writing have ebbed and flowed. I feel like I’m at another inflection point—one in which I’m not sure exactly what I’m hoping for. But I’ve grown enough to recognize that if I’m hoping for something too specific, something too easily ascribed or achieved, I’m being naïve.
I’ve come to recognize that my hopes will continue to evolve, that anticipation is not meant to be resolved. I’ve grown enough to simply hope I can continue to write, that my desire will never be sated.
Hope Requires Action
“The best way to not feel hopeless is to get up and do something. If you go out and make good things happen, you fill the world with hope. And in doing so, you will fill yourself with hope.”—Barack Obama
Rereading Monica’s post, I realized something. In response to the messages of hopelessness she was receiving, she says, “I knew I had to do something.” As I write this, the same thing keeps striking me. When we seek to be storytellers, anticipation alone doesn’t deliver the fortuitous result we desire. When we long for connection, to create hope for others, the longing alone won’t provide it. When we seek to be career authors, desire alone won’t sell our books. Whatever it is we desire from writing, we’ve got to want it enough to act, to strive.
I’ve come to see that hope is an active pursuit. Hope feeds on action. Hope thrives in our effort.
At the moment I may not be precisely sure what I’m hoping will happen next for my writing, but I know it will require me to work, to be willing to step outside my comfort-zone. To strive.
It’s true—our hopes can blindfold us. They can appease our naivety. But we can be mindful that they will continue to evolve.
Plain ole’ desire won’t bother to stir us to action. Hope begs us to get outside ourselves and seek.
The Dali Lama says that the only true tragedy is the loss of hope. But sustaining hope is our specialty. We writers have already shown that we’re willing to work—to push and stretch ourselves. We’ve already strived to sustain anticipation in others, shown that our fervent hope extends to our fellow humans. Since we’re willing to act, hope can endlessly fuel our writing journey.
I know that hope can never be truly lost to us. We’re hope experts, after all. It’s why you’re here.
How’s your hope holding up, WU? Do you admit that you’re a hope expert? How are you sustaining yours? Ready to feed your hopes with action? What can you do to keep them thriving today? I hope you’ll share in the comments.
About Vaughn Roycroft
Vaughn Roycroft's (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days polishing his epic fantasy trilogy.
I’ve named my Hope Bob, and he always brings a smile to my face. I picture him on a stage telling wry jokes like how we’ll get to January and either admit that 2020 Won or that it’s 2021.
Thanks for the post Vaughn.
I had to smile at this! I named my Resistance Bob (after ex-husband). Bob gets around.
Which may make hope conversations the only time that “As you know, Bob” is worth saying.
Morning James (phew, was it ever morning for you when you posted this! Thanks.)
When I was looking for an image for this post, I put “hope” in the search-box, and one of the images that popped up was of Bob Hope–a black-and-white of him entertaining the troops during WW2. I instantly thought of my dad. He loved Hope. I thought of his belly laugh. And then of how he never seemed to lose hope, even after all he’d been through in life. The thought made me feel humble. We’ve had it pretty darn good, thanks to those who passed before us–including the icon we lost over the weekend.
I think a dash of humility is just the right spice for this post. So thanks for the (very) early kickoff to the comments, for the laugh, and for inspiring the humility.
Here’s to better days ahead. May we ever strive to make them so.
As romantic and an optimist, I’m a fan of hope. I think it’s part of our human DNA, the impulse by which we evolve. It’s also the tool of the storyteller, the thing we dangle as a carrot for the reader who needs to believe it will all turn out. Maybe this is why in long-ago days, Bards were held in such high regard, given s seat at the high table and the best cut of meat, with a death-price to match a king’s. The storyteller reminds us that hope is the way forward. I think that’s really what Galadriel’s light was. Hope under glass. So job one is to refine the skills of our craft so we can step up to the mission. For me, no matter how this writing journey plays out, I feel honored to be part of the clan.
Hey Susan – You always manage to life my spirits. Isn’t that another way of saying “providing hope?” I think so.
Very cool observation about Bards. That absolutely sounds right, that providing hope was central to their value. And I just LOVE the thought of Galadriel’s light being hope under glass. That’s magnificent!
I’m with you–honored to be among such fine fellow “hope providers.” Thanks for providing another dose.
Vaughan, I feel like an expert on hope because I learned from the best–my mother. She led a hard life and growing up I saw her faith in action, sustained by hope, with the result being love.
I love this simple prayer of St. Teresa of Avila:
Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things are passing away:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things
Whoever has God lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.
There is much comfort in knowing it’s enough to do the next right thing. I love what Mother Teresa said, “if you want to change the world, go home and love your family.” That’s what my mom did; it’s what I’m doing too. And writing stories. Children’s stories, no matter how bleak, must end on hope.
Hey Vijaya, That’s truly lovely, that your mom taught you the ways of sustaining hope, and that you’re continuing in her tradition. And paying it forward in your fiction. Perfect!
Thanks much for the blessings you pass along.
“There is much comfort in knowing it’s enough to do the next right thing.”
There certainly is! I keep reminding myself that I don’t have to cope with everything right now, I just need to cope with this thing, now.
In my husband’s rendition of Matthew 6:25-34 he wrote
“Don’t fret about tomorrow yet,
you’ve got enough to do;
the troubles of a day suffice,
without another’s too.”
Oh yes! That’s such a great verse. I remember how my mother prayed Our Father and “give us this day our daily bread” was so hard when you wanted to have assurance of tomorrow’s bread too :) but truly, truly He provides. I’ve always loved “consider the lilies…”
Vaughn, you spoke to me on a morning when we have just participated in the marriage of our third child, our son, and are now looking to the NORMAL of having moved back to Chicago. There’s much to do before I can HOPE for time to write. Will I get back in the groove? Will I finally produce the story that lives with me, that causes me to write down notes, to think about my characters? Creation is at the heart of hope. If you can create something in the physical world (sculpture, a painting, a poem, etc) you have stepped away from sorrow and established hope. So I wish all who are reading that combination: hope and work. It’s the pathway.
Hi Beth–Congratulations on the nuptials, and on the expansion of your family!
From what little I know of you, I’m guessing this return to “home” will fuel your storytelling. Such a wise observation, that creation is at the heart of hope, and that the act of creation establishes hope.
Here’s to many blessed days in your return to your “Shire,” and your storytelling. I believe in you! Thanks for being a hope-provider!
What a lovely post! I’m an optimist by nature. Writing fuels me. I’m currently in the process of final edits of another novel, based on my grandmother’s life. How she survived her life during WWI, the Bolshevik revolution and later the Great Depression on the Manitoba prairies inspires me. She did it by sheer will, faith, and hard work. And love of her family.
Because of the pandemic, I grieve for what’s been lost. On the positive side, the world has slowed down. We have the time to reflect on what truly matters. We’ve seen people around the world take action on Black Lives Matter, mental health issues, and climate action.
I’m hopeful we’ll recognize we’re all in the same boat, and pull those oars together to reach the shore.
Hey Diana–You’re not alone in being inspired by those who came before, but–wow–your grandmother’s story is truly a source of hope through action!
I agree, there’s some benefit in the form of the time to reflect. And now we must take action. It’s the only way to honor those who were lost.
Here’s to pulling those oars together! Thanks for sharing your story of hope (here today, and in the work you’re doing).
I like the idea of being a hope expert. I will admit I have never been a writer who writes just for myself. I write with the *hope* the stories will be read and enjoyed, and maybe exactly for the reason you talk about – to bring hope and enjoyment to others.
Despair seems to be linked to expectation. I expect the world (and my writing journey) to go along the way I–well, expect it to–and when it doesn’t (over and over and over again, like this year) I tend to lose sight of those things that are beautiful and give hope. It’s only by learning to change my expectations of things I have no control over that I’ve been able to find a center, a balance, that I am then able to see more clearly the path ahead (the doing which generates more hope) and let go of the negativity that threatens that balance. It’s the same in regards to my writing journey, too. Writing begets hope, negativity stops writing, I lose hope. I keep the balance by changing my writing expectations, I continue to write, and writer-ly hope remains. The only thing I have to manage is my expectations, which is a lot easier than trying to manage the world!! :D
Hey Lara – Wow, what a fantastic addition to the conversation. In my notes I had something about what we can control vs. what’s out of our control, and how focusing on the things we can’t control saps hope. I so agree about balance, and how we can keep hope vital by avoiding focus on expectations.
And, amen, it’s much easier to manage than the world (a world which, at the moment, seems intent on being a hopes destroyer). Thanks much for the wise addition. Here’s to maintaining our balance to sustain our hope!
So nice to check in with fellow hope experts today! I’ve been feeling my energy and optimism flag a bit the past week or two–I think of it as hitting a wall of “enough”–but I am hopeful that a little rest, some story progress, and the shared positive energy here are bolstering me for another round of persistence and action. Thanks, Vaughn and everyone!
(In fact, thinking about hope is giving me some good ideas about where to go next with my story and character development, so I’m off to scribble a few notes!) :-)
Hey Alisha–I love that this conversation is bolstering your hopes! I had something similar, as I pondered this post and wrote it: epiphanies about how central to my characters hope is, and how to better utilize it as a writing tool.
Right before I saw the email for your comment, I was thinking about a special moment, which is still far away from me, story-chronology-wise. It’s one of those things that just about everything builds to make possible. It’s a moment of hope for my characters (to avert a huge war).
It’s a reminder that this whole story means something–to me if to no one else. Thinking of it fills me with hope of the sort that fuels me to get back there. :)
Hope today’s scribbling is both enlightening and bolstering! Thanks for weighing in!
Vaughan, my mind has very much slumped to “mope” rather than “hope” lately, and reinforced earlier today by some sour events. But your thought that writers can be agents of hope is helpful.
I’ve been regretting all kinds of things of late, but your post today reminded me of that Katherine Mansfield quote, ““Make it a rule of life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an appalling waste of energy; you can’t build on it; it’s only good for wallowing in.”
OK, wallowed enough this morning. The rest of the day is to turn toward hope. Thanks.
Oh yeah—next time my hope is that I spell your name right.
Haha–The second ‘a’ is the traditional spelling for the last name. I blame my mom. Maybe her hope was to trip us all up, over the course of my entire lifetime, lol.
As the old chestnut goes: call me anything you want–just don’t call me late for dinner. :)
Tom–If I had a fondest hope for this post, it was that it would inspire a friend to let go of regrets and turn toward hope. Even if for the day. I’ve been there, and I know what a burden regret can be. Hope is so liberating to our souls, and it means so much to provide a bit of liberation to you.
BTW, in one of the RBG tributes I saw yesterday, she said her mother told her something very similar to the Mansfield quote. Seems like the lessons are in the very air today.
Cheers, my friend!
HI V,
It’s been a long time old friend.
Keep writing. But then you don’t need my cliched advice. You can’t stop. Even if you wanted to stop.
Your stories are wonderful. And they will reach the hearts and minds of the souls they’re meant to find.
In these vicious, troubled times it’s easy to believe that hope has abandoned us all. But we’ve got choices. We can fight for that hope or lie down and die because of it. I know without a doubt what your choice will be.
Here’s to HOPE. Not in the passive sense, but the active.
Blessed be your journey.
Something about your describing active hope made the Emily Dickinson poem pop into my head. (“Hope is the thing with feathers/ That perches in the soul…”)
https://poets.org/poem/hope-thing-feathers-254
Ah, the perfect addition. Thanks, Alisha!
I love that poem!
LOVE this poem. Thanks for the reminder Alisha. <3
Hi B! Gosh, it has been way too long. I wonder if you can ever really know how much of an encouragement you’ve been, and continue to be, for me. Doubt you can truly know, but please know that it’s so very appreciated. Cherished, even.
In my reply to Alisha, above, I allude to the end of the first trilogy, the culmination of all of my storytelling, just before Thaedan and Armesus face off. In the fragile moment, only Vernius (of all people) thinks to try to avert war. I was thinking about how his line to Armesus, “Give your brother a chance, eh?” definitely sprang from my love of Lennon and the Beatles: “All we are saying, is give peace a chance.”
Even in tragedy there is hope. Hope that lives on, beyond any woe the world can conjure. You once told me that the first trilogy was a powerful anti-war statement. I’ve never forgotten. It’s like you gave me hope in a bottle, sealed against any woe the world can send against me. That’s a special gift. Can’t thank you enough.
Hope you and your beautiful family are well, and that your writing is still going smoothly. Miss you!
V-
I love that Lennon and the Beatles’ antiwar song inspired you so much it influenced the POV of your character. That’s some powerful chain of art. AND a message current and important NOW more than ever.
Fight on to write on!
-B
“I’ve come to recognize that my hopes will continue to evolve, that anticipation is not meant to be resolved. I’ve grown enough to simply hope I can continue to write, that my desire will never be sated.”
Hear hear!
Hi Kristan!
I’m so glad the piece, and this particular slice of it, spoke to you. But I’m not really surprised. You’ve been there beside me (for over a decade now, right?). I know that you know that the joy is in the work, even if you’re like me, and need to be reminded of it time and again.
Hope all’s well with you and yours!
Vaughn, this is just the push my WIP needs today. As always, you add to the WU community’s storehouse of rigorous inspiration. Whether or not I ever get to the fictions circulating in my head (they’re way back there on the sometime list), WU consistently provides good advice for my narrative NF WIP. Specifically, my real historical characters were much motivated by hope, and I find myself wondering how they could possibly sustain their hope year after year. No surprise: I wonder how I can sustain my hope in this project, even though I know it is entirely worthy and will find its readership. Can I become a hope expert instead of doubting my hope? Looks like it, now. Thanks for generously detailing your journey of hope and your stumbles and recoveries along the way.
Wow, Anna–you’re too kind. I find it so darn cool that you find inspiration for your NF work here at WU, but I can totally see how it’s possible.
The mirroring of the writer and the characters when it comes to hope was one of my big takeaways from the exercise of creating this post. When I thought of the amount of hope expertise required, I couldn’t wait to share it with you guys. So I’m delighted that so many are taking it to heart.
Thanks for your kind words, and for being such a stalwart member of the WU community. Here’s to owning up to our hope expertise, and moving past the stumbles!
Hi, Vaughn:
“Naivete blindfolds, but hope evolves.” Love that.
I’ve been reading a lot of Richard Rorty lately. He’s an American Pragmatist philosopher profoundly influenced by Darwin (among others). Evolution teaches us that genes mutate randomly (though in distinct ways); many of these mutations do little or nothing, some are destructive, but some are adaptive, and these are passed on to the gene-holder’s progeny.
What evolution doesn’t tell us is why this happens. The standard explanation, for the sake of enhanced chances of survival, simply begs the question: why is an enhanced chance of survival valuable?
Implicit in any answer is the notion that somehow the future might be better than the present, or might be made better by survival with the transformed gene.
This is why pragmatists — who are anti-essentialists and discard such idealistic notions as “mind” and “truth” and “reason” as unworkable — instead put their money on hope for the future through making what efforts we can in the present to make that better future possible. Some things will work, others won’t, but the constant effort to try to improve matters is the human cultural equivalent of genetic mutation.
I like that way of looking at things. It roots me not just in the American intellectual heritage but in my own biology.
But I was also very moved by something Pena Chödrön says in WHEN THINGS FALL APART. She noted that hope and fear are reflections of the same thing–an aversion to facing the present, which is the one true thing we actually can affirm. Now is here. Her exact words were something like, “To conquer our fear, we must also surrender hope.” Both fear and hope focus our minds on a projection into a future we cannot reliably know. Implicit in this idea is the notion that a lot of our need to be busy, to make plans, to work hard, is grounded in anxiety about what might happen. Instead, we should try to focus on what is actually happening..
I like this formulation as well, even though it in many ways it contradicts the pragmatist position. (It also, ironically, contradicts the Dalai Lama’s comment about the only tragedy being the loss of hope. Oh, those mind-boggling Buddhists.)
I’m learning to live with such contradictions. As Jean Cocteau put it, contradictions are our way of breaking through to a new, deeper understanding.
Lovely, heartfelt, honest, insightful post — as always.
Hey David – A lovely essay by itself, this comment. I sometimes find myself feeling like WU’s kid brother to you, and yet I’m not sure you’re actually older. I suppose it’s more like a scholarly kid brother.
I’m with you… conflicted. But I’m willing to try to get comfortable in the condition. Regarding Chödrön’s take, I feel like, yes, the Dude abides. But as we all know, even with a hot tub, a cold Caucasian on the sideboard, and a decent roach in the clips, we can all be jolted from abiding in the now by outside forces. So, best laid plans of mice and dudes?
But even in that farcical example, I’m not thinking a regimen of deliberate hopes and diligent striving would’ve made for a better existence.
I like the notion of hope being the flip side of fear though. I can see that my fear of death lies at the crux of all of this. How can I die before I have books in the world? After fifteen years of work? What are they gonna say at my funeral? “This dude abided. May he rest even more peacefully… If that’s even possible.” Guess I’ve got some outcomes to let go of. Hopes aside, they are inevitable.
Thanks–as always–for your kindness and for keeping the ole’ gerbil wheel spinning. Hope you don’t mind my thinking of you as my WU big bro.
I fully expect my tombstne to read: But I digress…
Hi Vaughn. You’re asking us how our hope is holding up, and do we admit we’re hope experts. For me, My sense of hope, the energy behind every labor of love (read: writing) is more challenged in recent years. I think it’s a mix of no longer “getting older,” but of now being incontestably old. Old age is now confronted by the blizzard of current social and political punches we’re all taking on an almost daily basis. The trick is to remain mindful of “what’s happening now,” and at the same time to keep focused on the job at hand, the new story or essay or book. To the degree a writer is able to do this, the writing actually becomes an antidote. Still taking delight in a good sentence, or Eureka! plot twist serves as an act of hope.
Am I a hope expert? No. But to swipe from David Corbett’s comment, I am a pragmatist. Not in philosophical terms, but in the more humble use of the word: I believe in what works, so I live by a solid certainty: Without hope, there is only a methodical process of continuation, until the ghost in the machine says “time’s up.” And who wants to just wait around on a couch with a bag of potato chips for that?
Hey Barry–I think you’re on to something. I’ve been knocked off my game, so to speak, for the last few days. And there’s definitely an unsettled feeling that comes with missing out on my dose of “the antidote” you reference.
I find it’s harder to take those daily blows in the absence of taking the pragmatic steps. It’s like a belief that my work is a form of contribution, though toward what end, I’m not certain. Let’s to a sort of malaise that I’d much rather do without. Either that, or these chips and soft couch cushions are making me feel bloated and sore.
I really appreciate your input, and I’m taking it as good advice. Tomorrow, a pragmatic approach and a dose of the antidote. For tonight, I offer you cheers and my thanks.
When you write and write and write, yet fail to reach the original goal of publication, I’ve heard it said that you get to decide how much you actually love the writing.
I feel like we’re at that inflection point in the larger world right now. We get to decide how much democracy matters, and how much inconvenience we are willing to tolerate to protect the frail and elderly among us. The forces arrayed against democracy and community want us to feel overwhelmed and fatigued. They want to cudgel us into passivity. Therefore, Good Sir V, I see the task of hope building, preservation, and sharing as the central task of our time. Thank you for the helpful reminder that we already have the necessary skill.
Ah, Boss, having you call me by your old nickname for me really warms my heart. Reminds me how much I miss having you around so regularly.
I love that–I get to decide. And yes, I not only get to choose how much I love it, I get to choose how I go about showing the love. I think it’s what I’ll do today–just disappear into the story, without a care in the world for how someone in (as Porter says) *the industry, the industry!* might perceive it.
The thing about translating that to the electorate, and to our (fragile) democracy, is how many seem to be deciding they don’t love it–are willing to tolerate the dangers and to sacrifice the fragile communities among us. If I get too caught up in thinking about how many of us seem to be in those numbers, it’s a real hope-killer.
I can see even as I type this, that the answer is to focus on the vast swath of my country (and yours) who feel the opposite.
Thanks for warming my heart, and for laying out the central task of our time. Hope all’s well with you and the fam.
“I can see even as I type this, that the answer is to focus on the vast swath of my country (and yours) who feel the opposite.”
Exactly. It’s like in marketing: far better to focus our efforts on the interested and potentially willing than in trying to convert the diametrically opposed.
As for the writing, yes! In it’s unadulterated form, it’s a refuge for me right now. One gift that Covid-19 has made feel all the more precious.
We are well, thanks. Hope the same is true for you and yours!
I’m trying to come around WU Proper more often. Am beyond grateful for the kind community, which also strengthens hope.
Thank you for your post. I also went back and read Monica’s. Both have brightened my day and lifted my spirits. As I was reading yours, I found myself nodding, saying, “Yes. I am a hope expert. Writing is my specialty, one of them, that is. And yes, with hope there is work, and by doing so we are producing hope. Knowing and understanding that very thing lightens the heaviness in my heart. Thank you.
Ah, see? Now you’ve gone and made my day, lightening my heart, Candi. I am so delighted that this thing works, because now that I know you’re nodding and feeling empowered, it’s coming right back to reward me again.
You’ve got to love hope. It’s the gift that keeps giving. Thank you for your kind words!
Here is to hope, my dear! Let’s use hope to drown out the darker side. I have been on the dark side for way too long and it really just gets harder and harder to get out… so I am trying not to go there!
I loved your post and I love your writing! Thank you again for mentioning my essay.
No doubt, the dark side needs drowning. We’re all fighting that increasing difficulty of getting out.
My pleasure, Monica! Thank you for inspiring my thinking!