Susan Stinson

I just learned, through a beautiful, heartbreaking post by her wife Judith Stein, that Meridith Lawrence has died.

 

I met Meridith in the early eighties when she was co-running a Fat Lesbian Group at the Cambridge Women's Center. She had an infectious laugh and lots of knowledge of communities I wanted to be part of. Meridith really was the person who opened to doors for me to explore what it might mean to be a fat dyke who was determined to live a full, complex, self-loving life with plenty of company from others who were doing the same.

 

At first Meridith's lover Judith was mostly a legend — a fat leader and writer who wasn't going to groups any more — but it wasn't too long before I met Judith, too, at a raucous group meal after she gave a reading at New Words, the women's bookstore in Inman Square. Judith and Meridith were so glamorous and sophisticated to me. The love between them was palpable, always. Meridith and I organized a one-time fat swim together at the public pool in JP, across the street from my apartment.

 

I used to run into Meridith on the bus sometimes, too — she talked to me about how to negotiate space in those not-big-enough-seats — I believe she said her response to being shunned by strangers on buses was, "Ummhmm, yes, more room for me."

 

Meridith and Judith threw fantastic parties full of people I wanted to talk to, in their home filled with fat art. They were generous with me in more ways than I can say. They hosted me and other writers from Western Mass when we came east to the big city to go the OutWrite Conference, that wonderful gathering of queer writers that happened year after year in the nineties. They went, too, of course. They paid the fee for me to go to a fat conference.

 

Meridith had bold opinions and an organizer's soul. She had warmth. She was brave, and she talked about things that had been taboo. Once I interviewed Judith and Meridith about the history of fat activism at the Michigan Womyn's Music. I was on radio shows with them in the eighties, too. (Charlotte Cooper digitized those — I'll try to link to them in the comments.) Oh, and the anniversary boat rides and West Side Story parties! Such community-builders, Meridith and Judith.

 

I haven't seen Judith and Meridith in recent years, but I know that there are those who have been experiencing all of that love, friendship and warmth on the West Coast. I am mourning for Judith, for all who loved Meridith, and for the loss of such a powerful presence in the world. Here's picture of Meridith and me on the way to the OutWrite Conference in Copley Square in Boston in June 1995. Sally Bellerose was there, too, but I am pretty sure that Judith took the picture.

 

 Donations in Meridith Lawrence's memory may be made to the following:
Women's International league for peace and freedom. 
Black lives matter.
Power to live 
Sogorea Te' Land Trust

 

Novelist and playwright Hilary Sloin died last week.  Hilary was an old friend and writing companion.  I wrote about Hilary and her work for Lambda Literary Review. 

 

 

 

[This essay originally appeared as part of a series about being Writer in Residence at Forbes Library in Northampton, MA on LIBRARYASINCUBATORPROJECT on Mar 6, 2014. I am posting it now as I am getting ready to stop facilitating a writing room at Forbes, which I have run for nine years.  I've put a link at the end of this post so that you can find the essay as it was originally published online or read the whole series. SS]

by Susan Stinson

 

Prompt:  This morning, turn gently to the story. Enter into language in a way that makes room for you to follow subtle, insistent currents.  There is a tension here between perceiving, receiving, remembering and making.  Work those tensions until they yield something the work needs.

Every Wednesday and Saturday morning, I bring three new writing prompts written by hand on index cards to the Writing Room at the library.  Most mornings, I write them before breakfast, at the kitchen table or sitting cross-legged in bed.  When I get to the Watson Room, I spread the cards out on the long, beautiful table, near the foot, where the young writer who I know copies them in her notebook every week can easily reach them.  Some of the writers pick them up every time they come, and some never use them at all, but writing them is a pleasure for me.  They keep me in conversation with the experience of writing as I know it, live it, and witness it.  It is like meditating on brushes with other minds.  Maybe writing is always like that.  Maybe coming to the library is, too.

Prompt: Perhaps you've been deep in sorrows, frustrations, dreams, or all three.  Don't fight them this morning, but ride the force of them into your work.  Be as small as you are and let the feelings and experiences be as big as they are. This will connect with your work, if you let it. "Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises…" (That's a line from The Tempest, William Shakespeare.)

When Forbes library is about to close, a librarian walks among the patrons, ringing a long-handled brass bell.  The librarians have a calm, quiet air about them at this task, and the sound is beautiful.   It is the end of the day, which is both loss and release.  Sometimes it signals another a good day of work, done.   Sometimes, I leave knowing more about what I'd like to write tomorrow.

Prompt: It's the rhythm, the groove, cultivation of a new/renewed habit. Turn to the writing as if you're used to doing it. Turn with relaxed, dogged patience and a capacity to be surprised. The work is the thing, today. Do the work. 
 
When I first started writing this series of posts about being Writer in Residence at Forbes for the Library as Incubator Project, my most recent novel, which I worked on for ten years with lots of help from Forbes, had been out for less than a week.  Today, as I drafted this post in the Writing Room, three writers were there for the first time, one faithful participant was celebrating nearing the end of a book project, and we all bent over the writing together, whether working in the same room or throughout the building.  When I started as Writer in Residence at Forbes, I was feeling a bit isolated and discouraged about the prospects of Spider in a Tree ever being published.   Today, I feel part of a beautiful community of people who use to the library to make, research, gather, serve, reflect, play, grieve, write, read, and dream.  A friend just posted a picture of a book wrapped up in plain brown paper for a Blind Date with A Book at the Palmer Public library, with the following description: "Famous eighteenth-century theologian seeks audience for fiery sermons and inner turmoil in Northampton, Massachusetts. Members of my household with other perspectives encouraged to reply.  Must love (rhetorical) arachnids and local history!"  This is clearly my book about Jonathan Edwards and company.  I am thrilled, almost to the point of tears.  Creative, playful, engaged librarians all over the country give such lovely moments to library patrons over and over again.  What could be better for me– as a writer, a reader, a participant in my community and as a human being– than that?  What could be richer than working to help make more of those connections for other writers and readers?

Just now, when I got up for a drink of water, I ran into Elise Bernier-Feeley, the Special Collections librarian, who was marveling over a nineteenth century newspaper article about turkeys in the snow.  (It was good, but I won't give it away.)  She told me that she'd go try to find a book she knows that includes a great section on seventeenth century barrel-making, which I need for my next novel.  When I finish this, I'm going to go out into the welcome, warm February day and sit for a minute or two on the bench beside the library with my feet on the doorstep from the house that Jonathan and Sarah Edwards lived in on King Street.  I like having my feet on something old, ordinary and useful for a while.  I like how Forbes honors the histor(ies) of its community while throwing its very heavy doors open to all kinds of creation.  The library is itself is a prompt: to write, to read, to make, to work to stay open to ideas, people, and aesthetic experiences.   I love thinking about libraries all over the country doing that within and among their own communities, and what fantastic art is coming from that for all of us.

Want More?
·       Check out what Forbes Library is up to on Facebook and by following @ForbesLibrary on Twitter.
·       Learn more about Susan and her work by visiting her website and following @susanstinson on Twitter.

https://www.libraryasincubatorproject.org/?p=13514

Here are some the things I've got coming up:

I'm teaching Fiction Writing 1 at Amherst College in Fall 2017. That is utterly exciting. I love the work of trying to help young writers develop their craft to sustain the work that they are most excited about doing.

I'm also speaking to the wonderful Global Valley Course at Amherst College. The students read my novel, Spider in a Tree as part of a fantastic survey of the history of the Connecticut River Valley.

If you're not an Amherst College student, you can writing with me at the Writing Room on Saturday mornings, 9:30-12:30 in the Watson Room on the mezzanine of Forbes Library, which is the public library in Northampton. It's mostly silent writing, with check-ins at the beginning and at 11:45.

I'll be on a panel about writing historical fiction at the Write/Angles Conference , Sunday, November 18 at Mt. Holyoke conference. All are welcome to register.

Finally, in Colorado, I'm excited to have an excerpt from my novel Venus of Chalk being shown alongside a painting by my brother Don Stinson at Draft , at the Parker PACE Arts Center in Parker, Colorado. The ekphrastic show, which puts the work of writers and visual artists in conversation with each other, will be on display in the PACE Center Art Gallery from September 1 to October 31.

Please do check out these events, and there's still time to apply for my Fiction Writing I class if you're an Amherst College Student.
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From 2003 until earlier this year, I blogged at another site. At its peak, the site created a lively gift of playful, helpful community for me. I loved it, and used it often. I wrote about many experiences that came from writing, publishing, and traveling with my novels. I shared so much joy in the writing of others. The old venue both lost energy and developed a problem with censorship. I realized that I needed to find a new site. So, for now, I'll be posting events and news here on my website. These will be sporadic. I might only do it when I need a spot to link to on social media, where I use Facebook and Twitter.

Perhaps at some point I'll bring back old posts from the archives of my previous blog. For now, though, I'm just saying hello.  Read More