1. Tell us about your writing journey.
If I chose a nom de plume, it would be “Dorothy,” because my writing journey has been a yellow brick road after a dislocating twister of empty nest, retirement, relocation and living solo in a partnered community. Writing was grounding – be it my column in a quarterly magazine, feature articles of my choosing, and personal essays on my blog. I was finding a stride without a clear compass “home.” I sensed that being curious, raw and genuine were key – whether my topic was caregiving, grief, ageing, parenting, cowgirl fun or bear-whispering – validated by a growing readership. When at a loss for direction, rusty on writing mechanics or ripe for the next venture, I leaned into group writing rituals and a scribe tribe whose members share contest and submission calls, fierce feedback, skill-building opportunities and publishing perspectives. Like those ruby red shoes, my passions, fellow-traveling readers and scribes all click in an Oz of a meaningful and rewarding writing life I love, and my essays have found welcoming homes in online and traditionally published journals, collections and anthologies.
2. Which part of your essay voice took the longest to trust?
My “soloist” voice. I recoined the phrase as a contemporary option for women (like me) who are, were and/or must-categorize-themselves-on-forms as widowed, divorced or single. When those terms don’t describe our mindsets, the notion of center-stage woman in the performing arts does. That woman is heralded as a “soloist” – skilled, seasoned and confident. So are we – skilled, seasoned and confident, that is. Yet, some folks bristle at such a woman on the social stage. That woman is me. And I am not “alone.” There are many of us, including some of my dearest friends. We face overt and subtle disrespect. That’s why I launched my new Substack with a piece on soloists after an encouraging run on my personal blog. This voice is stronger for its debut and the appreciation and applause of readers who share the status. It earned my trust because it engendered theirs.
3. What subject still feels dangerous for you to approach in an essay?
Hands down, I’m careful when writing about being the eldest child of my (deceased) mother who suffered Borderline Personality Disorder. The danger lay in triggering my siblings’ trauma and alerting elderly family members to abuse they may not have known about or known how to acknowledge. There’s a memoir in me, for sure, to be realized when I can write it to share the healing I’ve been blessed to achieve and handle the matter of severe mental illness with grace and dignity for those who suffer its cruelties and indignities. For now, I approach the subject with abandon – but privately – with memory dumps and note-taking, and reading classics in this subgenre like Educated and The Glass Castle. Publicly, the only manifestation of this subject in my writing is my showcasing of wonderful women who were surrogates for the functional mother I never had and for sensitivity towards women for the invisible scars and lingering vulnerabilities survivors carry.
4. What keeps you returning to the essay when no one is asking you to?
I’m addicted. Essays are like prescription eyeglasses – a synergy of science, art and individualism that widens people’s worlds and brings us home at the same time. Essayists frame issues in our signature styles and bring them into focus so others see and can partake of the experience. It’s an inherently inclusive genre with its humanity as the common thread and its open invitation to share experiences and emotions. I live wider when a woman in Australia laughs at my missives on ageing and shares their own comic travails or a follower in Kansas comments, “You have a way of touching my heart …” after a piece on family rituals. Essays are a short-form that connects quickly, deeply, truly and the appetite for its intimacy is global.
5. If one of your essays could keep a secret from you, what would it be?
I don’t have to guess. The big secret is the identity of my silent partners – legions of anonymous readers of my boutique blog essays! It is gratifying and inspiring to be read in 55 countries around the world and literally in cities from coast to coast and north and south across the United States! It’s also a mystery as to who these devoted followers are as they don’t comment or subscribe. Yet they’re there. Reading along. Thousands of them. Most for a decade or more. I feel and appreciate their steady presence.
6. What do you hope remains unresolved in a reader after they finish one of your essays?
I can’t say I intend to write cliffhangers in my essays, but those who hear me read my published, stand-alone pieces at writers’ mics and book launches do inquire in the Q&A or informal chats about the outcomes of situations I share. Regular readers know the resolution of these predicaments, especially those in the bereavement space. Once a young widow with bereft young daughters to raise, I have written candidly about anticipatory grief, loss and coping techniques – and come full circle as those girls grew up, became healthy, happy women, married and are now the 30-something age I was then, when our family crises hit. Recently, I penned an impromptu piece about my joy in anticipating the birth of my first grandchild entitled, Nesting, Nesting … 1,2,3. A Grandmother – Soon Enough – I Shall Be. Collectively, my body of work explores a full menu of lifecycle (and other) matters and at any point a reader discovers it – wherever it leads her – there’s a seat for her to ride in tandem with me.
Learn more about Lisa Bernard:
Lisa Bernard – Fairfield Scribes
Lisa Bernard’s Substack | Substack
Lisa Bernard’s Boutique Blog – Essays & Musings on Hidden Beauty
GDL POSTS BY LISA BERNARD
