A year ago in August, I was contacted about writing an article. The woman who emailed me read my Biddeford article for the “big city paper,” The Boston Globe. She liked it and thought I had what it took to tell her story. It was about a town that had stopped making paper.
In 2016, I was in a funk. I told Mark that “maybe I should quit” the writing game.
Part of this was self-pity. But part of it was also feeling like my writing was going nowhere. At the time, it wasn’t.
Mark’s response was, “keep doing what you’re doing, dad.”
I told the woman that I couldn’t do it.
Then, Mark was killed.
In January (and February, March, and April), writing didn’t seem to matter. Yes, I was blogging. This was more about simply pouring out my pain associated with loss and grief. I was shocked that people actually read my posts.
A decision was made to reconnect with the woman who reached out to me in 2016. She was pleased to hear from me. She was also sorry about Mark.
One year after she first contacted me, I made my first trip down the coast. I’d make several more.
I talked to people in the town. The town had lost a mill. A mill that had been making paper since 1930. I also met a man with big ideas about logs not needed for making paper. Continue reading