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Dee Dee Mozeleski Hearts Alice Hoffman

Putting a Little Birthday Magic into Your Life…Alice Hoffman

First, a big happy birthday to Alice Hoffman. Ms. Hoffman doesn’t know this (yet), but she helped me through two very difficult times, both having to do with divorce and starting over. I am forever grateful to have found her books right when I needed them. I wonder if that’s the sign of a great author: Giving you what you need through words, all without truly realizing the impact they might have on so many.

For those of you who read my blogs over the years, you may remember my “Practical Magic” series on our old site. I loved writing that and always wanted to find a way to repurpose the posts to have them be timely. For new readers, the short story is that I was in the middle of the longest breakup, ever, and one night, like magic, I found Practical Magic on TV and remembered that the thing that I’m always trying to explain is that far too often, we build a perfect person in order to never find them.

Isn’t that the worst part of love? Not wanting to get hurt again, or not believing you deserve more than you’ve gotten and letting doubt become the reason you can’t fall again.

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How a Hysterectomy and Broken Heart Saved Me…

From myself.

Sometimes, when I think about a title for a post, I try to find a song title or a quote that fits the tone of what I’m writing. Then there are times when I go with whatever pops into my head. In the case of today’s post, nothing popped into my head. Nothing at all.

In fact, since I release Wetsuit I haven’t really felt like writing here, and instead I’ve focused on reading and working on Doliski, which seems to be the hardest thing I’ve had to write, or at least one of the hardest things.

I found the process of writing and editing Wetsuits so emotionally draining. I had no idea that I would feel so much during the days leading up to, and the two weeks after, the launch. I felt lighter.

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Why I Write: Paul

Why do I write?

Because its cheaper than therapy.

The above is my usual reply to those asking me such a banal question.

Honesty of this magnitude quickly forces them to try and think of another question, leaving me enough time to finish my drink and wander off. Having been asked by Dee Dee to actually answer the question veraciously for a change – without delivering the literary equivalent of a middle finger to her readers – I have decided to oblige. I may even stick to the topic…

I suffered brain damage as a result of an accident in Alberta a decade ago. I also awoke with no use of my legs and only a vague idea of who I actually was. It was during these early stages of my convalescence that I struck up a friendship a patient in the bed opposite mine. I discovered over the following days that he had been both a journalist and a novelist during his life, without any enduring success in either endeavor. Idle hours were spent chatting about why people enjoy the craft of storytelling, be it as a recipient, or a teller of tales. He would regale me with memories about uptight newspaper editors and publishers that made Lucifer seem an alright sort of bloke in comparison. In return I told ribald tales of soldiering in foreign lands. Then one morning I awoke to discover the bed opposite me stripped bare and empty. I pondered fleetingly if there had ever been a man there, if my broken mind was unable to define who I was internally, could I trust myself to define reality externally.

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