Come Up From Under the Ice

Let's Warm Ourselves by the Fire

Solid

People call relationships solid

As if they’re ice

The ice on a frozen pond that can withstand the scratching pain of skates and their divots

The freezing rain that pummels and settles in uneven rivulets

But when you are distracted

Gazing in the opposite direction of the sun

Feeling the heat but not registering it

The ice cracks and you fall through

And it always catches you so off guard that you act as if such an occurrence was a freak of nature that was never meant to happen

Especially to you

We long for the security of solid ground, don’t we? Especially when we have felt the fault lines giving way below us. No one wants to fall through the ice. Not only is it cold, but you fear getting stuck down there. The images depicting a person floating away from the hole, struggling under the thick, opaque surface refuse to disappear from our mind’s eye.

I was always somewhat of a family historian. Milling around the old photo albums for stories. Mining the past to shed light on the present.

Warning to fellow storytellers: that’s a somewhat dangerous activity.

No matter how good of a skater you are, you slide around shaky ground.

You examine relationships and uncover stories that were not written in the first drafts of the family journals.

Now what? How do you weave these tales into a family-friendly narrative?

Sure, you want to be authentic—that’s so important in connecting with an audience, but can you truly remove the masks and face the crowd with no filters at all?

There’s a lot of talk from writers out there that our story should “help” others, not simply serve as our own therapy. That’s not just a platitude for me.

I truly want my writing to touch others. I want my future memoir to be for you.

If the story can make another person feel hope, if it can illuminate a path forward, if it can provide a strong grip to pull you out of that cold water, then it must be written. It must be published somehow.

I must remove the veil.

Stories With Shell is growing into a space for connections. A community of readers & writers who are ready to reexamine the experiences that have shaped us into who we are today. We have sometimes questioned our purpose—our very sense of identity. Who are we and why are we here.

Those of us sifting through old photos and family trees and finding broken branches laying all over the ground below can join this group of readers in cleaning up the yard.

We don’t have to do it alone.

We should look for the rays of sunlight blasting through to help.

The common encouragement that storytelling is healing is half the picture. Story reading, finding yourself in a story, is also healing.

My goal is to illuminate the paths in, welcome you to walk with me, and sit around my campfire in the woods to talk through some of those experiences that need clarification. Just like I used to do in real life back in the forest behind my house, the place that sheltered me from the realities I faced outside of the woods.

🔗 [Link to a previous story: Felled Trees]

Come along with me. Let’s warm ourselves by the fire.

[If you feel a pull in this story to connect, feel free to comment or hit the ♥️ button. Or, of course, you can click that “Share” button so others can walk along as well. I love the engagement.]