Writing as Reverence
“The image comes first and tells me what the "memory" is about.” —Toni Morrison
A song to set the vibe:
Dear relatives,
This week, my little one asked a profound question that I can’t stop thinking about, What happens if the future dies?
And with this, it sunk in that I am stewarding the life of a future ancestor. As a mother to an almost 5-year-old young person, I often find myself trying to answer questions that I don’t know how to. We are at the stage of development where the complexity and fluidity of language structure are growing, and he can express any curiosity his heart desires. And ask, he does! In his nuanced questions, I am able to grasp the depth of his innate love of storytelling. Every detail matters, and the beauty of childhood is not letting the holes in a story stagnate the capacity of the imagination. It’s okay to make it up as you go and to dream of how things could unfold.
I stumbled a bit with this inquiry—he had to ask me twice—and there was an extended pause that I suspect he detected. I attempted to answer earnestly, maybe even conservatively, out of fear of the unknown. Seconds later, I felt my emotions swell from the deepest place inside of me; everything all at once surfaced to meet the sincerity of the question. “I suppose there will be no tomorrow,” I said. He asked me a third time, almost coaching me toward something I had forgotten.
In the context of our reading for the week, my son’s question feels revelatory. “The Site of Memory,” by Toni Morrison—which I’ve referenced at least once in prior essays—continues to be a wellspring I return to for insight and direction. I also cite a pivotal scene from Morrison’s book, Beloved, as a catalyst and source of inspiration for starting this newsletter, which you can read here.
In the essay, Morrison defines her work as a writer and Black woman in the canon—namely that of memoir and autobiography by or about formerly enslaved people—alongside a history of Black literature. She speaks of her work as a form of “literary archeology” and notes “On the basis of some information and a little bit of guesswork you journey to a site to see what remains were left behind and to reconstruct the world that these remains imply.” This passage serves as a reminder that the excavation in storywork happens in and with the imagination.
Within “The Site of Memory,” we can also find the beloved quote, “All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.” The part often left out is the follow-up to that infamous phrase, which helps to clarify what Morrison means when she talks about the role of memory and imagination in writing. She says, “Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place. It is emotional memory—what the nerves and the skin remember as well as how it appeared. And a rush of imagination is our "flooding."
The landscape of my child’s imagination feels like an ocean—wholly attuned to the pulse of ancestral memory. And I wonder, where do his questions originate? What do they look like in his mind? What is their color, shape, and texture? As he learns to speak, he learns to draw and write. His ideas are generative, and the coherence with which he can communicate—weaving between oral, visual, and written language—is an immense joy to witness. The answers he conjures to his own questions are equally thrilling to hear.
What happens if the future dies?
He asked me again, this time with a particular cadence as if trying to jar my memory. I offer the same dry response. My child, with authority, gently says, “No, momma. If the future dies, we will live this day forever.” I can’t imagine a more precise or precious answer. Not yet, anyway. But I’ll keep trying.
Relatives, I’d love to hear your take on this question in the comments. Let your imagination bloom. Get lost in the possibilities and the profundity. Interpret it as it feels right in the moment because, as my little one reminds us, it’s all we truly have.
With gratitude,
Christian
Noticing
Switching it up from the previous “Listening, Reading, Creating” list here. I mentioned in a Note that I’ve recently noticed an uptick in content related to leaving social media or utilizing the platform less as a means to share creative work. If you read the Note and care to share, I’d love to read your comments.
Reading
Next week, we’ll be reading and reflecting on “My True South: Why I Decided to Return Home”, by Jesmyn Ward. This essay is where most of my reading attention will be devoted, and some will be dedicated to catching up on posts from fellow Substack writer, Nishant Jain, creator of The SneakyArt Post.
Creating
In the spirit of memory, and horning creativity no matter when it happens, the photo up top is one from my archives. This one was made in 2008 in Oga, Akita Prefecture (northern Honshū) on the Sea of Japan. My friend is delicately holding a little frog that we found on the coast.