Living Summer to Its Fullest

With a sunburn on a small part of one shoulder, I told myself a day out of the sun might be best for today. But in truth, I think I was looking for an excuse to putter here at home. Since getting out of school two weeks ago, I’ve taken the phrase, “Live life to its fullest!” to heart. A trip to Boston, The Color Run, a week of Young Authors Camp, a night at the movies, two ocean days and one day at the pool, a visit with Mom, a wedding reception, Causeway walks and fireworks, even time spent snuggling baby goats, and several BBQs later, these first fifteen days of my summer vacation have been a whirlwind adventure of fun! 

But today has been just as nice. I completed a few chores that had been neglected. I located the vacuum that had been in hiding, emptied the upstairs wastepaper baskets, cleared off “the blue table” by putting away the last of my teaching materials, swept pine needles off the deck, and reorganized my writing desk (which then inspired me to write two blog posts). I took the pups for a mid-afternoon nap, read a couple of chapters in a new book, and even watched an episode of Law & Order with little Zoe in my lap. Even our kitty Jenny hopped up for an extended period of cuddling. I took a shower around 5:00pm, plopping down in front of my bedroom fan while in my towel, hair sopping wet. I played Yahtzee on my phone and I opened up and hung two strings of outdoor lights on the little tree near our deck. Oh, and I antagonized my son a bit, had him go down cellar to change the kitty litter box, then made him lunch. 

Shortly I’ll head outside to water the flowers. No doubt the pups will run around the house as I move from one planted pot to the next. I’ll chase them, retrieve another saliva covered ball to throw again, hear Ziva playfully growl in excitement as I try to pull her toy away from her. Zoe will go to her favorite digging hole and then play keep-a-way when it’s time to head back inside, coming in ten minutes later when she’s proven her point. The sun will set, I’ll read another chapter or two in my book, join my family for a little TV, and get to bed before midnight. 

     

That’s as much as I know. How tomorrow will unfold, I haven’t a clue. Maybe I’ll pop up out of bed and get in an early workout at the gym. Maybe I’ll laze around in bed and read some more. Maybe I’ll make us all a big breakfast and we’ll find a movie to watch together in the family room. Maybe I’ll hit the beach again, go to a movie matinee, sneak off for a pedicure…

     

One thing is for sure. I’ll be grateful for another day of summer. 

Inspiration: Young Authors Camp

   

For five days, June 27-July 1, 2016, I led a Young Authors Camp at the Naples Public Library here in town. Offered through the Southern Maine Writing Project, of which I became a Teacher Consultant back in 2007, the YAC day camp allows children and teens of all ages an opportunity to meet one another for a week of creative writing time. This was my first year leading a camp. Although each site is to have a minimum of six campers to cover costs, an exception was made for our group of four. We are a rare high school aged group and the coordinators hoped to nurture this budding interest in the Lakes Region. 

I had butterflies the morning of our first day. I arrived at the library an hour early and Dani Longley, the library's director (who would prove to be an incredibly supportive force for the teens and I), carried in several boxes of materials to The Gathering Room which would serve as our home base. As the campers arrived, I shook hands, smiled brightly, introduced myself as "Anne", and made last minute arrangements with parents concerning pick-ups at dismissal time. I led everyone to our meeting room. Then, we were off and writing!

In our week the three girls and one boy experimented with various writing exercises and prompts, practiced giving feedback to one another, enjoyed a fun writer’s marathon exploring our beautiful town, and worked on pieces to submit to an anthology of writings from all area Young Authors Camp participants. We tested the variety of nooks in the library and settled into our spaces to write. We often ate lunch together on the beautiful deck of the library overlooking the town. Those were times when the campers would find their way to me, to ask me to look over their stories, to ask a question, or to simply talk. At the end of each day, I asked my campers to leave me honest feedback on how the day’s activities had gone for them and whether or not they had suggestions for the next day. It was my hope that each participant was learning, feeling accomplished, and having fun. The teens expressed strong appreciation for the free writing time and the array of interesting exercises. They also proposed a few new activities they hoped to try. 

The writing marathon day was clearly their favorite day! It was mine as well, for it had been the day our group had truly bonded. Walking through town together a natural sharing of our writing and our lives had come about. By the time we reached our final destination on the marathon, the playground, it was evident the four teens had become friends. I sat at a picnic table watching the four of them push one another on the merry-go-'round and I felt all the emotions of a proud parent and teacher. The group was also sincere in their interest to encourage one another’s voices. They consistently shared their excitement to return to camp the next day. The notes gave me the satisfaction of knowing their time at camp was well spent. I could not have asked for a better set of young people to spend time with at the start of my summer.

Although my intention had been to inspire these young people to fall further in love with the written word, working with these four teens over the course of the five days has inspired me as a writer. Their enthusiasm to fill the blank page, to dive into new genres, to experiment with new approaches to writing was beautiful to witness. I began to realize it was time for me to reopen my own writing journals, to recommit to my love of writing.

Returning home after our last day together, I emptied my bag of books and writing utensils and took time to read the notes each had penned to me as we were about to exchange our goodbyes. Signing on to lead a Young Authors Camp, doing the leg work to bring one to Naples, and extending my teaching year for this one week was undoubtedly a blessing. And throughout this summer, I vow right here and now to practice what I’ve preached, to take a risk each new day to put words on the blank page. 

Commencement Speech--Gray-New Gloucester High School--2016

Commencement Speech by Anne Walker

June 11, 2016

Good afternoon! It is a BEAUTIFUL day! Thank you for asking me to speak at this year’s graduation ceremony! I am honored to do so and I humbly offer up these words to you.

First, let me briefly introduce myself. My name is Anne, or as many call me, Mrs. Walker. I have taught English at Gray-New Gloucester High School for the past 25 years. Aside from the hundreds of teens I work with each year, I’m also a mom of three biological children at home--two girls, one boy, ages 24, 20, and 16. My husband Eric--who teaches math here at GNG--and I have been married for 27 years--we were once high school sweethearts growing up in Millinocket, Maine. It was in Millinocket that I was raised by two incredible people--my parents-- my champions, and a wonderfully supportive small town community much like this one. It’s probably significant for me to add that I am a romantic, a dreamer, a sentimentalist. I have long been known as someone who feels deeply and cries easily, BUT I am also as FIERCE as they come! (CACKLE!)

Are you okay? I apologize if I got your hearts racing there. My cackle is theatrical. It’s a gimmick I pull out when I teach William Shakespeare’s Macbeth, as I introduce my students to the three weird sisters, the witches. It’s also, simply, FUN. I love how in just one big breath I can make people jump out of their seats. That’s power. But it’s playful power. That’s the only kind of power I seek to have.

Being playful is often viewed as undignified, but without the joyfulness of our inner child, we can become too serious, too cynical. Without playfulness and joy, we can feel our hurts too deeply...and for too long. If we want happiness in life, we need to stay playful, or at least, to keep a sense of humor. Play and humor can alter the world around us. It can sustain us.

My cackle is a simple way I can break out of my shell, my serious, introverted self. It allows me to quickly embrace silliness and the beauty of human vulnerability. To do it takes great courage and most of the time, it makes people laugh. Contrary to its sadistic sound, it stirs up good energy and good energy is contagious. I read once that, “The effect you have on others is the most valuable currency in the world”. I wholeheartedly believe this. It’d be wonderful if we each reflected every day on the effect we have on others, to stir up good energy when we have the opportunity, but particularly in lives as busy as most of us lead, it’s easy to miss the opportunities for laughter, playfulness, and authentic human connection. But we can vow now to pay closer attention to how we affect others--to work harder to show up for those who need us, to listen more closely, to take time to laugh. We ought to make sure we’re laughing at ourselves too, for it’s good to stay humble.

Lest I be seen as naive, let me add that I KNOW life gets difficult. There are dark days when anxiety or trauma shows us how ROUGH it can get out there and in here and here. Pain is REAL and hardships for ALL of us do come--and not just once. Life is FULL of challenges--some small but sharp, some so big that you question how to take another step forward. Fear is also a player in life but it’s good to be reminded that we get to decide how much. That’s also within our power. We should also remember and be courageous to ask for help when we need it--and to surround ourselves with positive people who help us lead rich and meaningful lives. No man is an island, my Dad used to remind me. Know that you are stronger than you know. Don’t ever let fear turn you against yourself.

Some of you know that I’m in LOVE with a movie titled, “Hector and the Search for Happiness”. In the movie Hector asks an old monk: “You’ve been a fugitive. You’ve been in prison for your beliefs. You’ve lost family and loved ones. I mean, you’ve just been through so much. How is it you’re so happy?” The old monk replies: “Because I’ve been through so much”.

You see, we can live our lives believing the world OWES us...that people OWE us...that we are ENTITLED….OR...we can live our lives being grateful. The choice is ours. We’ll do better to accept that we will need to work for what we most want in life--whether that is more education, a particular career, a loving relationship or raising a happy family. Most of all, we must not wait for inspiration or motivation to work towards our dreams. I agree with the advice that, “it is better to cultivate discipline than to rely on motivation. We ought to force ourselves to do things, to practice, to work. Motivation is fleeting and it’s easy to rely upon because it requires no concentrated effort to get. Motivation comes to us, and we don’t have to chase after it. Discipline is reliable. The question isn’t how to keep ourselves motivated. It’s how to train ourselves to work without it”.

Parents--thank you for your tireless devotion and attention to these young people. Teachers and community members--thank you for your contributions to the education of this generation. Each person in this room has the power to serve this world in one way or another and these graduates are the evidence that you have done so already. Thank you students, parents, community members for giving me THIS opportunity to serve you and to learn from you.

These young people have taught me so much over the years. Most of all that each new day is another opportunity to be kind, to cultivate more compassion and forgiveness, to work to understand the point of view of those around me, to know that anger is the bodyguard of sadness and to realize that each new day is a chance to do good. And in doing these things, to be happy. The authenticity, the humor, the inspiration of these teens has sustained me during some of the most challenging years of my life. I am honored to have shared this Earth with you these past four years. Our work, our discussions, our PLAY--it’s all made me love life even MORE than I already did. Most of all, I feel BLESSED to have laughed with you--and to have loved you.

On the other side of these doors there is a world that is starving for new workers and dreamers--for new ideas, new leadership, fresh energy, big hearts, the most beautiful music. Don’t worry. You’ll come up with your style--your own way to live--and it’s okay to make mistakes--we all have a reset button. Don’t forget that. I ride mine constantly. Relax, dream up a good life--an AMAZING life--and then go and make it happen. Work towards your goals--let go of the misconception that there is only one way to make them come to pass because to think that way is ridiculous! The doors of opportunity keep relocating. When a door opens in life, walk through it. And if you’re at all afraid, conjure up a good cackle.

Are you ready? Yes. You’re ready. If there was ANYTHING in my speech that resonated with you, I invite you, no, I PLEAD with you to show me right now on the count of three. Take a deep breath and let out a big sound--call it a cackle, call it a YELP, call it a crow, call it a scream. It doesn’t matter. Just show the world that you are HERE and you are READY to walk through these doors. It’s a BEAUTIFUL day! Live life with joy and humor and gratitude! Don’t ever take it for granted!

Ready? On three. ONE, TWO, THREE……………(NOISE…... LAUGHTER......)

Once again, thank you so much. My love I give to you always.

More AND Less

This year I was brave and fierce! Yay me!

It’s New Year’s Eve! And once again, I have felt the pull of the keyboard and the empty page. I have scribbled lists of goals, set up new calendars with motivational mantras, pledged changes, and vowed to start anew on old challenges. There’s the cliche goal I set several times a year to get more fit. (I’ve experienced both success and setbacks with this goal). I pledge to save more money and to get better organized. I promise to read more, to write more, and to go to bed earlier. I vow to try new things--a new sport, another hobby, another creative pursuit. I speak both of taking more time for solitude while pushing myself to get out and socialize more. Now, I do see the logic of those who will note my habitual goal setting and who will think, “This is evidence that resolutions don’t work. Why isn’t she succeeding with these goals she keeps setting time after time?” But that’s the thing. My resolutions each season--yes, I make resolutions each January, June, and September--are the evidence of my unfailing attempt to better myself. It’s not always a focus upon the end result. It’s about the journey and the renewal of hope and optimism. It’s about acknowledging my humanity and my stumbles and applauding my tenacity and determination to always try again.

As 2015 comes to a close I have taken time to reflect on the lessons of the past year and I will share with you a few of my conclusions; I am proud of my continued strength and grace in the face of adversity, of my childlike glee and gratitude for the many blessings of this world, of my work to understand and to forgive myself and others, of my courage to try new things (I joined a color run this year and got a pixie cut!) and of my unflinching determination to pull myself back on track with the many goals I have for this life of mine. I have no desire, no need to slam the door on the old year for it taught me to recognize how I’ve grown wiser, happier, and more at peace. Therefore, I want 2016 to be an extension of the strides I made in 2015--to do more--giving, singing, adventuring, listening, relaxing, laughing, sleeping, creating, experimenting, and to do less--worrying, self-critiquing, procrastinating--to BE more--generous, positive, authentic, inspired, patient, and to BE less--achy, tired, overwhelmed, and to HAVE more--dinners at the table, energy, time outside, water, prayer, and to HAVE less--wastefulness, clutter, doubt, sugar, diet soda, anxiety. 

The phrase “More or Less” has been rattling around in my brain over the past several days. It’s funny how each new year a word or phrase comes to me to give direction to my desire to start anew. So, I’m trusting the phrase and over the next several weeks or perhaps months, I’m going to ask myself, “More? or Less?” This can and will be applied to each of the goals I work towards and at the end of the day or even at the end of a particular project, I’ll ask myself the questions. 

I wish you all MORE joy, health, comfort, and security in the year ahead! I wish you LESS turmoil, frustration, and heartbreak. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

P.S. I keep thinking there is MORE I should add to this. But I’m going to trust that perhaps this is enough, that LESS is MORE. :) 

Dear Bob

Dear Bob, 

Today I sang for you and for your beautiful family and a large congregation of friends and fellow parishioners. They orchestrated a lovely service and I wanted to do you proud, to give you the sweetest send-off my voice could offer. Thank you, Neault family for giving me this honor of cantoring Bob’s funeral mass. Bob, thank you for two decades of generous support of me as not only a fellow parent, but as an artist and writer. I’m remembering today how you introduced me to a job writing blog posts for a local realtor--a venture I’d never even considered, and in doing so, you earned me this bright yellow chair I’m sitting in right now as I type this. Thank you for the display of faith that you’ve always had in me. 

You and I brought our families to Naples at the same time. Saying this is my way of acknowledging the fact that we are transplants in this southwestern Maine community. I’ve always been incredibly proud of my hometown of Millinocket and although you are originally from Massachusetts, we share that quality of “hometown pride”. We weren’t born and raised here, yet we both have made this beautiful town our home. You may have arrived here a little sooner, in 1991, whereas we arrived in January 1992. We didn’t meet right away. That’s probably my fault for I had our family attending mass in Windham until it was brought to my attention that the little brown church up on High Street in Bridgton was our town’s parish. We made the switch and I’m so glad to have done so, for especially on a day like today, I cannot imagine the past twenty + years without my St. Joseph’s family. I’m going to miss seeing you there each week. I’ll miss listening to you lectoring and I’ll miss your smile, your wink, your sense of humor, your wisdom, and your steadfastness--amongst so many of your other good qualities. 

Our children grew up together, were involved in the theater together, and each of them participated in various events and celebrations of mass. In the early years our kids stood side by side near the altar as altar boys and girls or donning robes and costumes, singing in the annual Christmas pageant. Today I listened to Danny’s words about you and I thought, “Wow. What a good man you and Anne raised. I know you’re incredibly proud of him right now, and always”. I listened as Liam and Katie sang that touching song in tribute to you and I thought, “There it is. Right here--the strength, all-encompassing love that a father like you deserves to have”. I felt very blessed and honored to stand by your children at the piano, to hug them each and to have had the chance to say how sorry I am that they lost you but also emphasizing to each how beautiful a family they are. And thank you, Bob, you and your family have been so kind and good to my own three children and to Eric and I too, of course. Even today as Anne greeted me at the reception following the service, she spoke to acknowledge Sydney, Emma, Paul, and Eric. I’m so touched by this.

I didn’t expect to say goodbye to you so soon. I said my prayers and kept you and your family in my thoughts from the moment I heard of your stroke. I heard of your decline a few days before your death and I still held onto hope that you would pull through. I suppose it was tough for me to accept that a man so full of life, so strong and dedicated to his family and his community and to his church was being called to serve God so soon in new ways, in a new home. 

Before I headed back to Naples after your service today, I stopped at the local bookstore. Books have always been a comfort to me but in truth, what I was looking for were the interactions between our fellow townspeople. I listened to the salesclerk helping a man find a new book about coins, heard her ask a young girl if she was in the store’s book club, and I smiled as the clerk gave me a ten dollar credit I’d earned for frequenting this local business. When I arrived home, I was greeted by a letter from a dear friend of mine, a former Millinocket neighbor. His letter’s words could not have been better timed. Responding to a note I’d penned him as I anticipated another recent death in my life he wrote, “We can fear death, hate death, run from death, shout at death...death is at the doorstep but the fruit that is born out of death can make life fuller and richer. Maybe not in the moment, maybe not for awhile, but the harvest will come”. 

As we head towards another Christmas at St. Joseph’s, as I travel daily over the bridge you worked tirelessly for to aid our community, as I see our hometown of Naples ablaze in the glory of twinkling Christmas lights, as I hear God’s words each Sunday, and as I sing with the choir in the weeks, months, and years ahead, I will give thanks to you, Bob. For you, dear man, have borne much fruit here in our beloved community and we shall all reap the rewards for decades to come. 

Go forth, Bob. I’ll meet you there in our new hometown someday. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the place. 

Remembering Christmas...in July

Inspired by an article Josh sent to me this morning, about the importance and need to make the "clackety noise" on the keyboard, I’m sharing another TBT post and these other favorite Christmas pictures. 

Christmas 2011

There are such special memories I have of the many Christmas visits with my parents over the years. Welcoming Mom and Dad as they drove in our driveway, running out to greet them with the children, and feeling as though their car doors weren’t opening quickly enough...grabbing the red and white cooler and hearing Mom say that the big cool whip container of creton was mine and that there was one inside for Kevin too, and how she made zucchini bread and pumpkin bread, and those shortbread sandwich cookies that I love. “I used pink and green frosting too!” 

“Oh you girls make such delicious food!” Dad would exclaim as the children guided him into our home. “Take our room”, I’d tell him as he asked as to where he should put the suitcases. “Oh! We get the Walker Inn Suite!?” he’d ask. “Ooooh! Such nice accomodations at this Bed and Breakfast” and we’d all laugh. 

Christmas Eve 2010

When it was time to leave for the childrens’ Mass on Christmas Eve, I’d hear Dad whistle when he saw Mom all dressed up and he’d ask the children, “Isn’t your grandmother the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?!” and when I came down the stairs, he’s whistle again and say, “Oh Anne, you look just like your mother!” 

At Mass Mom and Dad would take their seats across from the choir where Eric, the children and I would sit to sing. They would beam with pride. Returning home Mom and I prepared the annual buffet meal together with the girls’ help while the boys helped us set the table. We’d welcome Eric’s parents, brother, and grandparents too and I’d listen to Dad and Papa Paul discuss the “good ol’ days”. 

“You’ll have us up bright and early, I’m sure”, Dad would exclaim as he and Mom headed upstairs for the night. But before he retired, Dad would sneak into the living room to fill our stockings with pens, soaps, and chocolates. He’d wrap a few presents too and place them in the branches of our tree. 

“Oh my God! What time is it?!” he’d exclaim loudly as giggling children pushed his arm, attempting to get him up so we could send Eric downstairs to turn on the Christmas tree lights. Mom would giggle and head to grab her robe and Dad would groan and laugh as the kids begged him to rise. 

Dad was cold one Christmas morning and came out of the bathroom wearing my green fleece robe. It made me laugh when he said, “Oh! This is a good one! This will keep me nice and warm!” It became a tradition after that for him to wear one of my robes. Dad would also grab his Santa hat (he packed it in his suitcase each year) and one year I found my own. We posed for a picture. I’m grateful for that. 

Another picture I am grateful to have snapped is this one of Dad and the children waiting on the stairs for the Christmas tree lights to be turned on, the traditional “permission signal” for them to see the stockings and their presents. Forever playful, Dad took his seat on the stairs with the children. 

Christmas morning 2011

It was a beautiful last Christmas with Mom and Dad, but truth be told, every Christmas with them was special. I am so incredibly lucky to say that I missed only two with them in the 45 years I had with Dad during my lifetime, one in 2009 and one in 2012. In 2009 I cried like a child hearing that they would not be able to make it down to our home. But my daughter and I, in our sadness, began crafting a silly song to raise our spirits. As we sang the song and continued adding verses, a sense of peace came over me. I realized that as sad as I was, the love and the memories and the traditions Mom and Dad had helped my family build over the years would never fade. Our family enjoyed a very special Christmas in 2009 and again in 2012 when we again could not celebrate with Mom and Dad, we knew we’d indeed continue to have a very Merry Christmas for years and years to come. 

In January 2013 my parents called me. They had just received the shoebox of Christmas cookies I had mailed to them. There were several varieties in the box---some with chocolate, my Mom’s favorite, and some without, so Dad could enjoy them too. Hearing both of them exclaim over how wonderful it was to receive this gift of cookies made me smile. In the two Christmases since Dad’s passing, I’ve continued baking several varieties of cookies and now I take Mom’s favorites over to her at her new home and we eat a few together. 

My Dad was always so loving and affectionate, but he was also very honest. He was clear to remind me that someday he would not be around, and although I always tried hard to brush off what Mom and I called, “Dad’s morbid talk”, Dad did savor the present moment, of that there is no doubt, and taking my Christmas memories book, which he so loved reading and rereading each year, he would say, “Write it down, Anne. Write it down, so you’ll always remember”. 

Christmas morning 2011

I love you, all. <3

Christmas Eve 2014

My Journey with Harper Lee's Go Set a Watchman

I was out on my back deck having my lunch as I read the last twenty pages. After finishing Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman, I cried. It cannot be a coincidence that I ended the book just as it began to rain. My nose got tingly and my eyes filled with tears. “Well done, Miss Harper Lee”, I whispered into the air. “Thank you”. 

I was teaching Freshman English when I first met Scout, Atticus, Tom Robinson, and Boo Radley. My own high school years had been devoid of reading many classic novels, much to the chagrin of my mother who never failed to remind me that she was disappointed that a certain teacher, a proponent of classic literature, had retired just short of my entering high school. So it was after I became a teacher that I was introduced to many novels that had passed me by as a student. Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird quickly became a favorite and as is the case whenever I teach literature year after year, I grew to love and to fully know the characters. I even named my cat, Boo. 

Years later I came upon Charles J. Shields’ Mockingbird: A Portrait of Harper Lee (2007) and I devoured it. I remember sharing my discoveries about the author with my students and with my husband. My admiration for Nelle Harper Lee grew as I read about her life, her work, her writing of TKAM, and her circle of family and friends, including the colorful Truman Capote who had inspired the funny little boy, Dill, in her famous novel. Then, last year, another book about Harper Lee was published, Marja Mills’ The Mockingbird Next Door: Life with Harper Lee (2014). I was halfway through the reading of this book when allegations of the book being unauthorized came to my attention. As covered in USA Today, in July 14, 2014, Harper Lee wrote: “Normally, I would not respond to questions about books written on my life. Miss Mills befriended my elderly sister, Alice. It did not take long to discover Marja’s true mission; another book about Harper Lee. I was hurt, angry, and saddened, but not surprised. I immediately cut off all contact with Miss Mills, leaving town whenver she headed this way”. I read Harper Lee’s disclaimer that she had given the author her blessing, that journalist Mills had forged this friendship with both Nelle Harper Lee and her older sister, Alice, and I began to fill ill at the thought that perhaps both sisters had been duped by someone who had used them to make a buck. I hesitated but then finished Mills’ book, cringing the whole time, and feeling unsettled in what now felt like an invasive, voyeuristic experience. 

So when I first heard of the publication of Go Set a Watchman, my first thoughts went to Miss Lee. I felt a fierce protectiveness. The recluse author who had never published any other novel was now elderly. Had she signed off on this? Were people again taking advantage of her? Was she of sound mind? Why now, Miss Lee? I felt sad at the thought that a writer who had refused to publish a second novel for decades may have been the victim of someone taking advantage of her. I wanted to say, “No. I won’t read this”, as if refusing to purchase the book would make me a better person or would do right by Harper Lee. But in early June, I preordered a copy. And a few weeks’ later, somehow having forgotten that I’d done so already, I ordered it again. That’s right. On July 14th, 2015, two copies of Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee arrived on my doorstep. As I lifted the books from their packing box, I started to cry. “Are you crying?” my husband asked me. “WHY?!”  I didn’t answer him, but it was because I knew what I was holding in my hands, something I’d longed to have for decades, another chance to read the writing of Harper Lee. 

When the news first broke out about this novel’s publication, it didn’t take long before folks weighed in on the book. Confusion abounded and people corrected one another. “It’s not a sequel!” they said. “It’s actually a prequel”. “No, it’s the first draft of the novel that eventually became To Kill a Mockingbird!”  I read enough to learn that it was the novel that Harper Lee had first submitted to her editors in the 1950‘s and that with their suggestions on how the book could be reworked, Harper Lee had completed serious revisions to craft the now famous classic. 

I told myself I was going to read the book so I could further learn from the author from a writer’s point of view. Perhaps that is how I was justifying my desire to read more from Harper Lee. But thankfully, I first came across the PBS American Masters’ broadcast on July 10, 2015. This documentary of Nelle Harper Lee was full of information I already knew having read Fields’ and Mills’ biographies, but it gave me the peace of mind that Miss Lee was indeed fully cognizant of the publication of Go Set a Watchman. Her response to it? “It is what it is”. I got what I considered enough of a blessing to go at it. 

Now, before I actually started reading the book, I came across more discussion from those who read the book before me. I heard Atticus being called a racist and I saw headlines to other articles that said the novel was a “disgrace”. It had done wrong to the noble American icon,  Atticus Finch. Others say Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman should never have been published, that Atticus has been grossly tarnished. Or that To Kill a Mockingbird should have remained pure!  One reviewer on Goodreads, “Khanh”, said, “Sometimes, I want simplicity, and I want bliss in ignorance”. 

Well, there it is. If you want things simple, if you want to remain blissfully ignorant, by all means, skip this book. 

But I, for one, have no regrets having read Go Set a Watchman. From the King James Bible: For thus hath the Lord said unto me, Go, set a watchman, let him declare what he seeth” (Isaiah 21:6), the verse speaks of being set on the right path and of listening to one’s conscience. Once set as the original title for To Kill a Mockingbird, it’s actually a very fitting title for this “new” book. Lee’s book, for those who are ready for it, imparts a fuller understanding of what it means to form a conscience and to be human. I have learned from Harper Lee once again. I, like Scout, believe in honesty, even when it hurts. And I, like Atticus Finch, believe in giving everyone their say, even when their beliefs go against mine. I am not afraid of the truth that all people can help me in one way or another. 

Near the end of the book, Scout’s Uncle Jack tells her, “You’ve no doubt heard some pretty offensive talk since you’ve been home, but instead of getting on your charger and blindly striking it down, you turned and ran. You said, in effect, ‘I don’t like the way these people do, so I have no time for them.’ You’d better take time for ‘em, honey, otherwise you’ll never grow...”

I can’t but help to snicker when I read of people running from this book. I don’t mean to suggest that anyone who isn’t secure in their understanding of how a writer writes or who cannot separate TKAM from its early draft force themselves to read this, but still, the irony of Uncle Jack’s words isn’t lost on me. 

Atticus Finch gives Scout another valuable lesson when he patiently allows his daughter to rail against him and his expressed beliefs. Although it was difficult to read at times, their confrontation displayed the honor of hearing one another out, of confronting difficult conversations that would otherwise eat at you from the inside. Scout more than challenges Atticus, she throws everything she has at him. And Atticus never displays hurt that would stop Scout from saying what she needs to say. He remains a gentleman. When Scout comes to the realization that she must leave Maycomb, never to return again, it is Uncle Jack who again speaks truth to her, “You’ve had a busy day. It’s bearable, Jean Louise, because you are your own person now...you, Miss, born with your own conscience, somewhere along the line fastened it like a barnacle onto your father’s. As you grew up, when you were grown, totally unknown to yourself, you confused your father with God. You never saw him as a man with a man’s heart, and a man’s failings--I’ll grant you it may have been hard to see, he makes so few mistakes, but he makes ‘em like all of us...We wondered, sometimes, when your conscience and his would part company, and over what....well, we know now. 

Jack explains to Scout aka Jean Louise, why he had to be the one to say all this to her, and why it could not be her father, “You wouldn’t have listened to him. You couldn’t have listened. Our gods are remote from us, Jean Louise. They must never descend to human level...(Atticus) was letting you break your icons one by one. He was letting you reduce him to the status of a human being”. 

Atticus is a literary character, beloved by all who read To Kill a Mockingbird. I will continue to love him in that book, but I can also understand the Atticus that appears in Go Set a Watchman, and although this Atticus isn’t the beloved saint of a man some wanted or needed him to continue to be, I admire the transition and the growth that the flawed Atticus allows Jean Louise. 

Miss Lee, I thank you. I thank you for showing me more of the childhood experiences of Jem, Dill, and Scout. I laughed at their “Revival” play and when Jean Louise nearly killed herself on September 30th. I thank you for the tears I shed--they were cathartic. I thank you for trusting me to see this book as a companion text to TKAM. I thank you for letting the writer within me confirm that a classic novel’s writing doesn’t happen in the first draft. I thank you for explaining that Go Set a Watchman “is what it is”, a writer’s initial exploration of characters and conscience. I thank you for embracing the suggestions made by your editors decades ago and for the work you put into this book to create from it, To Kill a Mockingbird, and I thank you for allowing me the pleasure of seeing the future journey of  many of these beloved characters, especially Scout. I like her. I like her so very much. Most of all, thank you for reminding me that “every man’s watchman is his conscience”.