Still working on my first novel, I am now in revision mode. Not in the way I’ve been “working” on it for all these years. No, this time I am truly revising my draft with a plan and a roadmap, like a real writer, or at least what I imagine a real writer is. It doesn’t matter, because this is my singular experience and I am doing what works for how this project fits into my life so stop judging me, okay?
I’d been working with Jane Gassner, my buddy, my “oldest friend” as she liked to call herself, because at 26 years older than me, the age difference was remarkable. I never noticed, but she did. Knowing that she was older than my parents made her crack wry jokes. Always wry, always just the slightest turn of phrase that others might not catch, so talented with words.
Jane coached me on my writing, cheering me on, sending me words of encouragement and appreciation. From her the praise was golden. She, the great writer, the collector of academic degrees, the decades of experience, was complimenting me, found a connection in my own words. But she also called me on my bullshit, over and over. After years of this, I learned to believe her when she told me something I wrote was good. She wouldn’t lie to me, because she also told me the truth when something I wrote was lazy.
Last year I hired an editor who was not Jane, because Jane herself was going through some heavy life events, including the death of her husband, a relocation, and then health problems. We continued discussing my novel, life in general, her own desire to reinvent herself yet again in her long life.
I devote my Saturdays to my manuscript, and usually only my Saturdays, because that’s the only day I have the time and energy. At the end of a writing session, I send my latest chapter to Jane, and although she isn’t the official editor, I value her opinion and want to see what she has to say about the New and Improved version. She always does have something to say.
But last week she died. And the email I sent her last Saturday with the latest chapter went unanswered. It was unusual, and I was going to call her on Monday to check on her, but then I received word that she had passed away on Thursday, February 10.
On Thursday, February 10, I joined some work colleagues for margaritas. On Friday I had my writers group meeting and I told them all about how I send my chapters to Jane, and I wanted to hurry up and finish the book so she could read it. On Saturday I wrote. On Sunday I watched the Super Bowl.
All that time Jane wasn’t alive anymore, and I had no idea.
So it’s been a week now, and I feared I wouldn’t be able to work on my book again, but then I thought Jane would be pissed if I gave up now, so I did work on it. And the whole time I had, in the back of my mind, the sadness that I can’t send her the chapters anymore, that I can’t look forward to talking to her about anything under the sun, that I won’t hear her fully committed laugh, that I’ll never be able to hand her this finished book and say “thank you for making this possible, for helping me grow as a writer and a woman and a human person and a friend.”
So I guess I’m saying it now.
What actually happened as I wrote was that I had Jane’s voice in my head asking me questions, pushing me to be better. I feel a bigger responsibility now, to not just finish the book, but to make it excellent. The story was inspired by my late friend Lisa, and my writing improved thanks to my now late friend Jane. I owe it to them.
In the last six months, Jane would often tell me not to rush myself because what I’ve set out to do with this novel is big and complicated (the line between life and death, the power of friendship…you know, a light beach read). But what is bigger and more complicated than the loss of a friend? She’d insert something here, a sentence that sounds like a wisecrack but contains a profound truth. She’s probably doing that right now, looking over my shoulder.
In time, I will know the words. For now, I simply say “Thank you, Jane Gassner. You are irreplaceable.”
Leanne says
Beautifully written and you are right, she is right there, looking over your shoulder, pushing you to be excellent!
Andrea says
I love you. I am sorry. I wish I could hug you and cry.
Julia says
So sorry to hear about the loss of this wonderful woman. Sending so much love to you.
Charlene Ross says
I’m so sorry about the loss of your dear friend Jane. I know she was one in a million. (And so are you.) I know she’s watching from that space between and cheering you on. Sending so much love, friend.
Charlene Ross recently posted…2021: That’s a Wrap
Eddy says
Sorry for your loss. I know how it feels when you lose someone who is so close and dear to you. My best wishes for your project. I’m sure Jane will be proud of you when you will be done with this.