Our Current Predicament. The Quar. 2020 So Far. Whatever you call it, this period of late has been a difficult one for all of us, and writers with new books are no exception. Anticipated publications and reviews are delayed, but the good news is, sooner or later, it all comes together.
And there is something so very timely right now about a book title that centers on being awake and thinking at three o’clock in the morning.
Here at Longridge Review, we like to share good news about writers whose work we have published. Today’s good news is about Sarah Bigham, whose 2017 essay The Drill, examined the aftermath of a childhood surgery to limit damage from a brain injury. Her book represents one of our favorite elements of our mission, the part where writers really get down into hidden influences on their lives from early experience.
Our bodies remember pain, apparently, even when our retrievable memories have purged it.The Drill, Longridge Review, Issue #6
Of Sarah’s new book, publisher Pski’s Porch says:
Plagued with spiraling pain, and wandering the house in the middle of the night unable to sleep, Sarah Bigham began writing in a desperate attempt to distract herself. This collection of her essays and poems ranges from lyrical to mystical to humorous to soul-piercing. Readers will laugh, cry, and nod in agreement as Sarah reminisces, observes, and describes the journey of an ordinary person living a quietly extraordinary life.
Many of the pieces in Chemist recall why we were attracted to The Drill. Sarah has a style that blends memory with reflection, resulting in a meditative experience for the reader. She writes in a way that slows us down, brings our focus, and avoids didactic “answers.” In short, she makes us think with our hearts.
We all collect things, I suppose, the remnants of others, to keep within ourselves. For me, it is what people say, the stories they tell, and the remembrances of their words years later. The jagged edges of the broken bits, sanded by time, fit together as a blessing of sorts, one bestowed on word and story-keepers.Beatitudes, Kind Chemist Wife: Musings at 3 a.m.
A huge thanks to Sarah and to Pski’s Porch for bringing us just what we needed right now. A small, crafted, hand-held book that honors quiet space and time; one that demands nothing but elicits everything. Everything that honors being human.
Sarah Bigham teaches, writes, and paints in Maryland where she lives with her kind chemist wife, three independent cats, an unwieldy herb garden, several chronic pain conditions, and near-constant outrage at the general state of the world tempered with love for those doing their best to make a difference. Sarah’s poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have appeared in a variety of great places for readers, writers, listeners, and thinkers. Find her at www.sgbigham.com. You can purchase her book here: Kind Chemist Wife.