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Dear Marcel;

I winced when I received your blog entry, my butt cheeks clenched and I wondered what are you thinking?   Then I remembered your humor and relaxed.

With Affection

Your Co-Author, Connie

PS we published four books and assisted Amber Ward with a Documentary – all available on Amazon.

 

 

 

Marcel’s Blog Entry

 

WRITING AS A C0-AUTHOR

So you want me to blog about this form of torture. Why don’t I describe the pleasure of pulling toenails, the delight in piercing my tongue without the benefit of an ice cube! And you request that I season my words with humor. You are kidding, right? Furthermore, you tell me that I should do all of this in two or three paragraphs; include a brief bio; throw in my credentials; and get this all to you within two weeks. Anything else you want me to do? Cartwheel down the hill all the way to the geese-infected lake? I am relieved that you did not send leg irons to chain me to my desk, a cross beam to barricade me in my study. Sweet as you are, you only emailed me my homework assignment. You did not threaten to send me to the principal’s office; nor did you hint at any future excommunication. But I know you. Once you exact compliance, in this case, an agreement, sure, fully given, you would hunt me down to the recesses of the Grand Canyon to make me keep the deal.

 

Yes, I know you. We wrote three books together; co-edited another. You are a taskmaster. And I love you for it. When I would falter, fail to stay the course, fudge the facts, give you benign feedback; you would set aside your gentle companionship and rise up as a she bear and roar. You mercifully save me from my own self-destruction. You reminded me to fish my own salmon out of the raging river and to find my own blueberry bush for desert. You reminded me of our pledge to integrity, no matter the cost.

Drafts flew back and forth across the ether. The editing apps on our computers heated to boiling. We never resorted to blurting out that what the other submitted was “ut stecora”. You know what I am saying. We reminded each other of our initial agreements. We renewed our vows to each other as writing partners instead of getting divorced. It was not always pretty. (God I hate pretty and cute and nice. We were not any of that.) Our oath to hold each other to the completion of the projects energized our communal enterprise and our individual journeys. The work was down and dirty, sweaty and smelly. In the end, the backstage toil and trouble did not distract from the performance. We were able to bow in gratitude for what was on stage, just the way it was then, and is now.

 

Brief Bio:

The writer is a psychotherapist, too old to fool himself with the illusion that he can do it all alone. His bio is past. He is focused on what may still be offered by an uncertain future in time and space. He still has a license to practice, and some, surprisingly, find him helpful. That will do for now while the cactus cutting greens away in the Mexican pottery on the window sill at midday.

 

Marcel A. Duclos