Edith here, perched in my second floor office watching the sun come up, somewhere north of Boston.
Yes, I know everyone and her fourth-cousin-once-removed is going to write about gratitude and thankfulness this week. I, too, am feeling exceeding grateful, but some of the reasons are a bit quirky. I’m going to try to explain as only a language geek can.
The root of the words grateful and gratitude is the Latin grātus: “pleasing, favorable.” According to my favorite (and well-worn) American Heritage Dictionary, the Indo-European root for grātus is gwere: “to praise aloud.” Which makes gratitude directly related to the words agreeable, congratulate, ingrate, and ingratiate. It’s also related via Celtic to bard: “he [sic] who praises.”
Since I left my day job to write fiction full time two and a half years ago, money has been tighter than when I earned a plush salary writing technical manuals in high tech companies. But that’s okay – I know how to live on a shoestring. So the first people whose praises I want to sing are my late parents. Daddy was a high school teacher and our mom stayed home with us four kids until we were in high school ourselves. We had enough, but life was not luxurious. And I had a very happy childhood. I’m grateful I know how to scale back and live simply (I’m also grateful for being a Quaker, a faith which also stresses living with simplicity).
Many writers have a spouse or partner who is their first reader, who provides a valuable sounding board and helpful comments. Mine? Doesn’t even read fiction. Has no idea what I’m doing, really. He’s a dear, and brilliant in many areas. Commenting on fiction is not one of them. So I could be upset by that and wish for something different. Instead I find it agreeable to be left alone to type away on my books. Hugh is glad I’m happy (and that I’m starting to bring in a bit more cash) and that’s enough.
I hope I don’t sound like an ingrate when I say I’m grateful the muse continues to be with me. Friday I finished the first draft of my eleventh novel. I’d hoped to have it done by the day before Thanksgiving. Instead the last ten thousand words just poured out. Plot problems resolved themselves. Suspense, tenderness, even killing in self-defense – it almost wrote itself. I’m not sure if this happens because I’m getting better at it from experience or if I’m just channeling some creative spirit out there. I know I would not be able to write three books a year if this didn’t keep happening, and I’m way grateful for that.
We Wickeds talk a lot about appreciating each other – because it’s so true – so I’m not going to go on too long. But singing the praises of my closest author pals and congratulating them on their many successes is one of my favorite things to do. So I guess that makes us all bards.
What about you? Anything negative in your life that is really a blessing? Whose praises would you like to sing? Also – Happy Thanksgiving a few days early to all! We’re all grateful for having readers come to our cozy blog.