A dear writer friend sent flowers. Another brought flowers and baked treats to a final class. And still another sent a candle—the kind that burns with a crackling sound, and gives off a sweet scent.

And greater still, all of these gifts came with lovely words, words of appreciation and thanks and celebration and joy.

Do people realize how much these things mean?

Even when awards come, even when there is much to celebrate, still there are dark corners in the writing life. Encouraging words, quiet support, mean more than I can adequately say. And though words are my trade, sometimes they fail me.

I can only hope that people understand just exactly what I mean when I say “thanks,” and how much I wish I could say but can’t because the words are so paltry and insignificant in the face of the gift they have given of their time, their concern, their appreciation, their love.

Essays