Our

Story

by

Lawrence Abby Gauthier

ace reporter

The Westphalia Periodic News

Other than family, most of the people I know and associate with these days — my social circle — are writers.

There’s Bernie, for instance. His first novel was about Kim Jong Un and the release of a deadly virus, threatening the world. He recently finished his second novel and is looking for a publisher. The story is about a boy who grows up in a strictly Orthodox Jewish family, but winds up falling in love with and marrying a strictly non-religious atheist.

And then there’s Mark. He’s writing about a cryogenically preserved man who’s thawed and brought back to life 500 years from now.

And Bryan, a judge in real life, is 10,000 words into a Chandler-style murder mystery being unraveled by a woman who’s a doctor and a refugee from war-torn Afghanistan.

Susan is floating up the Yangtze River in 5^th century China, watching it all through the eyes of a cricket who dreams of singing at the Emperor’s court.

Terry is in Yellowstone National Park, documenting the behavior of tourists through the eyes of a grizzly bear.

Gabriella is making  peace with the moths in her house.

Craig is writing about the son of an important NASA engineer. It’s the early 80s. The son disappoints his parents by quitting college and taking off for England where he joins a punk-rock band and wanders the backstreets of London looking for love and meaningless sex.

Ralph continues his saga about redefining the meaning of an abstraction called “money” in the non-abstract, empirical world of concrete and steel.

Bob’s writing about the residents of a big city flop house in an old neighborhood being gentrified out of existence, leaving the residents with no place to go.

Kathy is back at “The Farm,” the famous Tennessee commune where hippies went to commune in the 70s.

Marc, in Detroit, is going over the final drafts of his novel about gay sex with ghosts and the intervention of a 19^th century Catholic saint.

Matthew is creating a little girl with “special powers” being pursued by a dark authority.

My wife is a writer, too, but for the past few days she’s been feeling lost. She’s 13,000 words into her latest novel — her sixth since just before Covid when we first met — and feeling lost. Doesn’t know where she’s going. How she got here. Or where it ends. I tell her not to worry about it. Just write, starting with the next chapter. Just turn the page. The past will come into focus. I don’t know the answers. She’s probably looking for something else.

And, me? I’m thinking about what to write about for this week’s “Our Story” newspaper column.