Sacred Texts
“Say it, reader. Say the word ‘quest’ out loud. It is an extraordinary word, isn’t it? So small and yet so full of wonder, so full of hope.” -Kate DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux
August 7, 2026
This summer, I wrote a 67,000 + word memoir about the last several years of my life. It was exactly the creative project I needed at this time. It's about the joy of driving forklifts, the surrender required when a wild turkey flies through your front door, and the courage an independent person needs when asking for help.
Most of the writing poured out of me in torrents. Some parts were hard to articulate but healing when made visible in sentences. I've never been more open to deleting whole sections of text as I am now, so editing was fun.
I'm currently querying agents and nitpicking at the text in hopes of eventual publication. In between, I'd like to stay fresh here at Sacred Texts– to continue sharpening my skills by writing short essays in response to other people's writing. I would love for this page to become a forum for self-reflection. Will you suggest texts that speak to you accompanied by why the words resonate?
In anticipation of your communication, I'll busy myself by beginning at the end.
I'm posting what the last chapter of my manuscript looks like right now. It might not make a lot of sense out of context, but it will give you a taste of the thematic elements and the overall aesthetic. Like me, it's silly, honest, and reflective.
Enjoy!
And thanks.
Lesley
WARM TURKEY
SIXTY-FOUR
There’s a man renting the apartment on the second floor of the house next door. He’s friends with my neighbor Lloyd, a handsome, martial-arts loving realtor.
The renter is getting divorced and has two white-blond, fuzzy-headed children who scream instead of talking.
As such, I’ve been spending less time on the side porch, and more time at my coffee table listening to Stan Getz, drinking Paloma mocktails, and writing this.
I’m still healing– still not back to the gym yet– but just now it hit me: I haven’t closed the blinds in this front room at night in at least two weeks.
And I’m taking another Jungian course. It’s about illumination. We were asked in this third week to reflect on our “inner guide,” that entity I talk to on my way to the top of the cemetery. That spirit who asks me what I want.
I did my best to answer the questions from deep reflection and in an academic tone. But what I really wanted to say was:
My inner companion is Olivia Newton-John in the 1980 movie, Xanadu.
Yes, the roller-disco Greek muse. She’s singing about guiding me by the hand because she’s kind– especially now that I’ve taken the time to get to know her better.
She’s always been in my life.
She’s the muse who helped me make the shoebox instruments and the cotton disco ball.
She was there when I painted red lips and the naked tv room Coven.
She whispered in my ear as my fairy tale boat floated through courtrooms and convenience stores.
She quiets the beast.
She says I’m enough.
She’s the goddess who sends me, again, again, and once more to the top of my cemetery.
I claim her as me.
Silly and skating in circles.
Angry and falling on my knees.
It’s ok to hope, she says. Even through the disco infernos.
I can clear the smoke now, and I see her.
I trust her.
I Xanadu.