Comments on: Laying on of Hands

By: Anne Tyler Lord

Anne Tyler Lord — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 14:32:27 +0000

Marc & Dan said what I feel so eloquently. I am becoming short of words to describe how deeply I am touched by your beautiful lyrical poetic prose. There is such depth and layers. You touch deep emotions so delicately with just the right description and turn of a phrase.

By: Laurita

Laurita — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 12:41:02 +0000

Everything about this is beautiful, from the lyrical, evocative language to the layers of story. Your subtle touch makes every piece you write a joy to read.

By: ~Tim

~Tim — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 22:24:38 +0000

More of the beautiful writing we’ve come to expect from you.

By: ganymeder

ganymeder — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 16:37:41 +0000

Lovely and poignant.

By: Cathy Olliffe

Cathy Olliffe — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 02:45:26 +0000

Hi Simon:
First of all your story is just amazing. I read it twice because it’s such a beauty, and to try and understand the power in this woman’s mind.
Is she psychotic? Is she genius? It doesn’t matter, because who cares if her finest creatiions are figments of her incredible imagination. They exist to her as if she has slivers in her fingers.
Josie is lucky to have such a wonderful story dedicated to her.

By: Virginia Moffatt

Virginia Moffatt — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 20:05:50 +0000

This is gorgeous. I loved the way you wove religious imagery,the learning of craft and love into it. The right to be who you are and the joy of discovering it, even if it comes at a cost…

By: DJ Kirkby

DJ Kirkby — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 17:25:24 +0000

So beautiful…

By: Anton Gully

Anton Gully — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 16:21:43 +0000

Took me a couple of read-throughs before I understood what had happened, but it was a pleasure every time. Great concept, beautifully written.

By: Marisa Birns

Marisa Birns — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 15:00:49 +0000

Exquisite as always. Your writing is such a mixture of creativity, beauty, and music.

By: Lou Freshwater

Lou Freshwater — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 14:39:57 +0000

The placement of Valentine’s Day is perfect. Laying on hands, as the title as well as such a layered and complex metaphor. Building door-frames in one’s sleep, because building door-frames is not an easy thing. Creativity, love, the inner-truth as a thing to be worshiped as opposed to living in self-deception and contorting who we are for the other. All so wonderful.

“Like Bronwyn it was small and deliciously awkward; knock-kneed: the knuckles of its joints were wrong too.”

Of course they’re alike, of course.

“I had it with me as I packed lunches and hurried the younger ones for school. Nobody noticed, not even my mother, especially not my mother.”

This is so well place inside the quiet of the story. And that one word, ‘especially,’ just hit like a ton of bricks. I could feel the depth of his pain, because no matter whom we end being loved by in life – or understood by – if our parent cannot see the truth of who we are, then we feel that loss always.

“I preferred them like that. I preferred everything like that. Simple. Hadn’t Jesus been a carpenter too?”

Yes, it is about the deed. I’m so glad he left, no matter how difficult the exile, in order to build this alter of truth. And that he was rewarded with a woman who could see and understand him. And that he made something real.

Bravo, again.