I've just finished reading your LL response to 3 weeks of hard graft. The love, care and dedication you gave to each entry, each WORD, says everything there is to know about you. I have always been a reader but it's you that has expanded my mind to the deliciousness of an intentionally placed word. You make my world a better place.
Lately, I have been in a wrangle with the word 'care', so to see it pop up in your thanks startles me. I wish we were walking in the forest so I could tell you what I've been wondering about 'care'. Thank you, Brenda.
As you know, Gabe and I are having a rough time. Gabe sent me a screenshot of this LL header and title and commented, āA hug from the universe via Karinā. And so it is.
Thank you for reminding us that being intentional and slow is an important part of caring. That caring is something AI canāt do, even though it likes to pretend.
The amount of love that went into your competition feedback is a monument to your consistent dedication to showing up for people who need to know their words matter - because *they* matter. I can only imagine what my life would look like now if Iād met someone like you in my youth. But itās never too late to change the path weāre on, so Iām hoping one day someone asks me, āAre you an artist?ā And that Iāll have the courage to say yes.
This is such a wonderful comment, Noah. 'A hug from the universe'. You and Gabe are both artists. I didn't know you didn't have the courage to say that. Your whole life is art. I can't believe you can't see that. Maybe when your book is done? I hope so. I feel like the world needs all the artists to stand up right now and assert the right to be that so that we can encourage others to not slide into mindless bot-numbness like AI wants us to.
The only thing giving me any courage at all to call myself an artist is that Iām feeling that urgent call to all the artists to stand up and demand the world pay attention to the stuff theyād rather not acknowledge so they donāt have to change anything. I canāt deny I feel that calling.
But it shocks me every time anyone gives me a view of myself like your comment here. I truly donāt see it at all but with help from psychoanalysis Iām beginning to see thatās due to childhood trauma and parents who couldnāt fully embrace who they were either. They actively taught me not to dream, to be sensible and avoid risks. Work was about earning money and being indispensable, however miserable it made you. I learnt life is about physical, financial and emotional survival most of the time. Iām only realising that fully now in my mid 50s. Itās so hardwired into me that itās hard to even notice, never mind undo.
I feel so frivolous (in a bad way) when Iām not focusing on survival. All pleasure is guilty. Itās so obvious to me now whatās killing me slowly and draining my energy.
The trouble is how to dig yourself out when youāre in a shallow grave with almost zero energy at the beginning of every day. I have a shovel now but I can only dig it in once before collapsing. It feels impossible to rescue myself but I my therapist and people who love me are helping.
this made me cry, and I needed this cry. thank you -for your words, for your heart, for you, Karin Schimke. and thank you too for how to search without the ai
Thank you, Toni. For your heart and your words too. (As for -ai, there is a way to turn it off permanently so you don't have to type it each time, but it looks so complicated, my brain zinged out before I reached the end of the instruction video.)
Oh my word what a mensch you are Karin - and yes, you truly are an artist.
(please don't feel the fact that I don't pay you as any lack of appreciation; merely a seriously depleted stash of money under my mattress - and added to that, what seems to others eccentric ways of spending what little is left). Thank you for the reads that come in this way.
Annemarie, when people comment or email me after a Love Letter, that is payment too and you account is fully paid up! I started this Love Letter in love and I write it in love and if no one paid me I'd still write it, so you keep your Smartie-sized money stash under your mattress for eccentricities that make all your nerve-endings fire and make your heart squeeze out happy squeezes every second beat. I'm sending you love and as I write this, your face is so clear before me that I felt like you were in the room.
I imagine your immense love, focus, perseverance, and the big blue lake of knowledge and care that you bring to all that you are trusted with. With my work/poems too, and at times with the sadness and fears that I could share. Thank you for your heart and mind.
If "POORT" might be the schools publication that you refer too, I have a story:
There was a teacher who for four years in high school (grade 9 to 12) saw my work and acknowledged some of my soul and talent in my 'opstelle' to the extend of submitting it and resultant publication.
My father often asked to read my work, but because I had other reasons to fear him physically and emotionally, I kept finding ways to evade his requests for years. No one outside of our home except two dominees knew about my fears and of the injurious scenes playing out in our family.
When I could no longer avoid showing my writing to my father, I decided to take this teacher/mentor in my confidence. Well, I tried to. Sadly, and here is the joke. Despite her entering these stories into the competitions, she questioned and criticised the name with which I had a character addressing "God" as "Heretjie" in her heartfelt prayer. The teacher stated that she can accept the ire of my dad, given that I dared use God's name in the way and writing it as such. Uit en gedaan.
I left. I think something broke that day, making the act of submitting work to 'scrutiny' so much harder for me. This person from her Christina perspective and deep beliefs that it was wrong was most uncomfortable with me living with my ex-hubby before we wedded- and broke contact with me when I proverbially came out of the closet, not even recognising subsequent approval in literary circles such as invitation to participate among the 'big names' in Afrikaans Poetry in the early two thousands at Woordfees. I have been sad for us both for a long time.
Alas, I have written and created way more 'rebellious' or challenging work since, though I believe well motivated, without having been struck down, or othered, or fatefully being mismothered.
It is such important work. I wish you and each young and courageously daring creative, continued insight, resilience and fortitude.
What a story, Juhlene! There are so many strands to this strangeness and it seems like it could be the source of many, many stories for you were you to turn to fiction at some point. The word that hit me between the eyes was 'mismothered'. Is that an actual word? Or did you make it up? It's so powerful that I have written it down (even though I cannot relate in any way, shape or form to the what it conjures for me).
One gets the sense that this teacher projected so much on to you that it was almost a kind of love, and that every decision you took that stood apart from the image of you she'd created in her mind (or thought she was creating through her influence), so you disappointed her on a soul level. 'Verknors' is the Afrikaans word that comes to mind. She must have been rather immature on a psyche level to want give you so much and then to withdraw. What a complicated event she was in your life.
Thank you for sharing this. I've recently been reading and hearing many stories about having something crushed in you by an adult. Yesterday I even read about when something like that happens and you can't recover from it. It has a name: creative mortification.
I'm glad she didn't entirely kill your spirit and that you continue to make beautiful things.
What a particularly wonderful newsletter - thank you. My work and I having received your multifaceted attention, I can attest to just what a special experience it was.
What a lovely thing to hear. I won't hear know how my feedback lands for these young people, so this is like getting feedback on my feedback that I can extrapolate to my recent experience!
Sjoe, Karin. My world is better with you, and your words, in it. Iām so glad this was the first thing I read this morning. Thank you, thank you š¤
I want to print and frame this and hang it somewhere where I can read it every day! š«¶š¼
Thank you, Amelia šæ
I've just finished reading your LL response to 3 weeks of hard graft. The love, care and dedication you gave to each entry, each WORD, says everything there is to know about you. I have always been a reader but it's you that has expanded my mind to the deliciousness of an intentionally placed word. You make my world a better place.
So much love here. Thank you š„¹šæ
Thank you. For writing. For loving intentionally. For caring.
Lately, I have been in a wrangle with the word 'care', so to see it pop up in your thanks startles me. I wish we were walking in the forest so I could tell you what I've been wondering about 'care'. Thank you, Brenda.
As you know, Gabe and I are having a rough time. Gabe sent me a screenshot of this LL header and title and commented, āA hug from the universe via Karinā. And so it is.
Thank you for reminding us that being intentional and slow is an important part of caring. That caring is something AI canāt do, even though it likes to pretend.
The amount of love that went into your competition feedback is a monument to your consistent dedication to showing up for people who need to know their words matter - because *they* matter. I can only imagine what my life would look like now if Iād met someone like you in my youth. But itās never too late to change the path weāre on, so Iām hoping one day someone asks me, āAre you an artist?ā And that Iāll have the courage to say yes.
This is such a wonderful comment, Noah. 'A hug from the universe'. You and Gabe are both artists. I didn't know you didn't have the courage to say that. Your whole life is art. I can't believe you can't see that. Maybe when your book is done? I hope so. I feel like the world needs all the artists to stand up right now and assert the right to be that so that we can encourage others to not slide into mindless bot-numbness like AI wants us to.
The only thing giving me any courage at all to call myself an artist is that Iām feeling that urgent call to all the artists to stand up and demand the world pay attention to the stuff theyād rather not acknowledge so they donāt have to change anything. I canāt deny I feel that calling.
But it shocks me every time anyone gives me a view of myself like your comment here. I truly donāt see it at all but with help from psychoanalysis Iām beginning to see thatās due to childhood trauma and parents who couldnāt fully embrace who they were either. They actively taught me not to dream, to be sensible and avoid risks. Work was about earning money and being indispensable, however miserable it made you. I learnt life is about physical, financial and emotional survival most of the time. Iām only realising that fully now in my mid 50s. Itās so hardwired into me that itās hard to even notice, never mind undo.
I feel so frivolous (in a bad way) when Iām not focusing on survival. All pleasure is guilty. Itās so obvious to me now whatās killing me slowly and draining my energy.
The trouble is how to dig yourself out when youāre in a shallow grave with almost zero energy at the beginning of every day. I have a shovel now but I can only dig it in once before collapsing. It feels impossible to rescue myself but I my therapist and people who love me are helping.
Thank you for helping keep my hope alive.
It is a deep hole. But keep looking up at where the light is coming from. Sending you so much love.
My love to you, too. Thank you for being part of the light. š
this made me cry, and I needed this cry. thank you -for your words, for your heart, for you, Karin Schimke. and thank you too for how to search without the ai
Thank you, Toni. For your heart and your words too. (As for -ai, there is a way to turn it off permanently so you don't have to type it each time, but it looks so complicated, my brain zinged out before I reached the end of the instruction video.)
Delightful. We need as many artists as we can muster.
We need them so desperately, Nicola!
Oh my word what a mensch you are Karin - and yes, you truly are an artist.
(please don't feel the fact that I don't pay you as any lack of appreciation; merely a seriously depleted stash of money under my mattress - and added to that, what seems to others eccentric ways of spending what little is left). Thank you for the reads that come in this way.
Annemarie, when people comment or email me after a Love Letter, that is payment too and you account is fully paid up! I started this Love Letter in love and I write it in love and if no one paid me I'd still write it, so you keep your Smartie-sized money stash under your mattress for eccentricities that make all your nerve-endings fire and make your heart squeeze out happy squeezes every second beat. I'm sending you love and as I write this, your face is so clear before me that I felt like you were in the room.
So beautiful as always ā¤ļøthank you šø
Thank you, Pippa.
I imagine your immense love, focus, perseverance, and the big blue lake of knowledge and care that you bring to all that you are trusted with. With my work/poems too, and at times with the sadness and fears that I could share. Thank you for your heart and mind.
If "POORT" might be the schools publication that you refer too, I have a story:
There was a teacher who for four years in high school (grade 9 to 12) saw my work and acknowledged some of my soul and talent in my 'opstelle' to the extend of submitting it and resultant publication.
My father often asked to read my work, but because I had other reasons to fear him physically and emotionally, I kept finding ways to evade his requests for years. No one outside of our home except two dominees knew about my fears and of the injurious scenes playing out in our family.
When I could no longer avoid showing my writing to my father, I decided to take this teacher/mentor in my confidence. Well, I tried to. Sadly, and here is the joke. Despite her entering these stories into the competitions, she questioned and criticised the name with which I had a character addressing "God" as "Heretjie" in her heartfelt prayer. The teacher stated that she can accept the ire of my dad, given that I dared use God's name in the way and writing it as such. Uit en gedaan.
I left. I think something broke that day, making the act of submitting work to 'scrutiny' so much harder for me. This person from her Christina perspective and deep beliefs that it was wrong was most uncomfortable with me living with my ex-hubby before we wedded- and broke contact with me when I proverbially came out of the closet, not even recognising subsequent approval in literary circles such as invitation to participate among the 'big names' in Afrikaans Poetry in the early two thousands at Woordfees. I have been sad for us both for a long time.
Alas, I have written and created way more 'rebellious' or challenging work since, though I believe well motivated, without having been struck down, or othered, or fatefully being mismothered.
It is such important work. I wish you and each young and courageously daring creative, continued insight, resilience and fortitude.
What a story, Juhlene! There are so many strands to this strangeness and it seems like it could be the source of many, many stories for you were you to turn to fiction at some point. The word that hit me between the eyes was 'mismothered'. Is that an actual word? Or did you make it up? It's so powerful that I have written it down (even though I cannot relate in any way, shape or form to the what it conjures for me).
One gets the sense that this teacher projected so much on to you that it was almost a kind of love, and that every decision you took that stood apart from the image of you she'd created in her mind (or thought she was creating through her influence), so you disappointed her on a soul level. 'Verknors' is the Afrikaans word that comes to mind. She must have been rather immature on a psyche level to want give you so much and then to withdraw. What a complicated event she was in your life.
Thank you for sharing this. I've recently been reading and hearing many stories about having something crushed in you by an adult. Yesterday I even read about when something like that happens and you can't recover from it. It has a name: creative mortification.
I'm glad she didn't entirely kill your spirit and that you continue to make beautiful things.
What a particularly wonderful newsletter - thank you. My work and I having received your multifaceted attention, I can attest to just what a special experience it was.
I hope you're feeling more rested now.
And the '-ai' - it works!
What a lovely thing to hear. I won't hear know how my feedback lands for these young people, so this is like getting feedback on my feedback that I can extrapolate to my recent experience!
O yes, AI is useful, even very useful for "google" searches. After our chat in the forest I have come to understand how it is destroying creativity...
The concepts of convenience and speed have been sold to us as the pinnacle of desirability. AI is a pernicious extension of that fallacy.
Love the Love Letter, we appreciate you too!
Thank you, Eliza šæ
And look at what the bots did when I typed your name: Eliza š