From time to time, I introduce my Tiny Letter community to a fellow writer. This month, I'm introducing Christie Purifoy, one of the most talented, descriptive writers I know. Take a peek at this month's Tiny Letter, and consider signing up and reading along.
*** You Can Go Home Again
Almost four years ago, I came home with my family to an old, red-brick farmhouse on a Pennsylvania hill. It is called Maplehurst, and it is a beautiful, maddening place.
The paint peels, the weeds grow, the bricks crumble. The children bicker, the chickens escape, and beetles never will stop eating the roses.
People come to stay for one night or a year of nights, neighbors gather, the woodstove in the kitchen crackles and steams, and God abides with us. We have come home.
I recently wrote a book about the first year we lived at Maplehurst, and I found myself tripping over a hundred clichés.
As a writer, I abhor a cliché. They are like those gel-coated pills, designed to go down easy. They are meant to comfort but only by bypassing thought.
Home is where the heart is
Home is with my people
There’s no place like home
This world is not our home
Such lovely, lyrical words, but are they even true?
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As always, thanks for reading.