Lane von Herzen: Restricted Access: For OIG Hotline Only

My Third Novel's Conclusion, My Heartbreak

My heart begins to break when I think about completing this particular book -- because this narrative has sustained me like no other story I've known. It's both more personal and more universal than my other works. But beyond memory and archetype, it's a cri-de-coeur about needing to become the person one is destined to be. And in the writing, I have met my own life's work, my own fated journey -- having the sense all the while that the pages are suffused with a resonance, an energy, an electrified field that defies explanation. Writers hope and pray to be overtaken by a work in this way -- to be conscripted into passionate service of a profound story. To experience it even once in a lifetime seems a great privilege. I still have several months before this novel is complete, and this constitutes my reprieve. Because I'm not ready for the beauty to end.

Sunday, September 17, 2023

Restricted Access: For OIG Hotline Only

This post contains information intended for the OIG Hotline only.

All others are respectfully requested to exit this post at this time.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Lane MacWilliams

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OIG Hotline, please be aware of the following email, sent to my younger son a few minutes ago.

I believe he needs my help, and on an urgent basis.

It is my hope that I will be able to provide my support to him as quickly as humanly possible.

With gratitude for your presence,

Lane MacWilliams

Email sent from: lanemacwilliams@gmail.com. Date: September 18, 2023 at 2:32 PM

Re: The Journey to Safer Ground

Sweetheart, this is simply a letter to tell you that things will get better. I have that blessed assurance, and I believe in that gift of faith more than any other.

You and I have traveled difficult territory alongside one another before.

In 1997, when I was expecting your arrival in this world, none of the doctors knew whether you or I would survive those nine months.

But we did, because we traveled together.

In 2005, when we went rafting in Ashland, Oregon, the river was swollen and the water was too rough for our level of experience. You turned to me after a daunting set of rapids and said, "Mommy, I'm never doing that again!"

But another set of rapids was approaching even then, and I said to you, "xxxxxx, we're going to get through this, and you're going to look into my eyes the whole time. That way, you will never be frightened."

We survived that whitewater, because we traveled together.

Now, you are running a gauntlet of a different sort. A gauntlet of pain -- and not one of your own making -- but rather a gauntlet designed by malevolent men.

We are going to survive this journey, young man, because we are going to travel together.

Keep faith with me, xxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx.

I will take your hand and travel with you to safer ground, free from dependency, and free from pain, both.

I love you more than you can know.

And I ask you to hold on, beloved one.

Hold on.

Mom