empty space, part 2.

Further thoughts on the territory of hunger and ache. (For part 1, see “Empty Space”: the sometimes-painful act of letting go, and being willing to sit with our hungers.) I didn’t plan to write any more on the subject, but then there was a confluence of events: A podcast. A performance. A pastoral pondering. So I guess I’ll be doing a little series on grief, hunger and ache.

The podcast

Around the time I wrote that entry on empty space, my husband surprised me with a sojourn to NOW HEAR THIS, a podcast festival in Manhattan. Attendees got to sit in on the recording of several podcasts that are kinda hot right now (Lavar Burton Reads, Lovett or Leave It) and as we were walking out of one particular taping, I heard a voice say “JEN AND ROB?” 

It was Mr. Hans Buetow—one of my best friends from college, whom I haven’t seen in a decade.

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He’d flown out from Minnesota, where he produces the podcast Terrible, Thanks for Asking.

I’d heard of the show, but after that chance encounter, I began listening in earnest. And Terrible, Thanks for Asking has become my new favorite thing.

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atomic bombs and indie theater.

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I’ve been invited to do something in New York City that I have no business doing. And if you are stirred by the lives of veterans, the complications of war—or just writing and theater, honestly—I’d love for you to be present.

Once upon a time, I knew a woman who survived the Hiroshima atomic bomb. This year, I finally wrote about her—along with an uncanny series of events involving my life and nuclear weapons.

Now CONSEQUENCE Magazine is publishing that essay, and I’ve been invited to read from it before the performance of a brand-new play called OUTSIDE PADUCAH (by the writer/veteran/performer J.A. Moad) about the toll of war on veterans and their families.

Tickets are $25… you can get yours here! 

https://web.ovationtix.com/trs/pe.c/10191407

I’m reading ONLY at the SATURDAY, OCTOBER 7, 2:00 pm performance.

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sneaky little guest star.

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Rob and I (aka The Scrivening Bartlebys) loved making a joyful ruckus at House of Brews last weekend. Thanks if you were one of the beloved friends who came!

But the best moment might’ve been when this guy crept up on stage… (Can you spot him on the right?)

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Jen Hinst-White


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Hello, fellow traveler. I’m Jen.
I write. I speak. I like to be alive.

THE NEWEST NEWS:

I’m overjoyed to announce I’m now represented by literary agent Kira Watson of Emma Sweeney Agency.

I’ll be reading in NYC this Wednesday, May 2 at 8 pm as part of Bailout Theater at Judson Arts Wednesdays. If you come early (7:15), there’s food.

Consequence Magazine has just published my essay “15 Eggs,” about nuclear weapons, parenting, and the girl who lived through Hiroshima. It’s in their 10th anniversary issue; check it out here.

My essay “How to Survive the Apocalypse” was recently published in Image Journal. 

 

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what they did with the grief.

I have never met anyone like them.

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It was just over a year since the 9/11 attacks, and Andrew Rice was still grieving the loss of his brother in the South Tower of the World Trade Center.

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sneak out with us . . .

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Got any plans this Saturday evening?

Rob Hinst and I will be playing live music as The Scrivening Bartlebys this SATURDAY, SEPT. 16, at House of Brews in Port Jefferson, NY.

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empty space.

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(my kitchen)

Sine proprio. It means “without grasping.” It’s Latin, a phrase used in the vows taken by Franciscan friars—or that’s what I learned from my friar friend, anyway.

Specifically, sine proprio is the phrase used for the vow of Poverty. I would’ve thought they’d use a phrase like “without money” for a vow of poverty. But the point isn’t strictly the not-having. It’s the giving-away. For St. Francis and his early followers, sine proprio meant giving away even the ragged clothes from their own bodies, even their last handfuls of food, if they came upon another person who was hungry or poorly clothed.

Whatever comes into your hands, you choose to hold lightly— and freely release it, if need be, for the sake of love.

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