After| Essay by Anne Gudger
"I wanted to say he was alone. Crashed his car on black ice on the way to go night skiing. I wanted to say I was pregnant. I wanted to say I’m a single mom now to my darling boy. I wanted."
Welcome to Khôra, a dynamic online arts space produced in collaboration with Lidia Yuknavitch’s Corporeal Writing. Visit our Archive to read previous issues. Scroll down if you would like your work to be considered for future issues.
In Issue 25 we’re honored to share an excerpt from Featured Writer Anne Gudger’s debut memoir, The Fifth Chamber. The Fifth Chamber is a tender and lyrical memoir about the dance of loss and life, and how grief can make the heart beat stronger than ever before.
Anne is a beloved friend of Corporeal Writing, so we asked her to share what this connection has meant to her as she worked to bring this beautiful, brave, fierce-hearted book into the world:
“Corporeal Writing has been home to me and my words from its inception. I am profoundly grateful to Lidia and the whole squad for the love and support and phenomenal writing portals that helped me get out of my own way and experience my story in ways I hadn't, that helped me see what it was I wanted to say. Even after my book was with the publisher in an edit stage, I was in a workshop with Lidia where, in a list of objects, she asked what was hiding. I have this pinging in my chest that happens when I hear a truth—my truth pendulum I've called it since I was a teen. It pinged. It lit up. A mini arcade game four fingers below my collarbone. I went home and tucked something hidden in most every chapter. Now it's like an Easter egg hunt: can you find what's hiding? Honestly, I don't know what form my book would be without Corporeal. I'm grateful I don't need to know.”
This excerpt from The Fifth Chamber is paired with the gorgeous artwork of Katie Collins-Guinn, Creatinator :: Swag hag at Corporeal Writing.
After by Anne Gudger:
Annie, want to introduce yourself? Emily repeated as I sat in the widows’ circle.
Sandpaper tongue, the ceiling of my mouth, my teeth. I swallowed hard. Swallowed my uncertainty.
I’m Annie, I said, and the blondes and brunettes bobbed their heads Go on. We’re listening.
My husband died in a car accident.
I wanted to say he was alone. Crashed his car on black ice on the way to go night skiing. I wanted to say I was pregnant. I wanted to say I’m a single mom now to my darling boy.
I wanted.
Me: dizzy. Untethered. A tangle of feelings wadded up with duct tape. I breathed deep and steady to stay rooted. I shook my head No to Emily’s invitation to say more…
Read After.
Artists and Writers
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With galactic gratitude,
Leigh Hopkins
and the Corporeal/Khôra squad