This is lovely, Rona. I've had so many mentors in my life, and I find them in the most and least likely of places. Of course, my first mentors were the most wonderful teachers I had throughout my formal education, all the way back to first grade. My first grade teacher and I are still in touch, and she's in her 90s now and reads my essays on Substack every time I publish. But I've also had momentary mentors, they could be people, or 4-legged friends. I'm a sponge for learning, and am open to what others can contribute to me. It could be one instance that influences me so profoundly that it changes me forever. Now, I have writers like you (although none are really "like" you) who teach through example and are available for questions about growing as a writer. I'm so grateful for this arena. I wrote an essay just this week about someone I barely know who became a momentary mentor, I've known her for about 7 months, and she's near death now, but the connection happened. She's taught me a lot. Mentors abound! xo
Nan, I remember that gem of a story. It seems to me that reaping the rewards of mentorship has much to do with recognizing the mentor when she crosses your path. Some people are quite assertive about this. They ask the mentor to take them on. Their confidence and belief are so disarming that the answer can’t be anything but yes.
I am a longtime fan of yours, Rona. My few writing mentors were far outnumbered by squashers. Probably the reason I worked primarily as an editor. At seventy, I’m starting over as a writer. Remembering that covers are a long journey.
Leslie, your name is so familiar. Did you perhaps follow my long-defunct blog? Wherever you first crossed my path, it’s a pleasure to meet you here. Don’t get me started on covers! I wish you well with your writing.
Yes, I did follow the blog, finding you here with a cry of joy. Substack is the first place in which I’ve started to use my real name, after twenty years appearing exclusively under a pseudonym. I knew Joyce and her work earlier. I wrote for her ‘zine—remember those?—corresponded fitfully (as one does with children), and fact-checked Salinger stuff for her at the Library of Congress.
Well, that is a deep connection! And did you also post a review of my first book online? A writer remembers these things. Congratulations on claiming your name and voice.
Thank you! I did. In 2009, I recall, when Nicholas Hughes killed himself, I said that only Frieda now survived “the little family,” and that I’d hoped that Alaska “would keep him safe.” You said the phrase “the little family” made you cry, and I cried too.
On a cheerier note, almost every Tuesday I know it’s Tuesday because independent scholar Catherine Rankovic posts something new at aureliaplathinfo.com. She was the first to transcribe Aurelia’s shorthand scribbles on the Plath papers.
Forgot to mention how pleased I was for both of you when you and Joyce mended fences. You had a much closer relationship with her than I ever did with my two sisters, from whom I’ve been estranged since the late ‘80s. But sisters just aren’t easy. I had excellent reasons to give up for good, or I wouldn’t have, so I was especially happy for you two. I recall how you generously offered her your house when she came to Toronto for the filming of “To Die For.” Then you rented a hotel room for yourself and your husband, telling Joyce, “I do love you. You just take up… so much space.”
Leslie, you might enjoy Deborah Tannen’s book on sisters, in which she perceptively quotes the essays Joyce and I wrote about our relationship. She made a point or two that had escaped us.
Lucky you – or, perhaps, clever you. I have thought back over my life in its many varied manifestations and I can honestly say I have never had a mentor. No teacher, no senior colleague, no boss ever helped me to develop my capacities especially, other than being good teachers etc. Even my two PhD supervisors (the fact I switched is a story in itself). I worked in unconventional areas, which may be part of the issue. I started out doing what is now called social research before it was on the map, undertook qualitative research when it was in its infancy and went to work freelance at a time when no one with my interests and background did so. I think I would have loved a mentor at the time – or even a guide to how to do these things – but interestingly, having to think it all out for yourself has its own rewards. Especially working freelance – I did what I was asked, they liked it, they came back for more or recommended me. What a ride in the development of self-confidence.
Well, I don’t know that cleverness has much to do with it. Luck, definitely. Keitha appeared at the right moment and I must have projected eagerness to learn from the right person. The previous editor, who hired me, was not that person. You found your way and that is what matters.
I agree that we both ended up on our feet, so to speak, and that is what matters. I said ‘clever’ because you noted that you sometimes need to ask for help and you managed to do it. I don’t think I ever encountered someone who I felt might help me (but that could have been my lack of perceptiveness). And here we are old women with new lives and it was all a long time ago!
What a lovely essay. I’ve been blessed with more than one mentor at critical points in life. A few were teachers, one in particular who not only saw me, but appreciated my ideas and encouraged me in both architecture and writing. To this day, I think and teach about architecture from a similar framework: it’s a cultural art tied to tradition that expresses our highest aspirations. Metaphysics and physics in dynamic balance.
Julie, the framework you’re providing is part of the difference between a teacher and a mentor. The other part is “perceiving grace,” as De Mille said of Graham. I’m gld you enjoyed this.
In my finance career, my mentor was one of the founding partners Michael Gordon and I learned by watching how he handled situations. He was a deeply ethical man. I remember once when a fund we were running had a provision that would have given our firm an expected windfall from the unusual way a deal was structured. I went to him and asked him what we should do. He said "We can't take that fee; that would be unfair to the investors." He believed if a legal document was written to our unfair advantage we should modify it.
Rona, I'm becoming addicted to your posts just so I can soak in the sheer beauty of your sentences. I think you're already mentoring me, and I thank you. Spark on!
What a lovely and motivating comment, Jeanne. Hemingway used to say it all begins with “one true sentence.” And while he he wasn’t wrong, it all continues with one true reader.
Yesterday, probably as you were commenting on my recent post and its uncanny timing, I was missing my writing mentor terribly (as you were writing this?). I’d just learned something about my mother that she’d have unpacked with me. She and I were always considering women’s lives across eras together, especially those trapped with ambition that could find no clear path forward.
A few months ago, I found an old letter from her. At 60 she was headed to teach the literature of the civil rights movement in S Africa and was an alternate for a Fulbright.
Interesting to think of the definition of a mentor. I have many supporters among family and friends, but a mentor has to be well beyond that circle, someone with brutal honesty, someone who looks beyond their own career (and maybe at the expense of that career) to provide grateful guidance. And probably someone older with war stories to share. A mentor should only derive pleasure in the success of their mentee. With that definition, I don't think I have ever found a mentor, which I hope means that I have not been looking hard enough vs. the disquieting possibility that I don't deserve one (this is where supportive family and friends come in.)
Some people look for mentors in a purposeful fashion. I’m not one. A mentor happened to appear when I was ready. I can’t overstate the importance of luck and timing. “Deserve” is a word that has been troubling me lately. In some contexts , it connotes entitlement (“Writers deserve to be paid”), in others the exact opposite, a deep unworthiness. You are not unworthy of a mentor. So far you haven’t been lucky in the mentor department. Your luck could change, however. And at this stage your mentor might be a younger person.
I always wanted a mentor. I had a lot of teachers but not ones I was close to over a period of time, I still had plenty of people who inspired me, but I feel like you can really grow so much with a mentor, not just your job but as a person.
Andy Couturier showed me the way to free writing without self-judgement. His classes are playful connections with the Inner Fool. Back when I found him, he taught in person in Berkeley; now his workshops are online and accessible to everyone everywhere. And so much magic is captured in his book, "Writing Open the Mind." I'm so lucky to have found him whlle writing my first book.
I can't remember when I became aware of the concept of a mentor but in retrospect I think that I looked for them everywhere. That was just one of the many impacts of losing my dad when I was 13. I had so idealized and idolized him — everyone in our community did — and I especially sought mentors who were also father figures.
The mentor who had the greatest impact on me in both respects was Bill Breisky, editor of the Cape Cod Times, where I was hired in the spring of 1979 to fill in for a proofreader who was on sick leave for six weeks. I had just finished my first year of journalism school at Syracuse University and my friend Lisa's dad, who worked in the advertising department there, suggested that I apply. I was already working as a busgirl at the restaurant where I'd been a dishwasher for two summers, but I figured I could do both.
"It's not reporting, but you'll get your foot in the door," Lisa's dad said. He, too, was a father-figure mentor. He was looking out for me.
I didn't have much contact with Mr. Breisky, as I called him for many years (it took a while for me to feel comfortable calling him "Bill"), but at some point he summoned me to his office to talk, and it turned out that he had graduated from journalism school at SU, too. Not only that, he'd been on campus at the same time as my mom, another SU grad, and gradually he and his wife developed a lovely friendship with her.
Mr. B. began finding more work for me in the newsroom during the summer of 1979, and he hired me to work at the paper for three more summers. During my last summer there, the first one after graduation, he gave such a glowing recommendation to the editor of the Concord Monitor, another small New England daily, that I landed a job for which I was largely unqualified (high school football reporter). When I was nearly fired six months later, he checked in with the editor regularly to ensure that I was doing okay.
When I got married in 1992, Mr. B. gave the toast. His youngest daughter, Gretchen, found the material for my wedding dress and sewed it. The family helped decorate the venue where we held the ceremony and the reception.
Mr. B. died from Covid on New Year's Day in 2021, six weeks after his daughter, Karen, died from the virus at the age of 55. I miss both of them dearly, but I still see Gretchen and Barbara when I go to Cape Cod, and every once in a while I hear from John, Mr. B's son. I've been wanting to write about Mr. B. for so long — in fact, this note was originally about five times longer, but I decided maybe I'll hold onto those details and write a tribute to him for my own Substack. Thanks, Rona, for this opportunity to think for a while about someone who made a tremendous difference in my life.
Debby, you should absolutely tell this story on your own stack and give it room to breathe. I'm particularly touched that he called your boss to check on you after you were nearly fired. With the shift to virtual work, which is likely to remain in some form, we've lost the ability to make connections that are grounded in everyday exchanges. You and I were lucky to find the caring mentors we did. I'm sorry Covid took Mr. B.
A memorable piece, Rona, that brings to mind mentors of my past and makes me wonder about missed opportunities to mentor others. No time like the present!
I have had some terrible managers in my career and can count on one hand the good ones. What a gift they were and are! What a gift you were and are!
There are always opportunities, I’ve found, but once you leave the workplace they tend to be few and fleeting. Thank you, Elizabeth, for your ongoing encouragement of my work. You were among the first readers to find me here.
Rona, you are certainly a mentor to me and to many others on Substack. I love these stories. What a gift you have for telling them so memorably. I’m grateful for your presence here. I wish I could look back on relationships that kept me moving forward. That isn’t how things worked out. Thank you for sharing your insights each week in your thoughtful, finely crafted posts. I appreciate your promoting other writers on Notes and through comments and restacking. That’s what it means to mentor others.
Mary, you are one of several here who did not experience mentorship of the kind I’ve described here. Virtual relationships have real, sustaining power. We see that here on this platform, day after day and week after week. Supporting one another is part of what makes us human.
This is such a generous, spirited piece. Thank you.
As for my own mentors, I can think of one, though I don’t know if mentor is the right word. They’ve shaped and held me, guided me and empowered me. But I often find myself needing to hold myself without them.
Thank you, Angelica. Mentors, teachers or wise friends, you do need to find your way without them. I've adapted Keitha's core beliefs to my own purposes, and am sure my mentees have done the same.
This is lovely, Rona. I've had so many mentors in my life, and I find them in the most and least likely of places. Of course, my first mentors were the most wonderful teachers I had throughout my formal education, all the way back to first grade. My first grade teacher and I are still in touch, and she's in her 90s now and reads my essays on Substack every time I publish. But I've also had momentary mentors, they could be people, or 4-legged friends. I'm a sponge for learning, and am open to what others can contribute to me. It could be one instance that influences me so profoundly that it changes me forever. Now, I have writers like you (although none are really "like" you) who teach through example and are available for questions about growing as a writer. I'm so grateful for this arena. I wrote an essay just this week about someone I barely know who became a momentary mentor, I've known her for about 7 months, and she's near death now, but the connection happened. She's taught me a lot. Mentors abound! xo
Nan, I remember that gem of a story. It seems to me that reaping the rewards of mentorship has much to do with recognizing the mentor when she crosses your path. Some people are quite assertive about this. They ask the mentor to take them on. Their confidence and belief are so disarming that the answer can’t be anything but yes.
I think you're right and I'm always on the lookout for those who will take me on. There's so much to learn. xo
I am a longtime fan of yours, Rona. My few writing mentors were far outnumbered by squashers. Probably the reason I worked primarily as an editor. At seventy, I’m starting over as a writer. Remembering that covers are a long journey.
Leslie, your name is so familiar. Did you perhaps follow my long-defunct blog? Wherever you first crossed my path, it’s a pleasure to meet you here. Don’t get me started on covers! I wish you well with your writing.
Yes, I did follow the blog, finding you here with a cry of joy. Substack is the first place in which I’ve started to use my real name, after twenty years appearing exclusively under a pseudonym. I knew Joyce and her work earlier. I wrote for her ‘zine—remember those?—corresponded fitfully (as one does with children), and fact-checked Salinger stuff for her at the Library of Congress.
Looking forward to seeing more from both of us!
Well, that is a deep connection! And did you also post a review of my first book online? A writer remembers these things. Congratulations on claiming your name and voice.
Thank you! I did. In 2009, I recall, when Nicholas Hughes killed himself, I said that only Frieda now survived “the little family,” and that I’d hoped that Alaska “would keep him safe.” You said the phrase “the little family” made you cry, and I cried too.
On a cheerier note, almost every Tuesday I know it’s Tuesday because independent scholar Catherine Rankovic posts something new at aureliaplathinfo.com. She was the first to transcribe Aurelia’s shorthand scribbles on the Plath papers.
I remember when Nicholas died. I wrote about him, devastated.
Forgot to mention how pleased I was for both of you when you and Joyce mended fences. You had a much closer relationship with her than I ever did with my two sisters, from whom I’ve been estranged since the late ‘80s. But sisters just aren’t easy. I had excellent reasons to give up for good, or I wouldn’t have, so I was especially happy for you two. I recall how you generously offered her your house when she came to Toronto for the filming of “To Die For.” Then you rented a hotel room for yourself and your husband, telling Joyce, “I do love you. You just take up… so much space.”
Leslie, you might enjoy Deborah Tannen’s book on sisters, in which she perceptively quotes the essays Joyce and I wrote about our relationship. She made a point or two that had escaped us.
Lucky you – or, perhaps, clever you. I have thought back over my life in its many varied manifestations and I can honestly say I have never had a mentor. No teacher, no senior colleague, no boss ever helped me to develop my capacities especially, other than being good teachers etc. Even my two PhD supervisors (the fact I switched is a story in itself). I worked in unconventional areas, which may be part of the issue. I started out doing what is now called social research before it was on the map, undertook qualitative research when it was in its infancy and went to work freelance at a time when no one with my interests and background did so. I think I would have loved a mentor at the time – or even a guide to how to do these things – but interestingly, having to think it all out for yourself has its own rewards. Especially working freelance – I did what I was asked, they liked it, they came back for more or recommended me. What a ride in the development of self-confidence.
Well, I don’t know that cleverness has much to do with it. Luck, definitely. Keitha appeared at the right moment and I must have projected eagerness to learn from the right person. The previous editor, who hired me, was not that person. You found your way and that is what matters.
I agree that we both ended up on our feet, so to speak, and that is what matters. I said ‘clever’ because you noted that you sometimes need to ask for help and you managed to do it. I don’t think I ever encountered someone who I felt might help me (but that could have been my lack of perceptiveness). And here we are old women with new lives and it was all a long time ago!
You, I think, mentor us with every illuminating post and your exquisite literature-infused comments. This essay is another case in point.
Thank you, Beth. I am touched and honored.
What a lovely essay. I’ve been blessed with more than one mentor at critical points in life. A few were teachers, one in particular who not only saw me, but appreciated my ideas and encouraged me in both architecture and writing. To this day, I think and teach about architecture from a similar framework: it’s a cultural art tied to tradition that expresses our highest aspirations. Metaphysics and physics in dynamic balance.
Julie, the framework you’re providing is part of the difference between a teacher and a mentor. The other part is “perceiving grace,” as De Mille said of Graham. I’m gld you enjoyed this.
In my finance career, my mentor was one of the founding partners Michael Gordon and I learned by watching how he handled situations. He was a deeply ethical man. I remember once when a fund we were running had a provision that would have given our firm an expected windfall from the unusual way a deal was structured. I went to him and asked him what we should do. He said "We can't take that fee; that would be unfair to the investors." He believed if a legal document was written to our unfair advantage we should modify it.
Thank you for sharing this, David. The best mentors are always demonstrating a principled way of living, not just ways of getting things done.
Rona, I'm becoming addicted to your posts just so I can soak in the sheer beauty of your sentences. I think you're already mentoring me, and I thank you. Spark on!
What a lovely and motivating comment, Jeanne. Hemingway used to say it all begins with “one true sentence.” And while he he wasn’t wrong, it all continues with one true reader.
Yesterday, probably as you were commenting on my recent post and its uncanny timing, I was missing my writing mentor terribly (as you were writing this?). I’d just learned something about my mother that she’d have unpacked with me. She and I were always considering women’s lives across eras together, especially those trapped with ambition that could find no clear path forward.
A few months ago, I found an old letter from her. At 60 she was headed to teach the literature of the civil rights movement in S Africa and was an alternate for a Fulbright.
She had been a spousal hire at UVM in the 60s. She never had a PhD but she achieved tenure before retiring. And then founded a poetry nonprofit. I miss her all the time. I wrote about losing her here https://twohouses.substack.com/p/on-losing-my-writing-mentor?r=nbjv0
I think it’s wonderful you’ve turned your attention to mentoring others and are paying it forward.
Wow, Eliza. Goosebumps. I left a comment on your moving post and am glad you drew it to my attention.
Thanks, Rona. I appreciate your kind words. I saw your other comment, too, and replied there. It’s always lovely to be read. 😊
Interesting to think of the definition of a mentor. I have many supporters among family and friends, but a mentor has to be well beyond that circle, someone with brutal honesty, someone who looks beyond their own career (and maybe at the expense of that career) to provide grateful guidance. And probably someone older with war stories to share. A mentor should only derive pleasure in the success of their mentee. With that definition, I don't think I have ever found a mentor, which I hope means that I have not been looking hard enough vs. the disquieting possibility that I don't deserve one (this is where supportive family and friends come in.)
Some people look for mentors in a purposeful fashion. I’m not one. A mentor happened to appear when I was ready. I can’t overstate the importance of luck and timing. “Deserve” is a word that has been troubling me lately. In some contexts , it connotes entitlement (“Writers deserve to be paid”), in others the exact opposite, a deep unworthiness. You are not unworthy of a mentor. So far you haven’t been lucky in the mentor department. Your luck could change, however. And at this stage your mentor might be a younger person.
I always wanted a mentor. I had a lot of teachers but not ones I was close to over a period of time, I still had plenty of people who inspired me, but I feel like you can really grow so much with a mentor, not just your job but as a person.
Yes. Mentors show you how to be, not what to do. There's a strong ethical component in their guidance.
Andy Couturier showed me the way to free writing without self-judgement. His classes are playful connections with the Inner Fool. Back when I found him, he taught in person in Berkeley; now his workshops are online and accessible to everyone everywhere. And so much magic is captured in his book, "Writing Open the Mind." I'm so lucky to have found him whlle writing my first book.
Stella, your story is proof that you don’t have to know someone in the physical world to be inspired and expanded by that person.
Thanks for this meditation on mentorship, Rona. I love seeing in the comments how you’re seen as a mentor here yourself. That’s the best tribute!
I was just thinking about our visit, Victoria. Stanford has acquired Pacita Abad’s archive.
Interesting! Glad it will be accessible. Our visit was memorable.
I can't remember when I became aware of the concept of a mentor but in retrospect I think that I looked for them everywhere. That was just one of the many impacts of losing my dad when I was 13. I had so idealized and idolized him — everyone in our community did — and I especially sought mentors who were also father figures.
The mentor who had the greatest impact on me in both respects was Bill Breisky, editor of the Cape Cod Times, where I was hired in the spring of 1979 to fill in for a proofreader who was on sick leave for six weeks. I had just finished my first year of journalism school at Syracuse University and my friend Lisa's dad, who worked in the advertising department there, suggested that I apply. I was already working as a busgirl at the restaurant where I'd been a dishwasher for two summers, but I figured I could do both.
"It's not reporting, but you'll get your foot in the door," Lisa's dad said. He, too, was a father-figure mentor. He was looking out for me.
I didn't have much contact with Mr. Breisky, as I called him for many years (it took a while for me to feel comfortable calling him "Bill"), but at some point he summoned me to his office to talk, and it turned out that he had graduated from journalism school at SU, too. Not only that, he'd been on campus at the same time as my mom, another SU grad, and gradually he and his wife developed a lovely friendship with her.
Mr. B. began finding more work for me in the newsroom during the summer of 1979, and he hired me to work at the paper for three more summers. During my last summer there, the first one after graduation, he gave such a glowing recommendation to the editor of the Concord Monitor, another small New England daily, that I landed a job for which I was largely unqualified (high school football reporter). When I was nearly fired six months later, he checked in with the editor regularly to ensure that I was doing okay.
When I got married in 1992, Mr. B. gave the toast. His youngest daughter, Gretchen, found the material for my wedding dress and sewed it. The family helped decorate the venue where we held the ceremony and the reception.
Mr. B. died from Covid on New Year's Day in 2021, six weeks after his daughter, Karen, died from the virus at the age of 55. I miss both of them dearly, but I still see Gretchen and Barbara when I go to Cape Cod, and every once in a while I hear from John, Mr. B's son. I've been wanting to write about Mr. B. for so long — in fact, this note was originally about five times longer, but I decided maybe I'll hold onto those details and write a tribute to him for my own Substack. Thanks, Rona, for this opportunity to think for a while about someone who made a tremendous difference in my life.
Debby, you should absolutely tell this story on your own stack and give it room to breathe. I'm particularly touched that he called your boss to check on you after you were nearly fired. With the shift to virtual work, which is likely to remain in some form, we've lost the ability to make connections that are grounded in everyday exchanges. You and I were lucky to find the caring mentors we did. I'm sorry Covid took Mr. B.
He was also a wonderful writer. And I think part of the reason he took an interest in me was that, like me, he had lost a parent at a young age. I think he was five when his mom died. Here is a beautiful essay he wrote for the NYTimes about his (step) grandfather, who won a Nobel Prize in physics: https://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/07/science/space/when-victor-hess-discovered-cosmic-rays-in-a-hydrogen-balloon.html
A memorable piece, Rona, that brings to mind mentors of my past and makes me wonder about missed opportunities to mentor others. No time like the present!
I have had some terrible managers in my career and can count on one hand the good ones. What a gift they were and are! What a gift you were and are!
There are always opportunities, I’ve found, but once you leave the workplace they tend to be few and fleeting. Thank you, Elizabeth, for your ongoing encouragement of my work. You were among the first readers to find me here.
I appreciate you!
Rona, you are certainly a mentor to me and to many others on Substack. I love these stories. What a gift you have for telling them so memorably. I’m grateful for your presence here. I wish I could look back on relationships that kept me moving forward. That isn’t how things worked out. Thank you for sharing your insights each week in your thoughtful, finely crafted posts. I appreciate your promoting other writers on Notes and through comments and restacking. That’s what it means to mentor others.
Mary, you are one of several here who did not experience mentorship of the kind I’ve described here. Virtual relationships have real, sustaining power. We see that here on this platform, day after day and week after week. Supporting one another is part of what makes us human.
This is such a generous, spirited piece. Thank you.
As for my own mentors, I can think of one, though I don’t know if mentor is the right word. They’ve shaped and held me, guided me and empowered me. But I often find myself needing to hold myself without them.
Thank you, Angelica. Mentors, teachers or wise friends, you do need to find your way without them. I've adapted Keitha's core beliefs to my own purposes, and am sure my mentees have done the same.