#killingmesoftly

Live with Lori Lieberman! Lori, whose poem inspired, Killing Me Softly ( Lori first recorded the number-one hit for Roberta Flack and The Fugees), was Women Who Write's very first musical guest. She's also the only artist to do every venue WWW has done––my living room in LA (thrice), NYC, back when we were bicoastal, The Henry Miller Library in Big Sur, and, the streets of Noho, when we did Lit Crawl. She was always the first one I called. Lori has also performed at Carnegie Hall, twice, about to be thrice! December 10th! 

Link for tkts: https://www.carnegiehall.org/.../Afternoon-Concert-with... 

30% Discount code: LAL 43749

Today Live with Lori Lieberman! We'll be talking about Lori’s career which has spanned five decades, producing 20 albums, through to her latest release, Truly, a departure for Lori, as she delves into the American Songbook, with a unique revisit of Killing Me Softly. You haven't heard it until you've heard Lori sing it. And, if I virtually twist her arm, perhaps she’ll gift us with it and perhaps one off her Girl And The Cat, an album Lori considers her life’s work about her and her daughter. 

For all things Lori visit : lorilieberman.com

Did I mention how much I adore her? It’s been way too long. I so can’t wait! 

Lori Lieberman Live on Game Changers with Vicki Abelson

Wednesday, November 29th, 5 PM PT, 8 PM ET 

Streaming Live on my Facebook

I don’t think I’ve figured that part out yet. You see, I’m a recovering black and white thinker. I can’t fathom the idea of someone self sabotaging or hurting the ones they claim to care about. It makes itself very easy to digest in that way. You hurt me so you must not love me. And so it goes.

“But that’s not true”

And now I have to think more than I want to. You care. You miss me probably. More than likely. You might even regret what you did. More than likely. But my brain can’t wrap its head around even that.

Don’t you know you can just talk to me? You can be honest and I’ll hold that part of you. But maybe you don’t know. Maybe your brain is like my brain the way it kills me softly. Mistakes the perfumes for the poisons. I can’t even enjoy your scent anymore.

I wish I knew how to hold that truth. That you might have actually felt for me and wanted to be with me and still hold space for me. I think I believe it, but it hurts to know that it couldn’t be more simple.

I have a love for nuance, but less so when I have to really work to see it and live in that grey. But am I not speaking to you now in spite of how much space you take up in me? Do I not thread your name in conversations, wind you tightly against my brain? Do I not live in this body for you?

And yet…I won’t reach out. Not because I can’t. But also because I can’t. I’ve learned many a lesson about toying with the ways of the world, with its ebb and flow. How confusing things get when you won’t wait your turn. When you lose patience and faith.

I don’t know how to feel about you quite yet. In a perfect world, we’d heal quietly apart and I might find you in a bookstore. And we’ll bump in to each other, maybe holding hands. And then we’d know.