Very pleased that my poetry–“Dance Past It”–appeared in the January issue of Front Porch Review.
And, further pleased that my poem “Maples” will appear in the April, 2017 issue of Front Porch Review!
Front Porch Review (http://frontporchrvw.com) is a nicely done and thoughtful online journal of skillful, smart, and striking short fiction, poetry, and essay.
Do take a look!
Dance Past It
The voice ‒ from breakfast ‒ eludes me now.
I toyed with it,
ignored its clamor
That voice ‒ so loud ‒ is silent now.
It doesn’t pursue,
it does not wait.
It’s vanished ‒ like frost peeling from my roof in morning sun.
Moment by moment,
rain drips off the holly’s black branch,
slides into the cold earth,
and I, silly in the winter light ‒ dance past it.
In the light of this brilliant, beautiful autumn morning, these thoughts occur:
Fear, anxiety, and worry permeate the groundswell of reaction to the election. Fear is contagious and destructive. Please keep that in mind as you share.
Next, when did this happen–we’ve all become seers and crystal ball gazers of uncanny accuracy?
Chicago Botanic Garden, 10/16 (photo by author)
Autumn, glorious autumn. Glorious or not, autumn is not always a time dear to my heart.
Well, it is dear to my heart, my everyday heart that absolutely loves autumn. But not dear to my writer’s heart. And perhaps, writers, you recall or can guess why.
(Image by author)
Writers, I have put down my pen for much of this August and am reading.
It’s been wonderful, deliciously so, to allow myself big chunks of time each day to just read. I have a list as long as my arm of novels and stories I’ve been wanting to tackle, and am thoroughly enjoying working my way down the list!
But not all is delightful.
Like all writers, I have a life. That is, a life apart from writing. I know, it can be hard to believe that writers can find the time and resources to earn degrees, land jobs, fall in love, marry, buy houses, produce children, pay taxes, unclog drains, and weed the garden.
That our lives, on the outside, can appear so boringly, or brightly, normal to the casual viewer.
Blue Dancers, Edgar Degas, c 1899
What happened on Wednesday?
For starters, bored with a story that wasn’t coming together, at least not in the way I want, I took an abrupt writerly turn and with little planning or forethought, pulled out of the dusty bins of my laptop a story that I wrote some time ago.
Some time ago? I wrote this particular story years ago.
Selfridge’s Department Store, London, 1942 (image Wikimedia Commons)
Writers, it hurts.
I know; I’ve been there, and I’m there now. As I said in an older post, rejections are raining!
The good news about this is that it means I’ve been submitting a lot as of late. The bad news is…Well, there are a number of bad things that fall out of receiving rejections.