Author: T. L. Sherwood

T. L. Sherwood lives beside Eighteen Mile Creek in western New York. Her work has appeared in Rosebud, Thema, Literary Orphans, and Vestal Review among other places.

Spirited Thanks

Usually, I take a picture of our Thanksgiving table. Sometimes I send it in a text with a greeting to others. This year, besides a few two-word exchanges, the once sweet stress day filled with relatives I might only see then passed quietly with no photographs. We ended up watching the Macy Parade – brava! A bit later, the dog watched the first twenty minutes of the Westminster Dog Show with interest, then retrieved a ball for us to throw.

The snow arrived, but not a deep one. On Friday, the ceiling painting commenced and now patches are on the wall. They will be buffed out and painted next weekend – fingers crossed. By then, I should have the coppers cleaned and arranged in a pattern to be hung on the kitchen wall. Before there was a triangle shape filled with them, now I’m considering a border instead, but I don’t think that would quite work.

My writing excitement of last month was dampened with both the discovery that instead of new management, the NaNoWriMo site is gone entirely and finding out the story I thought was a book is a short story. A different part of my being that I hadn’t considered an asset before niggled its way into my mind and since then, I am plotting out a different future.

I won’t say I’m done writing, but I watch women writers work so hard on craft, then have to spend so much time on promotion. I don’t want to do that. Sure, I believe in my work, my characters, my plots, but to do the interviews and visit bookclubs? At this point in my life, that isn’t my jam.

A recent newsletter from On The Premises, advised that a writer should be known for something. I read that and not so much disagreed, but wondered how true that can be. I thought about my own work, sharing thoughts with other writers, prizes I’ve won, working at two litmags, and then I wandered over to the question of “What are you most proud of?” hoping to stumble on “what I wanted to be known for” in writing, but the answer that came to mind had nothing to do with literature and now I’m slowly taking steps to do a scary thing that is likely to be ugly at points. I apologize for the vagueness here, but until I have a more concrete base (which is forming nicely) I’m basically only telling people in person because of certain restrictions. 

Otherwise, my desire for a tidier house remains and I am continuing to whittle away at clutter. Of course Husband just complained about a drill bit that keeps falling out and my suggestion that he throw away the faulty bit resulted in a confession that there are at least 6 of these fairly useless things adrift, so yeah, I guess clutter morphs instead of disappears, doesn’t it?

Our sycamore turned into a Christmas tree with a star shaped leaf on top and natural ball ornaments hanging from the branches, so technically, we have decorated for the holidays.

I hope your November was a delight and may the month ahead be an easy carefree one for you. Thank you for stopping by and for the read! YOU are very much appreciated!!!

Boo to you

It is the scary season and since I’m writing this after editing pages to send to the awesome writing club at the library AND editing and printing copies of the next installment of a weird little tale for the Friday group AND it’s Wednesday, not a last minute Friday scribbled post, we all ought to be terrified that I’m ahead of schedule on anything, let alone multiples.

Actually, what it means is that the writing is returning to a primary status…or so I hope.

How are you? How are your thoughts? Are you holding up, ok? I’m writing and thinking specifically of some of you – especially those who’ve mentioned/let it be known that they have ever read this blog –and I’m sending a warm virtual hug to you all now. It’s been rough, hasn’t it?

What helped push me through was cracking open the Halloween box and inserting new batteries into old toys. I haven’t decorated for a few years so it was fabulous to find things I’d forgotten about. The Frankenstein is a wind up; the ghost walks while the Addam’s Family theme plays with howls; the witch cackles and lights up; the red-eyed monster groans. The animal occupants of the house want to destroy them all.

A lot has been made of community and reaching out lately. I have been, but sometimes it’s like a drug and I crave more. NaNoWriMo is coming up and I soured on the thing after it was revealed that Grant and others fed the project drafts to train bots. I miss the community though, and intend to participate this year even if it makes me a hypocrite. Uploading drafts is not a requirement for participation and now robots think sentences like, “The dog was green—purple—no aqua—look up color of mermaid hair lunch, I mean God” is a valid sentence, so there are those points to consider. Writing is so friggin’ hard and while I like to work alone, I also like to mingle with other writers, so that’s what I’ll be doing. I think. I am out of practice. And writing is hard. Okay, the disciple required to sit down and write, developing that is the hard part. A lot of times, the writing is easy.  

There was something called Flannelfest at Kissing Bridge so we went and I haven’t viewed the footage yet (so I’m not sure what was recorded) but I threw an axe and I am quite adequate at it. Husband climbed the rock wall that was set up. We rode the lift through the foliage and walked down. We watched a log chopping competition, then split a chicken dinner. It was nice to escape the world for a few hours among the beautiful trees.

We said No Kings by being there.

I’m sharing a new part of my daily view. Many thanks to Cat and Mike at Wolniewicz Pottery for my beautiful new sugar bowl. Isn’t it gorgeous?

May your daily look out the window also bring you light and delight. Thank you for stopping by and for the read! Happy Halloween. YOU matter!

Tasks neglected like middle children

My attempts at strict discipline, whether adhering to an exercise schedule or in regards to an aspect of writing, are often effective…for a short while. I haven’t had much success with that approach recently, instead I’m rumbaing around, task to task, tidying in preparation for an upcoming avalanche of writing.(I love it when I surprise myself writing – especially in conveying such a hopeful idea  in light of the current situation with a government shut down looming and all the other limp baby eggplant energy slopping around all over the place.)But what kind of writing? I love a good flash, but I also like the massive headache of a novel. What to do? What to do?

I took a walk. I have taken several walks. I talked to one of the dearest people I know on Zoom today and one of things I heard myself saying – how I tackle areas of the house depends on what other tasks there are to do, and depending on my attitude, I’ll either do the hardest, or the easiest thing. I think that’s been part of my problem, I have a book I’m polishing, I pretty much know the next book I want to write (but haven’t put time into yet) and that was it. Realizing I didn’t have a different option sparked an idea for another novel so MAYBE this will lead to writing the easier of the two since the one I came up with in the woods hasn’t gelled at all yet.

Such dreams, eh?

Except not writing is an annoyance. And I’m sick of not, thus I’m sitting here, typing to you on the pink machine, asserting future writing could soon be occurring while getting a little scared about facing a blank page in the morning. Or as part of a shadow NaNoWriMo in November. I don’t know, but how do you like my winter writing digs?

Isn’t it insane that it’s October tomorrow? I bought two small pink mums for the outside entrance table. I hope to get a white pumpkin and paint on black polka dots to sit between them before I take a picture. I was up in the loft a few weeks ago. I should have pulled the Halloween tub then, but I had nowhere to put it. Why not? Ah, yes, the fun bit…

Husband took the van in for an inspection/check engine light and yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, everything he had crammed into every conceivable spot had to be removed and then rearranged into a smaller van and yes, Husband owns a lot of carpentry tools and fiddly bits and now we get to find homes for those unvanned things and yes, it’s just as much tedious fun as you can imagine.

So that’s the haps from here. The leaves are changing and I might get to the bulbs this year. I keep meaning to move them, that is never the most nor least pressing issue around here. Oh, we did make it out to Still on the Hill to hear JT & the Law play and if you ever get a chance, you should too. Have a fantastic month. Eat the rich, tally ho, and all of that until next time! Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

(My favorite sycamore in the back 40 has developed a smiling face!)

I’m surviving this short summer with chocolate and flowers, how ‘bout you?

Hilariously, I remembered to do the thing where I shut the door to write and what I wrote was a list of times to write, a list of things to enjoy, a list of shoulds, then have-tos. I don’t think one thing has altered since the last time I remembered to sit in front of a blank page for more than a minute. I probably have work sheets with boxes to check as I completed each daily task that I could copy. Planning a slow slog is reassuring and intimidating, and if it worked…I know, I know, except it does. Sort of. For a little while. Words are magic and from experience I know that if I write it down, I do Pilates and if it isn’t on the list, it doesn’t happen.

What did happen was this gentle rose. It only bloomed once this year with three buds, but it is so pretty and delicate right here.

And out of nowhere – BOOM – Literary Namjooning nominated my story from Issue One for Best of The Net. Thank you Lakshmi, Melissa, and Hema! From the bottom of my heart, Namaste.

Another thing was that I listened to a segment about baking a few weeks ago. I froze a chocolate box cake after I cooked it to the lower end of the cooking time. The cakes cooled, I wrapped them in clingfilm, put them on a plate in the freezer overnight. After they defrosted, I whipped the store bought frosting which did help with coverage, but I wish I’d beaten it longer and a friend suggested adding a liquid. I don’t think that it was heavy cream, but supposedly a half cup of heavy cream poured over the Pillsbury Grands cinnamon rolls before baking (and waiting for them to cool a little before putting on this icing) makes them taste like Cinnabons. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a Cinnabon, and I haven’t tried this recipe, but it’s stuck in my memory and what I mean to say is that freezing the cake really did make a difference to the taste and mouth feel, so I recommend it. Adding a teaspoon of vanilla to Rice Krispie Treats is good. Mixing and melting a cup of chocolate chips and a tablespoon of shortening or butter together in the microwave and after it’s cooled a bit, spread it over the top of the treats is also good.

What makes me ecstatic is that I got to spend another year with this guy and bake him a cake.

What’s less appealing is bringing in wood and preparing to build a fire. It’s August, but already we’re rearranging the furniture. I’m setting up computers in the library for writing in winter. A few plants have wandered in and the Christmas cactus that has been pawed over thrice. Today in the upper greenhouse, the shelf for the plants was put up higher than usual. The chairs slide under. If I were brave enough to face the creek and write, I could do it there.

Working in a room of many windows has drawbacks though. I can see the hummingbird feeder from there, and turkeys wandering on the patio. Chipmunks. Squirrels. Bugs so in love with each other they form a sexheart for hours. Life literally getting in the way.

 In the way of what? Indeed. Great question. I’m off to find an answer.

Just kidding. After this, there is the making of the dinner and maybe rewatching The Terminator. I’ve been sketching or reading while I eat dinner. I’ve plotted out a picture book about recycling and death. I haven’t gotten serious about the illustrations, but it’s fun and makes more sense than the musical that keeps happening lyric by riff in my head, because seriously, I’m not remotely a musical theater person or a real artist, but my drawings will never hurt anyone’s ears unless they are rolled up and inserted.

Lovely image, I know. Guess I’ll be stopping here. Have a great month.

Thank you for stopping by and reading. Thank you also for being you and not a piece of wood.

Wouldn’t Call it Persisting

I am finding a lot of satisfaction from tidying. Of course I’m a temporary Kondo worshipper in the throes of decluttering and my endorphins are boosted each time I open a neat and tidy drawer, but I can honestly say that I feel more relaxed in my home recently. Knowing where things are and where to find them is such a comfort.

As you can see, it is calmer looking in the office. I bought a P Touch and now the drafts of stories I’m working on feel more substantial. In reorganizing files, I came across praise from editors for my writing that was so positive and affirming that I nearly feel like digging in and going for it again.

Another novel.

What am I thinking?

In this world turned batpoop loony, the might be my saving grace…

…or the death of me.

~~*~~

Of course, reality came in, bit my head, and sucked out any bright spots. A pushy medical person on the phone went out of their way to emphasis what a horrible, uncaring person I was for not bowing down to some made up guidelines to schedule another soul-sucking appointment in October. She made me feel bad about not being able to afford to run to their offices every three months for Husband’s “best health.” Sorry, not sorry.  We’re doing the best we can do with overpriced, high-deductible insurance and 6 months will have to do and no, there is no way we’re doing any more in person January – March appointments. I sincerely doubt anyone making these excessive, intrusive appointments experience what their patients do. I doubt they get charged for parking in a falling apart parking ramp, either. Had I the ability to do it over, we wouldn’t be going there at all, but for some reason, Husband likes the doctor – whose mind we were supposed to read today, but they called it “miscommunication.”

Even though we successfully talked them into a 6 month retest instead 3 months while in the office, and the actual medical degreed person came in and said to Husband, “Get a test in 6 months,” what we were were somehow supposed to divine was that he actually meant, “Make an appointment in three months that will go over your insurance limit for the year, get a blood test which is also over the insurance limit for the year but relatively cheap, and then drive here so I can tell you what those results are –even though it’s a blood test and you can look at the results online. And then do that all over again 3 months after that in the dead of winter, okay?” If he had said that, we would have told him, “No, we won’t be doing that at all. We have other doctors and they also want our money, so you are need to chill on wanting to take any more big chunks of it for a while, okay, you greedy little deaf piggy? We’ll get the test in January, and if we think it’s a bad number, we’ll give you a call, but until then, we can’t afford to see you again until next summer.”

Ffs

You know, it is getting very hard to live anymore, which is why I grabbed hold of the idea of tidying, hoping it would help some, and it has, but then I leave the house…I mean, what more do people want from me? I understand I cannot control anything, really, but does everything have to be awful? My son is having a real rough go right now. Our niece was hurting in the ER and we haven’t had an update in a while about that. The severity and the cruelty in the actions being taken by this government really doesn’t offer a reason to keep living in this country, especially when they act like they don’t want humans to be alive at all. Everything related to our healthcare and education policies are a horrid mess. Pollution, grocery and utility prices, all increasing. And then I get to deal with the apparently all-knowing, all-seeing, never met her before in my life Amanda telling me I’m an uncompassionate monster who doesn’t care about my husband having “best health.” Seriously, why bother anymore?

And yes, I know, why oblige them…but this is a hellscape.

And no, I’m not suicidal, but I don’t see anything getting any better, okay? We still have (had) the first amendment. I can still say things are bleak and I feel the bleakness, can’t I? Because it is bleak. And unbearable. And I am so, so freaking tired.

~~*~~

I wish I could type happier and tell you wonderful things about words and chapters, too, but I’m bungling around, up and down, irritated and enthralled. I walk to the labyrinth admiring the different shapes flowers have come up with to show off their blooms. Black-Eyed Susans, clover, fleabane, bee balm. The range of green – from nearly white-yellow to a deep dark hunter – delights my eyes. The roots I step over as I walk the rocklined maze are connected to the nearby sycamores, which are shedding their skins. I rescue a dying milkweed by untangling a three-leafed vine from the stalk. Fluffy purple flowers I don’t know the name of are the preferred sleeping spots of the bumblebees and the sweetest sight. I stand on rocks in the creek and I breathe.

Out there, I feel alive and I am fine. More than fine. Sometimes, I feel actual peace.

Otherwise, it’s been an all firewood splitting and stacking, finding places for things to live and putting them there while ignoring the horror called news and contemplating writing a story no one may ever read kind of quiet, hot month here.

I do thank you so much for reading this and seriously – I’m sorry for being down, but I could only mask over this anger, rage, and profound sadness for so long. I hope you’re doing better than I am and I wish you well. Thank you for stopping by! I really do appreciate you and your time. It means a lot to me.

Ciao

Procrastinating on my writing goals the Marie Kondo way

Learning to tidy like Kondo has been the recent goal. I enjoy it. The folding is satisfying. Being able to see all the options shirts and pants is amazing. Even my socks feel better. With the positive outcomes of this method, I needed to refrain from two different tidying tasks today because I had cooking and laundry to accomplish and falling into the trance of easier upkeep and item retrieval wasn’t the option I wish it had become.

On the last day of May, it was cool enough for a wood fire. (And yes, Husband DID remember we’d been married 25 years and brought home roses.) A flip switched and we were in the hot part of summer. The garden – such as it is – went in late. Each year I care less about the lawn but do keep the labyrinth and the paths to it under control. I’ve weeded the steps and moss twice, but they insist on returning and the hummingbirds! I can’t believe how much I’m feeding them. The orange lilies are out and again this year, the mountain laurel bloomed. I moved a lot of wood and when I was ready to split, the heat dome formed. Today, rain. It’s always like this – matching activity to the weather – but this month was filled with constant movement both inside and out and I’m tired.

It is Monday and I have the loveliest problems.

Another one: A few of the characters, some of the plot, certain conversations, and the one scene from the book I abandoned last year have been intruding on my thoughts and have begun to annoy me. The idea of rewriting Ellie’s Elephants had been my concern until this nattering grew incessant. My idea is to do a private form Camp NaNo in July and see how 50,000 words shakes out.

One of the intense senses I have is that a main character either changed or I’d gotten her wrong the first time. Maybe I’ll find that this is a different character. As I’d been ignoring this call, I haven’t transcribed things she has said. Her job is more pronounced, as well as a few of her compromises made for friends. The theme is tending toward revenge held up to a mirror. I hate discussing work I haven’t written, but parts of it were written and I hate the idea of writing/rewriting a book at all right now, (What indulgent ostrich behavior!) but it might be a thing that keeps me sane. Not that I was ever diagnosed as sane, but you know what I mean.

I’m aiming – as I think I’m always subconsciously striving for – is a level of clean or organized that I feel I have permission to write without complaint. No one complains, but the level of self-esteem I derive from a clean house is obnoxious. People can see whether a house is clean, they are unlikely to read my draft no matter how good it makes me feel to write it.

I suppose that’s the long way around of saying I’m starting a new project and I’m afraid.

Sending hugs to you if you need them. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

I didn’t unfriend you; Facebook kicked me out

Hello. I have a long version of the FB saga at the end – if you want to scroll for the details as to why I am not on Facebook. I’d rather speak of better things in this world like how I never knew these plants I call snake plants bloomed, but mine did.

Early this month, my 10-minute play, “Dust Up on the Skyway” was produced by Matt Boyle as part of “Get in the Car.” Kudos to the director, Andrea Simmons and to the real-life mother-daughter actresses – Hayley Wilkins and Lisa Sommers – who brought an incredible spark to the story. It felt invigorating to see other people’s work – so much so that I’ve been working on a one-act…

Theresa and Robert were fab for traveling in from Chicago and including us in their visit to western New York and the fancy named towns like Greece. As part of a choir, Jim and Mike serenaded all of us before a delightful meal at Steel Bound with their wives, as well at Denise and Eric.

The last scheduled meeting of the writing group that met at West Falls was cancelled. I ran into a participant at Wegman’s recently, she thought about offering to host that one, but didn’t. I thought about it, too. It was an interesting experience and prompted me to start one at a different library (Thank you Lydia!) That group is still going on and still offering hope that my writing isn’t horrid while allowing me the privilege of reading other people’s work. (Thank you Susan, Deb, and Hannah!)

Rina Fosati’s ventured out to Hamburg where we met at Comfort Zone for coffee. We often zoom on Tuesdays, but in person is better and it had been a while. Thursday, Husband agreed to go with me to a lit gig. Michael Parzymieso launched his first book, “The Dale” and had a warm intro from Nicole Hebdon. Today is Saturday and twenty-five years ago it was a Wednesday when Husband and I got married. (That’s a long time, isn’t it?) Anyway, so, there it is, a recap of this….

OH! I nearly forgot! Mucho mega thank yous to Kim Chinquee for including my story “Just One More Thing” in the Endurance Issue of Elm Leaves Journal. My beautiful contributor copy arrived! I truly am honored to have my work included among so many talented writers. The amount of care Kim puts into each issue as well as her classes and training is awe-inspiring. Seriously – thank you, Kim.     

On to the Facebook Saga:

Half paying attention, I opened Facebook one night and scrolled to find a pop up saying I couldn’t “like” a post, but I could leave a comment. Weird, right? So, I went through the settings and signed out of devices and created a new password. They sent a code to do this, and I then got an email saying it was all set, and I was good to go. A minute later, I got a nasty message saying I’d violated a community standard and I have 180 days to appeal. No warning sent that I’d posted a bad thing, no mention of what the violation was, no option to remove it.

In order to appeal whatever this charge is against me; I’d need to verify my humanhood on camera. While the one page says they keep the video for 30 days, further reading shows it is a year and really, I’m supposed to believe they’d erase it in 365 days? Right. This abusive treatment came about while I’m reading “Careless People” by Sarah Wynn-Williams in which she gives examples of what a $hit person Mark Zuckerberg is to others. (I’m just past where he abandoned a member of his team in Jakarta.) Anyway, I have 169 days left to appeal, but I feel no need to give the weirdo programmers my current image to warp into fake videos, so I guess we’ll have to find another way to stay in touch if our main contact is that advertising site. (Seriously, that’s another reason not to return – So. Many. Ads.)

 End of the boring origin story of my being basically silenced on a platform for…some reason.

Thank you for stopping by and for the read! I am reading Marie Kondo’s book but haven’t committed to it yet. The whole title is intimidating, “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese art of Decluttering and Organizing” but hey, it might make next month’s post succinct. Everything is possible. Have a great June and thank you again!

The Easter Bunny did not leave enough chocolate again this year

Things will happen a certain way and I’ll wonder if other artists have the same thing happen to them. I don’t ask because I’ve read their posts and flashes, stories and poems that have already told me the answer. Yes, it all happens all the time. It comes in waves. Tons of work getting published, then long stretches of comma rearrangement; long stretches to work but no inspiration or drive, then a week jammed packed with movement and tableaus to explore and little time to jot a note or sketch an outline.

The week I had included going to the Hamburg Library to attend a Lissa Marie Redmond event on a Monday night. I ran into Mary Jean Zajac there. Hannah from Writing Club attended, too. On Tuesday, it was Writing Club and I was reminded how far I have to go with the rewrite in making the text clearer. (And doing that while trying to remember the altered plotlines is what someone older than myself would call a “hoot.”) Wednesday I spent time at a mall with a woman I used to spend days at the mall with frequently and had at least 4 story ideas come up that day. Thursday, I helped a poet without realizing it was a poet I was helping at the parking kiosk. It was at Buffalo State and I was there to read for Drop Hammer from the upcoming (now out) Endurance Issue of Elm Leaves Journal. Theresa Wyatt, Nancy McCabe, Carol Townsend, and Jean Thompson read too at the invitation of ELJ’s editor, Kim Chinquee. Thank you, Kim! It was lovely and she took us out after for a meal at Cornelia, the restaurant in the renovated AKG. Kim has two (TWO!) books coming out soon – Contact with the Wild and Octopus Arms – congratulations Kim!

Friday, I ran errands and took the dog to the park. Saturday, we went to Buffalo with Betty in the rain and added our fed-up-with-this-dog-e-shit-slash-and-burn-policy voices to the Hands-Off Protest. It was cold, wet, and miserable, but it will be just as awful in an El Salvadorian concentration camp, you know?

Later, Husband and I went to see JT and the Law at Still on the Hill and my muted phone kept buzzing. The message came in out of order – the enormity of it all still stuns me. A friend I almost lost in a motorcycle accident two decades ago was in a near miss from a stolen Tesla that nearly killed him and his two children as they were on their way to an El Paso Easter Egg Hunt. Weirder still is that his wife, who came a bit later, medically attended to the person who had nearly wiped out her whole family.   

And that wasn’t even a full week of my April.

There is insurance paperwork piled up for me to read, reread, and attempt to understand. I was charged as a new patient when I was not and need to get that corrected before pulling out my hair. That right there is something to protest for – can you imagine? In other countries, healthcare is free – not for an insurance company to extract every penny in your pocket so they can have a profit and please their shareholders. Ffs, it’s people’s lives and those would be made healthier in an instant if universal healthcare – as found in most all other countries – came along and reduced everyone’s stress levels. But why would anyone in this administration care what would help anyone that isn’t them?

You see my dilemma – so much to write about, so behind on the minutia of daily life, so angry that the upcoming chaos could have been avoided. Plus, it’s criminal not to go out and acknowledge spring flowers like these while they are here, no?

Many thanks to you for stopping by and for the read. I cherish you in a weird way, but I think you already knew that because if you’re reading me, you’re probably a writer, too, so you know that kinship you feel when someone reads your words.

Cheers!

Spring(ish) Fever by the Creek and Writers

I’m thinking there’s a deeper essay in here, but I haven’t fleshed it out enough. Writing this is hard enough. I’d been distracted by the reports over the weekend of a jumper at the High Level Bridge.

Today I found out it was my old doctor who I never met. He’s literally my age.

 Was.

So many doctors recently…

In case I’ve never told you before, I hate being sick. Abhor it. Resent the amount of time it takes up so I must tell you, its extra fun to catch something at the doctor’s office during the yearly wellness exam. This time? Norovirus! Actually, Husband caught it and for days, I washed and Lysoled, slept in a mask and avoided it. Then I had to go back and got it. I mention this because doctors should mask, but don’t and I do mask and I haven’t been sick in years until I had to deal with them. I’m not sure what the appeal is for being ill. If you have a way to avoid such unpleasantness or don’t wish others to suffer, mask. Thank you. I’m doing better – except for the resentment of having time taken away from me, but it kept me from dwelling on certain thoughts…

Today, what I’m speculating about is why I bother sending out my work since it’s so often met with rejection, but there isn’t a doctor anywhere smart enough for that topic, so let’s talk about something else – like writers in the wild.

The Writing Club I volunteered to start in the local library has attracted some interesting people with neat stories and it’s exciting to feel the energy. (I’ve missed the group I’d been in pre-Covid) The other group I attend was developing a cool vibe and that was shattered. The last Friday meeting there was followed by direct messages on the socials. One of the members had a massive heart attack and died – roughly 24 hours later. This, of course, sparked a pile on of disbelief at the number of writers I’ve known who are no longer roaming the earth.

I did hear that at the writer’s viewing, our group was mentioned and that the writer had a positive experience with it. It’s going to sound like a brag, but I did encourage him to slightly rework one of his essays into a Buffalo News “My View” column. He did, it was accepted, and at least he went out as a published author, so yeah, I think it’s cool that I helped in a small way with his writing career when I had that option. To be honest, I expected to be helping him edit his book in a year, not marking the anniversary of his passing.

I know many people reject the sirening socials now with all the added bile, but it is where I find community. And opportunities. And notices of upcoming events. Yesterday, I saw a notice from Nancy McCabe. Her new book, Fires Burning Underground, will have a launch party on April 8th.   There were so many AWP pictures posted by and of people I admire. Melissa Olstrum and Mocha have brightened my day so often with their walks and her pottery. My cat climbs into my lap to be soothed by Melissa Llanes Brownlee’s singing and ukulele playing. (I’ve tried to get a picture of this, but annoying the white cat while she’s listening ends in scratches) Mike, a writer from my old group will publish his first book in June. MJ from there is on a speaking tour of sorts. Rina is decoding and polishing her father’s text. Gina from a different group is completing her series! There are so many artists sharing their lives and talents there, so it’s hard to not to cheer them on.

I think that’s the best part of being a writer – being in other writer’s lives. The blank page staring, the character wrestling, the chaos of keeping a story in your head, those are all lonely endeavors, and knowing someone else is out there struggling, too, helps with the despair. It’s sad that my old doctor didn’t have that – or if he did, it wasn’t enough.

Like I said, there’s a deeper essay lurking with better tie-ins and subtlety, but this is what I’ve got knowing the details now of a life that ended in a manner I admit I’ve contemplated for a character.

Thanks for stopping by and for the read. I appreciate the F*CK out of you, even if I don’t say it enough. It’s scary out there – resist. Do a silly walk. Sit in a box with a dog. Mine is willing – and eager – to share.

Cheers!

Bobbling

What a time to be alive…if we are alive. I’m leaning into the belief that Y2K was the end of earth and everything now is simply hell and because of fractals, the heat and stupidity is intensifying. If I’d studied math and science harder, I could draw up graphs to prove this. Instead, I write.

How are YOU doing? What are you doing to ease the constant stress? I’m into baths. I dump 2 cups of Epsom salts over a sprinkling of a ½ a cup of baking soda at the far end, dribble a few drops of lavender oil on top, then add hot water. When I submerge, effervesce tingles the back of my neck ala Calgon taking me away.

Sexton’s “Transformations” caught my eye, so I’ve pulled that off the shelf to reread when “They Were Her Property” by Stephanie E. Jones-Rogers gets too bleak. Kara Swisher’s “Burn Book” is nearly done, but the semi-coherent Elon in the book stands in contrast to the drug fueled maniac he now is in the White House – and lord help us all for what happened there today with Zelensky.

 I’m calling my reps, meeting on the downlow with the like-minded, and boycotting. After inventorying my unpublished pieces, I’ve been submitting – which means I’m getting rejected, but oh, a few of them have been from higher ups with “almost.”

And this prettiness hit my mailbox and made me so happy. Thank you Kim Chinquee!

So it’s all diving under water then shooting higher and harder with my work, encouraging other writers in real life and online, graciously accepting criticism when it comes politely (Thank you Rina Fosati!) while bobbling along in this surreal timeline, occasionally baking and drinking A LOT of tea. (If you haven’t tried it yet, I recommend Yogi brand Stress Relief with Kava and the Dandelion Root Detox varieties.)

May all your endeavors be fulfilling and your Granny Smith apples be green. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!