anniversary

June is gorgeous with words and flowers

What can I say? The writing news has been shockingly good recently. In case you’re not bored to death from my Facebook posts, here’s a recap: I placed second in the latest On the Premises mini-contest (#42!), which can be read here. I thought I’d only made the Micro-Madness Long List – and I was so happy with that – but then, last night, I saw that I was shortlisted and published here(June 13)! (And if you’re anal-retentive like me, you’d do the math and see my story was in the top 10!) 101 Fiction Issue 23 was released with my story in it. I wrote it during a Kathy Fish Fast Flash Reunion Workshop. Another one is coming up this weekend and I’m excited as all get out. I also received an email from the Strands International Flash Fiction Contest…and I’m on the short list. Plus! The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature took a story of mine and it will be out in March of 2020. Like I said, shockingly good news on the writing front which has been quiet the balm for the rejections which have also tumbled in to remind me I’m NOT all that.

The yard and garden have been keeping me on my toes. I had a Disney Princess montage! I went out to plant willow near the road. I put three in and turned around to see a black butterfly with amazing blue iridescent spots. I walked around to the next section and found a yellow swallowtail butterfly on the pale pink lilacs fluttering about. Then, walking to the next section, I heard a ruckus. It turned out to be a duck squawking for the baby ducks to get in line. All of this happened in like 6 minutes. It was amazing. And of course I had no camera at the time.

This is the pale pink lilac bush. I wish there was a way to have you inhale the aroma. Wild roses are blooming nearby so it’s heady on that path.

Monday, I had a lovely time in Springville at Café 49 catching up with Kim Chinquee and Wednesday morning found me at Spot Coffee in Orchard Park with Mary Akers. I wrote and she worked on Crab Con details. And I got my swag bag!

Tuesday I did more yard work since the weather is spotty and found the slim irises are also in bloom.

And back on 31 May, even though I told Husband he didn’t have to, I was honored to receive roses from him to commemorate 19 years of being married/20 years together. (Isn’t he sweet?)

Anyways, and all in all, this is one of the happiest posts I’ve ever gotten to write. Thanks for stopping by and for the read!

A Different Thanksgiving

I was still feeling strange last Thursday, that’s why this post is a week late. My essay on attending last year’s International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day appeared in the My View column of The Buffalo News on the 8^th – Election Day. I didn’t know if I was going this year or not. I decided last Thursday that I would. It’s a good program and a good place to be before the holidays begin.

Thanksgiving being held on different dates, the fact that my family often celebrated on the weekend before or after the holiday and the time factor blur what this is: the 20^th anniversary of an argument that changed my life.

I’d let it go if I could. I was three days into not smoking, XO Man had invited me into his life, I was planning to go back to Texas and I was happy. Then my mother and I got into a fight. It left me devastated and feeling unworthy of love, happiness, or progress. Instead of going to Texas, I stayed in a miserable spot, started smoking again, and stopped growing as a person for a long time.

At Christmas, my mother was the opposite; full of delightfulness and laughter. I didn’t trust her. My “big” present was cash, which is what I wanted. I’d also gotten a bag of little stuff. I don’t remember now – whether I found them before or after – but there were a pair of earrings in that bag that I really liked but I didn’t have time to send her a thank you note. I wore them to her funeral; I haven’t worn them since then.

I suppose that is a pattern that repeats. I don’t know what my mother was going through when she picked that fight. I doubt my stepson realizes how pissed I was last year that I was not expecting him, his girlfriend, and her best friend to arrive the next day. I didn’t have time to clean properly, Husband had told me in no uncertain terms that the wedding reception was not going to be here and I told him to tell Stepson because I didn’t want to get involved in it. No. That morning, I got a request from an agent. I had no idea when they were going to arrive, or if they still were so I was working on getting my book submission perfect when they walked in demanding all of the attention.

Last Christmas, I tried to be tolerant of Stepson’s abysmal behavior toward all of my guests and his father and I could cope until he shoved something in my face and told me to do something with it. When I refused, he walked away telling everyone I was acting like a bitch. After that fight, I have no interest in having a gathering here over the holidays, if ever again.

I’m truly grateful that Shirley Palmerton invited Husband and me to her home for dinner today. I’m thrilled to be spending this day with fellow writers and their spouses. It’s good to have found this tribe. For Christmas, we’ll be at Husband’s brother’s house. I’ll bring some food there because Niece must have her quiche so she shall. We’ve agreed to no gifts, which is a huge relief.

The novel had a hiccup and now I’m dreaming the end. It shouldn’t take much longer to finish once I sit down to wrap it up. I had another flash picked up by 200 CCs. Thank you Paul A. Hamilton. And thank you Christopher James for my faux pas. I’m truly sorry and while I am still embarrassed to death, it’s a lot harder to pull that off than I thought, especially today.

I’m grateful for all my friends, the writers and artists, the editors and designers, the singers and actors, teachers and medical professions, builders and retail workers, musicians and thinkers of different points of view as well as the people who agree with me. If you think I left you out, know you’re in a class by yourself and I didn’t want anyone to think I was playing favorites…but we know, don’t we?

Thank you and Happy Thanksgiving.

*These are my Creekside holiday reflections. Your experiences may vary.

One thing done, twenty more added to my to do list.

Here it is, the fourth of June and the garden is finally planted. The screened in tent went up last night and I moved the swing in there this morning. The weather man said it was supposed to be sunny today, but that is not how the sky appears. It is the start of fun part of the year where I’m better off waking early to get outside to beat the muggy heat and the biting bugs. I am not a morning person. I’m not sure I’m an outside person either.

The author and my editor liked my review of Muscle Cars. I’ve been asked to conduct an interview with an author I’m unfamiliar with, so when I get a chance, I’ll be expanding my repertoire at The Tavern. Also, I may be revisiting a part of my life soon. I’ll know more on Tuesday, and I don’t want to jinx it, but it involves politics.

Husband and I made it to our 15th anniversary. It fell on Sunday and he brought me The New York Times, Dunkin Donuts coffee, and these gorgeous flowers. They are holding up well. I guess we are, too—at least we haven’t killed each other yet. The day before our anniversary, there were a few iffy moments.

Condensed to Flash: World Classics is out and available at Amazon. I am honored and proud to have a story in there. It’s a gorgeous book with so many great stories by incredible writers. Many thanks to Mark Budman and everyone at Vestal Review Press.

Last week was brutal with rejections, so I’m hoping things turn around soon. I’ve got 5 new flash pieces from the workshop—well, one wasn’t directly from there, but the association is close. I’m going to run them by a few friends and then submit. I’ve slacked off with that part of the process recently, but it is difficult not to go outside and enjoy being able to do just that. This winter was unrelenting and I’m so glad it is over. We’ve had the daffodils, the irises are blooming and soon there will be peonies.

Thanks for stopping by!

(These are my Creekside Reflections; your experiences may vary.)

Siblings. Gotta Love Them Because It’s A Whole Other Crime If You Murder Them.

Working for r.kv.r.y. is ironic in that I’ve discovered I’m so adept at suppressing stuff that I don’t even realize I’ve done it.

For years, this date has found me holed up in bed and not getting up until after noon. This year, I had changed the date in my head. I believed the anniversary was the 19^th. By then, I would have realized I’d missed the true anniversary date and life would have gone on. Progress.

Oh, no. There’s Facebook and a whole familial vigil going on this morning.

It’s just as well. I didn’t know what else I was going to write about to day, so I’d like to share my first published piece which appeared in the January/February 2009 issue of the now defunct magazine The Rambler.

JANUARY 16, 1997

by T. L. Sherwood

This is what it looks like before everything shifts into surrealism for a while. Romeo stares down his master, me, asleep at the remote. A wet nose nudge does the trick and we’re off to bed. I’ve always been a night owl who likes to drink alone. I’m not the only bartender who will admit this if you ask. We prefer to serve ourselves quietly after work while a sappy movie plays in the background.

I don’t even drink that much. I want a clear head, if not eyes. The weather is spectacular. I regret hanging curtains as the lightening dazzles in the snow storm and I pace window to window to door. It’s blowing too hard to enjoy a more intimate view outdoors. The beauty is enticing but tiring. I finally go to bed; I lay down dreamless. The black backs of my eyelids flash and fumble in opposite colors, re-creating the electric display I’d just witnessed. I’m about to drift off. It’s past midnight. I made it through another day on earth; I can rest assured my tombstone will reflect this.

Gentle tiptoeing sandman is on his way out the door when the phone rings. My temporary boyfriend doesn’t wake up. The dog shifts. I won’t get up. I swear I won’t, though it might be my real boyfriend. Christ, I give up–the true love of my life that has slunk around the background of all my adult relationships. I’m willing to tell him how much I love him, be done with the pretense and go all the way to Texas to be with him; I am that ready to jump. I need to sleep. If I wake up–all the way–I might tell him all this.

Groggily I mumble, “Hello.”

Miles and miles away but closer than Texas is the most different voice. It is my Uncle. Hospital. Heart attack. My mother. Dead.

I sit in the kitchen chair.

I cannot come tonight. There is a snow storm.

He will take my Grandmother and my brother home. It’s a hell of a night for everyone. The connection is severed.

I sit. I stare. I try to lie down again. Romeo half-growls as I snuggle up to my temporary boyfriend. The thunder has passed. The wind is still whipping the snow around outside. I hear the snowplow roughly scrape the pavement with its curved blades. Give it six hours and the roads will be cleared. The sun will rise but nothing will ever be the same again, not even seeing a picture of a man who has fallen asleep in front of a television set.

***

I agree, it’s not my best work, but an editor thought enough of it to accept it and I am so grateful to Jonathan Tuttle for believing in my work at a time when I was wondering if I had any talent at all…

(*These are just my Creekside Reflections. Your experience may vary.)