writing

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!)

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!

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!

Whiz. Bang. No Boom.

Now I can describe it as dread – the ever-present feeling overshadowing everything in my life since the bad PSA result arrived in November. The results of Husband’s biopsy were negative on all counts and since he received that wonderful news on Thursday morning, I’ve been decompressing. It’s been a physical sensation as well as a spiritual one – the lifting. It was a mental gulp of oxygen from holding back on plans not knowing if things were going to change – or how. An obligation I took on earlier was beginning to chafe as it grew nearer, but now I look forward to doing it. Hosting a writing club in a library is a lot easier to deal with than ordering stairlifts.

Yes, back to that. Assembling with other writers begins Tuesday February 4.th If you’re interested, send me an email because I can’t get the PDF to insert. I’ll bring cookies. Kidding. Well, maybe. I’m nervous about being in charge, but if it brings someone out who’s better suited to lead, I’ll feel good about getting something going in that direction.

And timing! I’d no sooner gotten PDF’s back from the librarian at one library, when the West Falls-Colden Library’s librarian called about a different writer’s group new meeting times – as if I wasn’t confused enough!

That group led by Joe Marren met again this morning. I entered the building and the new volunteer coordinator stood by the desk, hampering the swift dash downstairs I’d planned to make before the meeting’s start to check out the used books. She wanted to know if I’d come back and cover the Saturday shift again. There was more talk – and I left it up in the air – but I might. I mean, one of the first things I did after texting the good news to immediate family was look up the conference I went to last year. I haven’t been thinking in terms of “my” next move for a long time, so I want to explore before I commit.

I’ve had limited time with my writing and it’s been primarily used to work micros to death. The one I read at group today was met with silence, which is nerve-wracking, but also a sign that it packed a punch – and for a drabble, I think that’s impressive. Now to submit it. Aye, there’s the rub – putting my work out where it could face rejection. Or acceptance.

Maybe I’m not ready for either quite yet, but I am close. And close is far as I plan to get tonight while another early morning looms.

Thank you so much for stopping by and for the read!

The Prompt Witch

The Halloween decoration box came down from the closet after our company left and for the first time since Covid, I decorated with glee. I even picked up new light strands that were discounted at Lowe’s. They are fairy lights, so I’ll reuse them. The strand I already set up in the office ran through its set of patterns and when it reached the flashy bit, I used that as a prompt to pull my eyes away from the screen, so they are beneficial, too.

Speaking of prompts, today I was the Prompt Witch at Buffalo State for my co-appearance with the poet Karen J. Weyant for the Drop Hammer Series. I bought her book, “Avoiding the Rapture,” and so should you. Great turn out and fantastic questions! Thank you Kim Chinquee for the invitation – and an acceptance for the Endurance Issue of Elm Leaves Journal– and congratulations on your soon to be new releases!

The days have been uncharacteristically pleasant, so I’ve been trying to soak in the beauty while taking care of outside tasks that don’t need to be done, but being inside in such nice weather feels like a crime. I resented being sent outside as a child since I had books and comfortable places to sit inside, now I’m compelled.

The writing continues though the pace is uneven. I’ve restarted keeping a small book to tally my accomplishments each week. There used to be a lively board on Zoetrope called Friday Fess-Up where people would list their S,R, and A’s (submissions, rejections, and acceptances.) I’ve got three S’s, an R, and an A so far, which isn’t too shabby, but I can do better, so off I go to do that…or take a nap.

Spreading the magic of story is tiring work. I loved doing it today, and if you were there, thank you!

Thank you for stopping in for the read!

Oh the Humidity, and other pithy thoughts

Hello. Hi. Nice to see you again – and if this is your first visit, welcome. There’s a contact page link around here somewhere if you need it, though I get most of my messages the old-fashioned way: through the crows.

I’m here, strapped to a gyro, trying to balance all of the things – as well as work on the revision of my novel, Foam. I am…happier with it, but not necessarily with myself. I am going so slow. Ten pages ahead, go back thirty and reweave a plot point, start again. And again. It is a rewrite. I am going deeper into ideas and values held and taught to girls – and by deeper, I mean subtly pointing it out in prose. (Why yes, I do grow lofty about my own work – especially typing at a standing desk. I don’t know why. This is why I don’t think I would be a good teacher.  I fear I’d be tyrannical in a classroom. “You will kill that darling, do you hear me? Is that an adverb I see? 57 pull ups and you can watch me weep as you do them because you ermine-eyed scribbling child, you used a cliché later on in the same paragraph.”)

Congrats Damien !

(I have no pictures to prove it, I did wear a bathing suit while attending this graduation party on Lime Lake. Being comfortable enough with my own body to get so close to naked in front of friends and acquaintances was a nice side benefit to my true intention – which is to keep my body in shape to avoid surgery and/or replacement parts for as long as possible. I really don’t care for doctors. The morning Pilates/weight training/cardio routines are nothing but torture, but so is the idea of being cut into with a scalpel by a hungover surgeon, thus, I do A LOT of mat work.)  

Speaking – sort of – about that, many thanks to Tamara Grisanti and the editors and staff at Coffin Bell. It’s my second appearance there. I finished reading a previous issue in 2018, came up with the idea for this, wrote There’s No Such Thing as a Free Lunch , and then it sat there on the computer until sending it out to the only place I could see as it’s home. So, see? Sometimes, writerly things do work out.   

The path to the labyrinth and the ones to the creek were finally mown, but the weedeater remains broken. Seven rows of wood have been put up and once the mornings return to being pleasant enough to work outside for more than two minutes before my eyelids sweat, I will.  The electric fence for the puppy is operational, and the training has begun. We’ve eaten green beans, peas, and tomatoes freshly picked from the garden. At night in the newly rewoven lounge chair, I’ve watched bats dance across the full moon.

And, as is often the case, the smoothly working outside masks inner turmoil. Dear lord and heaven, marriage is hard, even when we’re agreeing.  Strapping myself to a chair to write & rewrite the same set of words is hard, too. The latest entry to the page of quotes reads, “People do not decide their futures, they decide their habits and their habits decide their futures.”

So, I step away from the mental spin cycle, open the goal book I started in January, re-read the quarterly breakdowns, find the to-do book, list 4 tasks to work on when I need to do something other than writing, but mostly this month, all I have been doing is writing, with seemingly little to show for the effort, but the habit. Oh, also stressing. Lots of that this month.

This is one of the two places I’m privileged to practice my writing habits. The other is basically the bleak hidden corner described in Orwell’s 1984, but with better light.

I hope your July was mighty fine. Thanks for stopping by and for the read!

Cheers!

It’s hard to chart your progress if you don’t know where you’re aiming

At the beginning of the year in a Nancy Stohlman class, I dreamed a few dreams and wrote them out as 10-year goals. Those were divided into smaller ones, which were divvied up further so I now have a printed out list of what needs to be done by quarter, with a monthly checklist of things to do in each.  I’m happy to report it is going well despite my occasional forays into freak-outs when there are any curve balls thrown my way. For whatever reason, I respond well to lists. This new structure has also freed me of some of my worry, but not my anxiety. To ease that between acupuncture appointments, I’ve made the upper greenhouse whiter with paint and returned a few of the plants early from their usual summer hang out on the patio. Opening any window lets in the babble of the creek. Sometimes there’s a breeze. In the morning, the light is even more dazzling than this.

As with the past few summers, getting back to the labyrinth hasn’t happened as often as I would have preferred, so this space serves as a calming spot where I drink tea, eat apples, and lately, edit. I didn’t think this was where I’d be, but I embrace it. Having the year-end accomplishment list I made was a heavy lift because I aimed for acceptances with print. As of now, I have had work appear in two that I can already hold in my hand in June. Trust me, it’s extra thrilling because both include work from fellow writers I love and respect. Again and again and again, thank you Kim Chinquee for inclusion in Elm Leaves Journal’s Eclipse Issue and thank you to The Drevlow for accepting my piece for Issue 11 of Bull. (Look at those covers. I’d buy them even if I weren’t in them.) The year isn’t over, but with that spectacular success crossed off, I’m on to the next ones.

The book edit I did earlier this spring sat for weeks. I returned and have been correcting it at a line edit/add a red herring here/downplay this, but mention it hard enough to be memorable stage of editing. (And by the way, may I offer apologies to all my poor beta readers who read even part of this mess. Especially Chel! I am so sorry I didn’t know how to make it better in an earlier draft!) I did think this read through would have me patting myself on the back for the clever bits, and there were a few, but in this draft, it’s apparent it needs more fine-tuning and craft. (I read, learn more, and then take scissor blades to phrases I’ve refused to cut in previous drafts. Killing your darlings can be gruesome and brutal – especially when you set the cuttings on fire to warm your soul with their flame…but maybe that’s just me and my editing style.)  

Anyway, the problem is that I have perfectionist tendencies and could spend the next thirty years on two sentences if I wanted to, but if I want to reach the goals on my list, I can’t. So while I’m not going fast, I’m striving for this version to be the good enough draft which will aid me in the next step, but I also want it to be over already. Last night I ran into another area I wanted to cut and paste into a better flow, but allowed myself to rest instead of delving into that messy spot when it was nearly midnight. Today, refreshed, I’m going to tackle other things. The weather of western New York decides the flow of which work is tackled and when. Besides writing, there is wood. I’ve been putting up what I split and stacked last year. As another row in the shed gets filled, I am happily in awe. All the time spent last year working on splitting is paying off and for that, I’m grateful. Though I itch to finish the book, I visit the white room and calmly remind myself there will be other days where I’ll want to stay in from the heat or days when it’s too rainy, and move on to the next task with less worry. A change in perspective helps, and sometimes you see chipmunks hanging upside down, too.

Besides the enormous help I feel I received from Nancy’s course, goals aren’t met without hard choices being made. There’s a meme without attribution I saw somewhere and I liked it so much I wrote it down to remind myself of its truth: Marriage is hard. Divorce is hard. Choose your hard. Obesity is hard. Being fit is hard. Choose your hard. Being in debt is hard. Being financially disciplined is hard. Choose your hard. Communicating is hard. Not communicating is hard. Choose your hard. Life will never be easy. It will be always be hard, but we can choose our hard. Pick wisely. ~Proper accreditation to be placed here if I ever find it.

Early on in our relationship, Husband and I decided to follow the cliché of saving for a rainy day which helped when the roof was damaged, and now, for this.

Of course the calculated time saved on working on the broken tractor has been transferred to wagon problems, but I’m focusing on the good parts, here. He can now mow the lawn and leave me out of that chore altogether so I have more time to edit and notice the beautiful surprises like a mountain laurel in bloom. I didn’t plant it, but I happily share this unexpected delight from Mother Nature. Isn’t it pretty?

I’m also happy to report Bertie graduated her first round of obedience course. Here’s our happy grad, just before eating her mortise board.

So yes, there is slow, steady, sloggy progress going on here. We’re making choices and enjoying the side benefits. After I post this, I’m going to pick fresh, ripe and sun warmed blackberries from bushes I transplanted last year to a more convenient spot, where happily, they took.

May all your goals be possible to reach and all your roots grow deep. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

Sometimes life is so crazy it looks like a dog with a cigar

I thought March was spectacular and then April came around. Sure, I had another birthday, which is fine, I guess, but eh the “aging” bit could go. I did receive amazing gifts of love through words, deeds, FB posts, flowers, and even presents. Thank you all and here is the picture of the cake I honestly would have shared with you had you dropped in at the time:

The 5th had me in Buffalo for a workshop where I had the opportunity to reconnect with members of my old writing group that met in Hamburg at the Comfort Zone and pitched the novel I’m rewriting to an agent. She gave me her card and told me to query her when it was done, so in the parlance of that structure, it was a victory. I’d no more than spun around and it was time for the solar eclipse. We did it up in style.

Friends from Chicago arrived and we had dinner with them and the amazing Tuttle clan. Friday, the 12th, thankyouthankyou Kim Chinquee hosted the Elm Leaves Eclipse Launch where not only was I listed as special guest and ELJ Contributor on the posters, I read with her talented students, but also with Rachel L. Johnson and Justin Karcher. Seriously, if you know anything about the Buffalo Lit scene, you know reading with Justin is a Buffalo bucket list must do and I did it. Thank you to everyone who was a part of the launch! AND my niece Ashley showed up  – as well as the couple from Chicago as a surprise, which it truly was, Thank you Robert and Theresa. Because of Kim, there are pictures of this incredible event. Thank you!

Thank you Kim also for another wondrous Drop Hammer. This month, it was Nancy McCabe. I’ve got her, “Can This Marriage Be Saved?” on my to be read pile. After she read from new work, there was discussion and food. Carol – and I’m sorry I don’t recall her last name – led us to a gallery in the AKG open to the public. Before and After Again, the current exhibit of artwork, prose, and poetry by the Buffalo-based Julia Bottoms, Tiffany Gaines, and Jillian Hanesworth is incredible. The depth of the portraits and the food images, as well as the prose and hope in the seeds – a truly moving tribute to those lost, but also to those who still live in the area of the Tops shooting and the tentacles of how food deserts compound misery.

I don’t know if any of that is right, art is subjective after all, and I really liked this lamp made by Henry.

That was another experience I was graced to experience. I’d gotten an acceptance at Litmora, which led to my trying to work that in at the launch, and there was an invitation by the editor to attend the Fredonia Literary Festival, and so I did. Completely interesting and fun, plus it turned out that both Henry and Tabi are from Springville. How cool is that? It’s even cooler because Tabi (moderator in the first pic) also has ties to the town where my grandmother lived.

I’m grateful to be here. Western NY is such a lovely spot filled with great souls and flash writers like Rina Fosati. When I went to visit her, I came across a free lawnmower that Husband is falling in love with more with each pull of the cord. I am blessed beyond measure and if you’re reading this, you are the part of the wonder in this universe. Thank you for being that.

Thank you for stopping by and for the read ❤ Enjoy your May!