I don’t know how it is for other writers during this pandemic, but recently it occurred to me that I hadn’t had a vacation yet this year. My husband and I usually take off for a month each summer, usually starting in early June. During that time, the only writing I do is keeping a daily journal that includes travel-related material. However, this year, instead of having time off, I was following my usual daily writing schedule (except for weekends). No wonder I was feeling drained. I needed time away from my many writing projects so I could refuel.
With a new book coming out in the fall of 2021, Tillie’s Thirst for Thrills: A Coming of Age Novel, I’ve been revising my umpteenth draft. I’m also creating another book-length work that doesn’t have a final title yet, but the working title is What’s New About Old Age? In it I discuss my late-life Jungian analysis and how unloading dreams has offered a new level to the aging process that I’ve found enriching. The search for self-knowledge doesn’t end at a certain age. It’s a continuing process that has no limits.
Yes, there’s more! In my youth, I worked at two different Marin County churches. This experience has led to a third collection I’ve been working on, The Sinners’ Club, a series of interlocking stories, each one focusing on a different church member of a mythical Petaluma church. There even is an opening section entitled “Serpent Rap,” written from a snake’s perspective! Since these pieces can stand alone, I’ve been sending some of them out for publication.
Of course, poetry is my biggest love, and I squeeze poems into my writing routine whenever I feel the urge to write them. Though I swore I wouldn’t write about Covid 19, I’ve ended up with four pandemic poems that I call my Covid Suite. I’m sure I’ll end up with more before this crisis is over! I’ll include one of them here:
Bursting Free
It’s odd in this time
of Covid 19
and George Floyd
protests to watch
our many Lilies
of the Nile
trying to burst
from protective
pods.
Some are just
starting to break
free, though
the pod still
dominates, pointing
like a finger
skyward. Others
have blossomed, blue
petals breaking
loose, hungry
for light. On
this day
of Floyd’s burial
it’s not odd to see
life, death, and
resurrection
everywhere.
The shadows
our trees make
on the house
are in constant
motion from
a breeze passing
through, a shadow
play, but we’re
the puppets
our lives contingent
on what nature
and culture
throws our way.
I also create short fiction, and while I’ve completed a book-length collection that I need to peddle to publishers, I continue to write new stories when something triggers my imagination. I have a file of incomplete short stories that I let rest and return to periodically to see what calls to me for completion.
Early in July, I took a two-week writing vacation, including a break from posting my Monday blogs. I plan to take another two weeks in August. Meanwhile, I follow wherever my imagination leads me. Often, where I end up is as good as taking an actual trip somewhere. And that, after all, is one major reason I write!
