Today we are sad

Today we are sad.

And, as always, stunned - again?!! - when we are so sharply reminded how quickly people's lives can be changed.

Today our hearts are broken.

Today we pray for Brussels.


Yesterday was World Poetry Day, and I forgot.

Here's a bit of loveliness to turn to during sadness.
(and I have to thank Hank Phillippi Ryan for introducing me to this poem which has come to mean oh so very much to me)


Ithaka by Constantine P. Cavafy

When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.


Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy -
ports seen for the first time;
to stop at Phoenician trading centres,
and to buy good merchandise,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensuous perfumes of every kind,
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can;
to visit many Egyptian cities,
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.


Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don't in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn't anything else to give you.


And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you.
So wise you have become, of such experience,
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean. 

Why I've Decided to Self-Publish

For those of you who have asked about my decision to publish my novel myself rather than attempting to go the traditional route.  This is why I think self-publishing is for ME - not for everyone, of course, but for me.

I'm in the midst of making a few final revisions which I should have done by the end of this week or next. After a LOT of soul searching and pondering I've decided to forego the agent querying thing and go for self-publishing.

Had it not been for Celia Miles, Judy Greber and Earl Staggs I doubt I ever would have even thought about writing a novel - and I thank them for having the faith in me that I didn't have.  They're my angels walking the earth disguised as just plain ol' regular human beings.  and I love 'em to bits.

 I learned a lot about myself during the novel writing. I loved writing it. Loved it! I hate rewriting and revisions. I know a lot of people love it. Not me. And the more I do it, the more I tend to not want to do it, which has shown me in bright brilliant lights that I am not one of those "I HAVE to write every single day!" writers.

You all know how I feel about writers - they're my rock stars.  I admire and respect them greatly.  I'm not one of them.  I'm just not and I know it.   I don't possess the talent or the pure need and stamina to write as well as my friends Louise Penny, Margaret Maron, Judy Greber, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Deborah Crombie and so many others. 

That's not meant as false modesty - I do think I'm a fairly decent writer.

My decision has nothing to do with what others do or want to do, and it certainly doesn't reflect how I feel about traditional publishing.  These are, to me, all separate issues.

I have no desire to be a career writer. And if I were, my choice would not be fiction - as much as I dearly love it.  And you all know how very much I love a good novel.

I, myself, am at my happiest writing memoir pieces for my blog.  And the pieces I wrote which were accepted for two anthologies edited by Celia Miles and Nan Dillingham which I remain immensely proud of. That seems to be the type of work that fills my heart and soothes my soul.

What I decided during the holidays while we were busy driving here and there for Christmas festivites and a lovely wedding in Meridian is that truthfully, even if I were one of the lucky ones to find a good agent who was able to sell my work, I don't want to wait two or three years to 'see' my novel. I want to see it now. I feel like I've worked hard and now I want to see the end result out there. 

The feeling isn't based on impatience - I've never had any illusions about making a big splash and making a lot of money - I just wanted to write a novel. Now I'm done and honestly - just want to move on. I don't want to write a book every year, I don't want to have to travel around doing promotion, and I don't want to lose control of my own writing - the writing I've done or the writing I might still do. I just want to do it for "me." Just for me. 

I've written the novel I wanted to write. It's not everyone's cup of tea and that's okay. It has magic and best girlfriends. There's pretty clothes and great food. There's laughter and love. Art and a perfect gallery on a lovely little idyllic island in the Lowcountry. There's a ghost or two and a pixie named Earlene who happens to be partial to Christian Louboutins.  It's impossible to put a tag on - kinda like the most interesting people I know who refuse to be placed in a single category. Eccentric and flawed. and fun.

The next novel, when and if it happens, may be a sequel or it may be something a bit more serious concerning the Freedom Riders who came to my hometown of Cambridge, Maryland in 1962 when I was a teenager. That was a time that helped mold me to be who I am today. My 64 year old self who now just wants (as I've said so many times) to spread my wings and try a whole world of new things.

I want to continue practicing and improving my photography, I have bags of needlepoint and knitting which I've missed working on the past couple years while I've been writing "Whimsey" - there's just a whole wealth of things I want to do. Pottery. I really want to try my hand (again) at pottery. Maybe paint a little.

There are still lots of experiences I want to have along my road to Ithaca (and my thanks to my friend Hank Phillippi Ryan for introducing me to this perfect poem).

Ithaka

When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.

Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy -
ports seen for the first time;
to stop at Phoenician trading centres,
and to buy good merchandise,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensuous perfumes of every kind,
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can;
to visit many Egyptian cities,
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.

Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don't in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn't anything else to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you.
So wise you have become, of such experience,
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean.

Constantine P. Cavafy