As of a few minutes ago, I turned in the full manuscript and accompanying photos for my very first book! It’s a book of 100 word pieces that turned into poetry during the past week. I’m so pleased about what happened during the editing process!
I decided last Tuesday to publish the book. I’ve been working pretty much non-stop since then. Nothing like a deadline to get things moving.
There are thirty seven pieces of writing along with beautiful photos, around 80 pages. The production process is underway!
Thank you for your voiced confidence about this project. I appreciate all of you for reading the blog, commenting on the writings and letting me know you’d love to own the collection in a book.
Words come in the morning, rising and ready before the sun. Yawning, I cooperate, streaming my way to the first glass of water, the coffee pot, the writing place.
Because.
Already I can hear the pitcher of pearls spilling long strands onto my desk.
Can I catch them?
If not, strands roll away, crash onto the dark floor. Single pearls, once connected, bounce everywhere.
Quick! Five shades of cream! Beautiful! I scoop them up, lay them on, notice how they feel resting on my heart.
Glancing down, I notice the word count. Not more, not less. Exactly one hundred.
To consider the impact of a broad stroke, begin with the small brush. Consider the fly speck on the otherwise clean window, say. Graduate to the unkempt office. Then and only then rise to meet the unkind word.
Every sound from a throat or a tongue is the voice of the world.
Speaking against is a way to spend life force. Speaking for is another.
What if we breathed in the love that built us so deeply that it caused a breeze of kindness to move gently across the land.
She thought she’d handled her move from house to house fairly well, thank you, all things considered.
But today, no.
Human-leaving-the-house-behind-where-they’d-lived-and-loved met up with the mystery of the missing stapler.
It’s possible the human threw a thing or two, then like loose rags, she dropped.
And sobbed.
Not about the stapler.
You see, when least expected, a heaven full of sky blue ribbons holding her life together untied themselves. Underneath, thousands of shimmering tethers to her past snapped, spilling light everywhere.
That’s when her heart poured.
Open.
She said at last, “I wonder if this is the feel of freedom ….”
