Can I be honest? I hope so. In times of tumult, I am grateful for my faith. I know having a faith at all can be controversial these days, but faith in something far bigger than myself has been a light in my life. Whatever your faith may be, I implore you to cling to or sail toward it when feeling lost at sea.

National politics can be overwhelming. Let's face it, these days--even small-town, local politics can be a bit ruckus. It's hard to have an opinion these days, but I do have one. Take it or leave it. Amid the divisions, don't retreat completely, and conversely, don't get so distracted and consumed by it that you forget the gifts right in front of you. There is always something to be grateful for, and there are so many tangible ways to help your immediate community, family or friends.

In early November, as I contemplated how to meaningfully focus my efforts and attention in the coming years, I came across this passage in my handy dandy daily devotional: Our Daily Bread. The reading is included below. I decided I needed to start simply and tend to those within reach rather than get too wrapped up in so much that seems beyond my own personal control. No matter who or where we are, ask: How can we serve the community we're in?

The Room to Write and the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield teamed up for a second time in 2024 to bring words and art together in one exhibit. Writers don't often get the opportunity to publicly display their words on a wall as art, so TRtW jumped at the chance to be part of a second exhibit. The first time around, artists made art available, then writers selected a piece of art to inspire their words. This exhibit flipped the order and writers offered their writing for artists to select from as inspiration for creating their artwork.

A poem that I wrote this past summer, had the privilege of acting as inspiration for and being displayed alongside a piece of art by Kendall Inglese as part of the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield's October Exhibit & Sale: Elements: Earth, Water, Air, Fire. Of course, being the overachiever that I am--I wanted to weave all four of the elements into my poem, rather than pick just one, though I do love me some wind (aka: air:). Perhaps not picking just one element was to the poem's detriment? I'll let you decide.

Either way, my poem was inspired by the partial quote, "Where flowers bloom, so does hope." I am a passionate gardener and absolutely love that image, which is carved into a bird bath behind the summer cottage we stay in. That optimism was displayed by a lone Balloon Flower (Platycodon grandiflorus) bloom, pictured, that was showing off its purple hue for all to enjoy in an area where it was not planted and had no business surviving, let alone blooming.

The hope exuded by that singular flower so struck me that I took a photo and wrote a poem titled, "Where Flowers Bloom, So Does Hope." The writer and artist pairings from the October 2024 exhibit will begin posting to view on the North of Boston Writers Network blog in December 2024. The prior exhibit, "Tell Me a Story," pairings were featured on the NBWN blog from April to August 2024, if you'd like to look back at those. Read more about the October exhibit by clicking here.

Where Flowers Bloom
​by Colleen Getty

After the fire.
Flood waters retreat.
Embers cool.
Soil dries solid beneath feet.
Winds bring respite,
not fuel for flames.
Earth slowly shrinks and sleeps, but
world unrecognizable remains.
Give time.
Take heart.
The End
simply must precede
The Start.
Life insists on living
below the surface of
her skin, its shell, his eyes—that dirt.
A cell, an egg, the idea—one seed
can soothe our hurt.
Have patience.
Imagination.
Alpine Asters survive on the steepest slope,
And where flowers bloom
–so does hope.*

* Quote from Lady Bird Johnson’s at the Annual Convention of the Associated Press Managing Editors Association, Oct. 1, 1965.
“When I go into the poorest neighborhoods, I look for the flash of color - a geranium in a coffee can, a window box set against the scaling side of a tenement, a border of roses struggling in a tiny patch of open ground. Where flowers bloom, so does hope - and hope is the precious, indispensable ingredient without which the war on poverty can never be won.”

Have I mentioned my belief that the key to happiness is low expectations?

So, adjust your expectations and you may just enjoy this poetry. For me, a polished piece of poetry has the potential to be something to fear from the writer's point of view--because I'm saying, "This is perfect! There is nothing more I can do with it, so don't bother to look. Just sit back and enjoy this symphony of sounds." [Chef's kiss into the air . . . mwuuaahhh]

It's so much less intimidating to open up my rough and tumble sketchbook (no, I don't often--ever?--sketch, unless doodling counts. But, taking a break from writing and making time for art of the more visual sense was the intent of the workshop where I received my sketchbook and, like that prized pair of jeans in the closet fitting a little too snugly, I am leaving the sketchbook open to the possibility of being sketched in at some point in the future.

Ok--the poems. That was what this blog post was all about before my sketchy sketchbook swooped in and distracted me, but I have to admit digression are such fun! So--how did these unpolished poems come about? Well, long story short: this past summer: two adults three teens and a tween = 6, plus cat = 6.25, two weeks later: minus three, subtract another one unexpectedly = 2.25 (a mom, her boy & a cat:) = the ability to hear myself think. Combine this with a collaboration between The Room to Write and Arts Collaborative of Wakefield special art exhibit requiring 12 writers to pair with 12 artists + one summer slumber for all + deadline = 9 writers + me = 10.
So, I had to write. 

At one optimistic point, I told myself that I would write a poem a day. No big whoop! But, I also had a cottage to paint, a garden to rehab, an uncharacteristically angsty teen, and a boy to spend the tail end of summer with. I started with the poem that ended up being paired with a piece of art for the exhibit. Next day a revision of that first poem. Then two poems, rough and ready. Then two more poems with two different pens. That was a challenging day, which is reflected within the poems. The next day, one poem while life simplified. Five days in a row: nothing. I was too busy kayaking, bike riding, beaching, painting, reading and allowing my mind a rest. Then one last poem on the last day of vacation. And, as Pa Ingalls always said, "All's well that ends well." And it did. There was a lot to love about our family's summer vacation, but that last week was a slice of serenity that was something to be savored.

Wow, I did it. 
Yeah, I know I wasn't going to mention my cheating ways in the next post, but this is where criminals go wrong: 
They boast!
I just published my cheatin' post and it has a date in June. Mooo--hahaha. Tech isn't so bad after all.
It lets us pretend we were somewhere we never were.
Wait a minute?! That's bad.
Ok--so tech is as bad as I suspected all along.

This makes me wonder:
Why don't I just post on time?
Clearly there's no magic here. I just talk to you, and you listen, and I don't allow comments, so you don't talk back. 
It all works out.
Why the delay in my monthly commitment?
I don't know.

That's something for me to think about. Figure out. Iron out.
Why do I think this is hard? I think that's a writer thing. We see writing as work and perhaps that's why social media is so prolific (and side note: toxic:) because there is no filter, no editing, no holding back.
It seems everybody wants to be a writer. And everybody wants to be famous.
So--perhaps social media offers up what everybody seems to want whether they should be given a platform to write or be famous at all. They are able.

And now, there's AI. But, really--there will always be unique stories created by humans.
So don't just spill yours away on social media. 
Sit down. Write it out. Think about it. Edit it. Control your own story and don't let people just pull you apart online.
Let your words sit and settle within each reader in their space--
not while they're standing on a subway and looking for ways not to look at the person across from them.
Your story is meant to be digested by someone who is prepared to sit down--napkin on knee--and take it in.
Respect yourself and your story.
It's all each of us has.

April was such a busy month! Everything that was usually quarterly and staggered so that each quarterly happening doesn't fall within the same month--all fell on the same month: April.

I'm still trying to catch my breath. Something I'm so glad I said "yes" to was the collaboration between The Room to Write, the non-profit that I founded and direct, and the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield, a local arts organization. So, in addition to all the quarterly things, TRtW also had a month of art programming to plan, get the word out about, and carry out. Artists and Writers featured together. Yay!

I always say how nobody goes out to a gallery to look at 8x11 white pieces of paper with words on them, but this time they did because the pieces of writing were accompanied by colorful, unique art. The writing was also colorful and unique in its language and format, but it helps to have some eye candy to draw a reader into words on a wall.

There were so many other things that happened--regular programming at the Senior Centers--a great lineup ending with Stephen Puleo this afternoon--as well as two local author interviews at WCAT Studios and the usual critique group meetings: Multi-genre, Kid Lit and the Senior Group. There was a board meeting, a Writers and Illustrators Meet & Greet as well as six local authors visiting the art exhibit to read the books they authored aloud to kids and parents, there were exhibit evenings and afternoons and various discussions here, there and seemingly everywhere. More about that and photos can be found here:)

May is usually very busy, but I think compared to April it may be calmer. I'm looking forward to that. After spending three and a half hours of one day this month trying to bunny-proof my back yard by blocking all entrances, I am looking forward to some uninterrupted garden time. And some Z-zz-z-z--z-z-z-z-z-zzzzzzzzzzz . . . 

The Big Apple! Normally, I am a big fan of apples--I even have two apple trees.
​
I saw the email come across my computer in the fall and thought, "Maybe I'll do it. I'll hop on a train and head out to New York City to the Society for Children's Book Writers and Illustrators winter conference taking place the second weekend of February. After all, it's February. Dark. Cold. A good time to shake things up.

Part of it felt like a good excuse to get some alone time and focus on my writing. Another part of me was wondering what it was like to attend a writing conference solely as a participant since for the last several years I have been a volunteer at the New England SCBWI Spring Conference either as a Manuscript Critique Coordinator or more recently as a Volunteer Coordinator since there were no Manuscript Critiques at last spring's conference. And then, there was the fact that there was no conference, altogether, planned for New England in 2024. 

That left New York to seem like something worth trying!
Even if only for one year. And after this conference?
Yes, one year was all I need.

I have to admit that just sitting on a train for four hours, alone and in the designated Quiet Car sounded like a rare luxury that I looked forward to, and even though I may not be eager to attend another NY conference any time soon, I am glad I went, but it was a steep and pricey learning curve.

First lesson, when they say "coffee" from 7-8am on the first day of the conference before the welcome, they mean just coffee, and tea, and you're lucky if even just that holds out for the full hour. Luckily, I drink tea because they ran out of coffee that first day before 8am. Those of us used to the New England conference where there's fruit, bagels, muffins and pastries available had to rush down to buy an overpriced muffin three floors down at the hotel's grab'n'go store. Oh, right, conference participants got 15% off their purchases, though you couldn't make use of that if you arrived before Saturday because you needed your name badge to get the discount. The vendor assured me that there was actually something for free: the receipt. At least he had a sense of humor:) Luckily I do, too.

I was happy to run into Federico Erebia, an author I knew from back "home," who I had met because he was one of the volunteers at the New England conference. It was so nice to see a familiar face. Another unexpected face? A gal I graduated with from high school, Andrea Keyo, who happened to sit next to me at a workshop. What are the odds??!! It was so great to see her--she was one of the high school friends that I never saw outside of school but we had a lot of fun in our library study block. She had done a pivot from lawyering to writing and NY was her first conference.

One thing to know when you go to a conference is that there is a lot of stuff in a very little amount of time, so you will leave absolutely exhausted. Even a supposed "veteran" like me was ready for a one-month hibernation after my trip to NY. I really enjoyed the speakers and the workshops. I feel like I took some great tips away, but honestly it was the personal stuff that helped me justify the cost and time. My two run-ins with familiar faces were highlights along with a planned run-in with a friend I had met while spending a semester in Ireland for college and that I had not seen in, I think we did the math, 18 years!

It ended up that she was only available on Saturday night, which was when the networking events were happening as part of the conference. But, honestly, I was so exhausted by Saturday night that I was really looking forward to easy conversation with an old friend more than having to put forth the brain power that would be required to network and make connections with strangers--even those I had the commonality of writing with. So, it was like a mental vacation to meet up with my old pal Lisa and catch each other up on the last almost-two-decades of our lives. We had a great burger and some beers and even--like the old Irish Catholic ladies we are--took time out to duck into St. Patrick's Cathedral to light a candle and say a prayer for a couple of sick people in our lives.
Seeing Lisa? "The" highlight!:)
​As with so many things in life: it's the human connection that makes the difference.

So, I had some fun! Was it because of the conference?
No.
Actually, I think the conference was exhausting and frustrating with how expensive it was, how cumbersome it felt at times, how little it offered for the price, and how it seemed they wasted opportunities, like when people flooded the ballroom to look at portfolios on Friday night. The ample space in the room was not well used. The portfolios were all crammed on a few tables so that everybody was looking over shoulders as someone else turned the pages of a portfolio. Only an hour and a half was allotted to that event, which was definitely not enough time to look at portfolios, let alone reconnect and try to network with people we hadn't seen in a year or wanted to get to know at the same time. It was practically over before it began. Perhaps scheduling the networking events for Friday night, when people were charged up and had energy, would have been better than sticking networking at the end of a long Saturday. 

That's my honest reflection. Between the train ride, the hotel cost, the cost of the actual conference (and that doesn't count if you paid extra for a critique, which I did not) and then food--it's really, really expensive if the only reason you're there is to attend the conference. But--luckily I connected with an old friend, I ran into another, and I got free tickets to sit in the studio audience of Stephen Colbert's The Late Show where I was fortunate enough to see Stephen Colbert, but also his two guests that night: Billy Joel and Ryan Gosling. Yes, Ken! My teenage daughters were very jealous!

Was there a robbery and a shooting where a Brazilian tourist got injured while I was watching Ryan Gosling present a mink fur coat to Stephan Colbert? Yes. Did I walk out unaware of the manhunt going on only blocks away? Sure. I guess that's par for the course in NY.

I like to walk and so I made good use of my Friday covering miles of New York: Central Park, Madison Ave, 5th Ave, the Empire State Building and Times Square (where the prior night's shooting took place). I asked the door man at the Empire State Building for a good place for lunch. My hot tip: The Playwright's Tavern! Besides the receipt, it was the one thing I got "free" in NY. Any beverage with lunch was free and of course I maximized the value by ordering a beer--the house ale (or lager? I can't remember, but it was good--even if it wasn't free:).

There was something so exhilarating about walking as far as I wanted in whatever direction I wanted for as long as I wanted without any teenagers complaining about how long we'd been walking, getting hungry or wondering, "Why are we going this way?" What I needed more than a conference, was some freedom. You need that every now and then.

So, am I glad I went?
Yes.
Will I go next year?
No.
But, like carrot cake is sometimes just a way to get the cream cheese frosting, a little professional development can be a good way to get out into the world, connect with friends expected and unexpected, and to travel and see the world beyond your front yard. Also, it served as a good dry run for the DC trip my family was planning to take the following week--also on the same train.:)

Here I am--another last-day-of-the-month . . . and year . . . blog entry. 

The bare minimum blog requirement that I gave myself in 2020 was that I do one entry a month. When anybody first starts out on anything like a blog, podcast, video series--whatever medium is chosen to express themselves--there is usually a big wad of pent-up creativity resembling second-graders in a line at school all wanting to be first, all smooshing into each other if the line slows, and all eager to get to wherever it is they're going. There is a sense of urgency. Temper that.

Telling yourself to do something as infrequently as once a month, which boils down to 12 times a year, well--that seems too low a bar. It's like limbo with the stick still over your head and you think, "I got this! I am going to outlast every person in this limbo line." 

Your smile is eager, but you haven't had to bend your back in the opposite direction that it's used to bending yet. The music has you energized, there are enthusiastic people all around you in line, and you just tip your head back ever-so-slightly when you reach the limbo stick. Easy peasy!

Then you cycle through a few times and the sweat starts. There are less people in line, but the crowd is still feeling the music and now you need to act energized rather than actually feeling energized. The limbo stick is below your shoulders and let's face it--that's low for a middle-aged woman who hasn't done back-walkovers with her friends on the front lawn in about something-something years. ​

The point is--you're confident and even cocky at the beginning of any quest whether it's a blog, a plan to get organized, a vow that you'll make more time for your friends, or a limbo line. I have said it before and I'll say it again, "The key to happiness is low expectations." Bite-sized pieces can be very helpful. We've all seen The Great Outdoors and what happens with the Ol' 96er (if not, you should see it and have a good laugh in 2024). Don't make the same mistake our beloved John Candy made by letting other people set expectations for you, by going outside of your comfort zone to please others. Letting others dictate your actions can not only cause avoidable stress but it can sow resentment. And resentment is, unfortunately, the gift that can keep on giving even after the stress has been eliminated.

​Think simple.

Case in point: this blog post. I told myself to just sit down and write something quickly so that I would get a blog entry in for the month, the last day of the year. Here I am still droning on and now looking up clips of John Candy eating the Ol' 96er and figuring out how to wrap this up and wondering what my point was to begin with. I guess my point is set the bar low and just begin. Say you'll only write a few sentences and perhaps you'll walk away from a few paragraphs instead. Give yourself the possibility of a victory, no matter how small, and you may just exceed your own low expectations. If you make goals too lofty, too intimidating and too stressful--you risk sabotaging the whole thing.

Gratitude plays an important role as well.
If you set a small goal then you are more easily grateful when it is reached.
Gratitude is integral in life, to love and to growing in your faith. 

Start small and be grateful.
Happy New Year!

Although we should instinctively know that when we build anything there will be work involved, we still sometimes expect (hope?) that the work won't be hard or even that we won't know that we're working at all.

​A conference is one of those events that presents itself as something fun and simple, but that actually can be quite exhausting because usually a conference is part of an attempt on our part to build something: knowledge, a supportive network, a bridge to a place where we'd like to live or at least visit more often. Here I am at the NESCBWI Spring Conference and I have to say I'm pretty tired, but not so tired that I'm not sitting here and writing this. That's a win! I'm writing--something, anything: this:)

The tricky thing about things like conferences is that I need to remember they are like Thanksgiving: there is a lot of great stuff, you're going to see lots of people, you're going to eat lots of food (not all healthy), and you might need a nap at odd intervals. The smart people take naps. I am not a smart conference attendee. I did not nap. There's just too much going on and there are just too many amazing and creative people all in one spot to take a break from.

Which brings me to what I have found to be one of the most important, but often the most challenging, aspects of a conference: meeting new people and reconnecting with people I haven't seen in a long time--especially since this is the first in-person conference since before the pandemic. Building creative community is probably one of the things I enjoy most. I love learning about others and then finding a way to connect them with someone else. Rinse and repeat. It takes effort and sometimes my brain cells and memory don't cooperate, but that's what laughter is for. Laughter is the Modge Podge I brush generously over the top of everything to smooth things out. Or make things worse, but usually better . . . I think:)

So, get out there. Sign up. Pack your bag. Put that name tag on and shove yourself into awkward situations and then, when it gets really awkward, get over it and move on and laugh a little along the way.

​Eventually you'll start to build a community and find yourself beyond your expiration date writing a semi-incoherent and possibly rambling blog entry on a random bench in a hotel hallway. 

As part of The Room to Write's Senior and Veterans programming, we have writing days that are more casual and unstructured. We call those writing days: Gather & Write. It's a way to make time for writing during the week that is less structured. An instructor shows up and offers a writing prompt or two, or whatever, to the group--something to get the wheels turning and the pen writing.

Being the only "poet" in the group has propelled me to utilize the time I am at the writing prompt helm to offer up something poetic. Not everybody in the group that gathers is necessarily interested in writing poetry--per se--but, really, poems are simply words that sometimes appear in a flowing sundress, sometimes in a polo shirt, and other times squeezed into a tuxedo and bowtie. 
​
For Valentine's Day, I decided to give the group a glimpse of a well-dressed poem. What form stood out to me as appropriate for the special day? The Sonnet, of course. When you think Sonnet, you often think Shakespeare. That might make you nervous, but it shouldn't. Shakespeare was in love with words. That's it. Sometimes passion can cause a person to get carried away, and so that is all that was--a man who got carried away with words. He was truly in love with words and so am I.

Now, do I sit at home crafting sonnets all day or even once a week? 
No. 

​I am more of a free-verse poet, but I do enjoy a challenge every now and then. Think of a sonnet as a word puzzle. Puzzles aren't always meant to be easy. They are meant to get your mind churning and working until: voila! You have solved it--or you come close to solving it. There is a satisfaction in that. Sonnets can be wonderful exercise for our brains!

I printed out some background, information and examples of the sonnet using a very helpful website, which you can access at: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sonnet 
​
Keeping with the clothing theme, I told participants to think of a sonnet as a Corsette. Sonnets are a very tight poetic format. There are rules--strict ones. The sonnet forces you in place. It can be painful, but we persevered. 

You know what? Some participants actually enjoyed it. Others scoffed and at least one or two outright refused to conform to the format, which is perfectly fine. Still many surprised themselves with what they produced. 

I was one of them. Having been the person to force this poetic form upon the group, I was stumped when it came to sitting and writing until I simply decided to write about having to write a sonnet itself and the difficulty it posed for me. 

Like many others this past week--a pipe in our basement gave way to an imitation of the great Niagra Falls. Being a light sleeper came in handy this time around when I heard water at 3:30am, but I assumed it was coming from the nearby bathroom. Perhaps one of the kids was up getting a drink or washing their hands. But, then--the water kept flowing. What were they doing in there?

I got up. Nobody was in the bathroom. Nobody else was even awake. Just me. Maybe it was coming from my dish washer. I went downstairs. Nope. Kitchen was dry, but the sound of water was getting louder and I spun around, flicked on the basement lights and opened the door: Water! Cascading over the light at the bottom of the stairs which was now hanging out of the ceiling that had dissolved. Screams to my husband to turn off the main . . . 

Everybody was up. My youngest was as frightened as if we were in a sinking ship that was taking on water. My oldest? Being a teenager who values every minute of sleep left her only annoyed by abruptly being woken in the middle of the night. She went back to sleep. The other two took it all in with reactions floating somewhere in the middle of the youngest and the oldest.