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 . . . 

It's Good Friday on Easter weekend and I am feeling, well--good! There are rumors that the rain is actually going to stop today and when I asked my son to pack for a weekend away to visit my aunt for the weekend he claimed he did and declared, "I brought two of everything!" Perhaps with all the rain lately, bringing two of everything makes sense. And maybe I should build an ark while I'm at it, too.

There is something about spring and Easter, in particular, when it feels like the real "new" year. Could be that the prospect of getting into the garden again makes me buzz with anticipation. Watching small green sprouts pop up from the ground is exciting. Renewal is emerging all around us. Even indoors, a plant category I usually don't excel in, is showing another flush of blooms emerging on my mother's Christmas Cactus that just bloomed in December. Perhaps going along with my New Years feel for life right now.

I have tulip, daffodil and allium greens popping up all around my house and I pray the bunnies don't eat them all, helping my prayers along with some sprays of Repels All to round things out (prays and sprays--haha:). The bunnies are really only interested in the tulip greens. This past month has been a busy one for The Room to Write with our Young Writers and Illustrators Meet, Greet & Create event finally making a comeback after four years and all sorts of fun plans for April. In particular, I have been busy with details of a collaboration with the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield's April exhibit at the Albion Cultural Exchange titled "Tell Me a Story." If you'd like to see all about the event details, check The Room to Write's events page!

​We have a writer/artists exhibit where 13 writers write about 13 pieces of art. There will be a table with 20 books by local authors and their information. We are highlighting picture book authors with six authors reading their books during the day on three different days so that parents and caregivers of young children can have a fun activity for their kids and time to enjoy the art off-peak exhibit hours. Lastly, we are holding our quarterly Meet & Greet at a local ice cream parlor and then strolling over to A.C.E. to see the art and one of the very kind artists, Joy Schilling, will be touring attendees through the art and talking about the various art techniques.

Even more like a New Year's celebration is that Easter is on March 31st and so the next day is April 1st! I'll be so happy to land in April knowing that May won't be too far away in the future. Warmer weather, greener landscapes, and knee deep in my garden. I have 6 raspberry bare-root plants on their way along with a River Birch tree, my second attend to plant that in a roughly similar spot as the last time, but with the knowledge I gained from the last time I failed. I haven't started any seeds, but I look forward to getting them going sometime next week. I hope:)

Hopefully spring brings renewal to your life. Brings you a sense of starting again and hoping for the best!

Happy Easter!!

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!

​A few weeks ago I was out raking. It was a beautiful, surprisingly mild, fall day and I was happy to have an excuse to get out into nature. Aside from raking leaves into a pile for kids to jump into, I take more of a "leave it alone" (pun intended?) fall clean-up stance. After all, letting leaves sit over the winter is vital to the life cycle of so many insects, a food source for birds, as well as a cheap and easy insulation for my plants. These compelling arguments for letting go of that rake conveniently appeal to my lazy side. I long to hibernate for the winter.

But, I put off hibernating for one more day to bask in the sun, rake in hand, clearing the sidewalk and driveway to ease pedestrian passage. Anybody who happened to see me in action that day surely wondered, "Why is that crazy lady raking leaves off of the sidewalk and into her yard?" Yes, no bagging or Dr. Seuss vacuum cleaner required, just into the garden they go. This menial task gave me a closer look at the trees and plants nearby. That's the magic of nature--it helps me focus and offers endless avenues for contemplation.

Being mid-November, the garden was almost completely under the sleeping spell of winter. I began to notice how so many of the "bad" things are illuminated when everything else starts to die away around them. Creeping Charlie was green and going strong and a person could lose a whole day pulling at its never ending stems that snake through the garden and pool around my plants. Whatever that other creeping vine was (Virginia Creeper?) had turned a brilliant red and looked magnificent . . . but it's a bully to all the plants it strangles out and tramples over during the growing season.

Then I saw my clematis vine looking all withered and worn out compared to something strong and green growing right up beside it--a weed easily hidden in the growing season. It was one of those tall weeds that are yellow with the fluffy seed heads that spread everywhere when you try to pull it out of the ground. It's like the awkward, lanky cousin of the dandelion called Sowthistle (a name I found thanks to a quick look-up on the 'puter). Add to that Common Burdock, one of my top arch nemeses of the garden. Dun, dun, dun-n-n-n-n--​

That infuriating plant goes through various stages of big, wide, fuzzy leaves growing low to the ground--thick taproot like a giant parsnip that never comes out in one piece. A year or two later, that very same plant switches identities and grows into a high, sprawling beast culminating in a crescendo of horrible, sticky burrs that cling to anything passing by it--especially clothing. Ugh.​

Good news:
I am finally getting to my September blog posting.
Bad news:
Yes, it's October:)

The same thing happens with apple picking. I know September is prime time, but the month of September consistently goes by in a blur and then October arrives and we finally pick apples.
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​It seems to be a resounding theme in my life lately. And--what exactly is lately? This week? This past month? Absolutely not. "Lately" is more like the last several years.

Even this year's month of August, which is usually a time when I try to relax fully and gather all my energy for the fall push, was interrupted by coughing. A cough from nowhere. Just a cough. Wet and productive. At least something has been productive--haha. It's amazing how a cough can be so disruptive, so sleep depriving, so socially unacceptable, and so mysterious. I still haven't discovered the exact cause or cure or for how much longer. For now, it's under control, but only because of a daily inhaler. Something I can't wait to be without.
I suppose we age and our health wanes whether we like it or not.
I don't like it!

So, what now?
Will I ever catch my stride.
How is anybody ever able to proceed at a pace that is enjoyable when life seems to blare at you and then go quiet, then honk, then hum, then crash, then cancel, then . . . then . . .

I am not an animal who can sit by the fire and fetch slippers every morning. I cannot recognize that I have wings and not try to use them.
​Maybe I should? Chickens seem content with it.
I need to work, to use my skills, to feel fulfilled in meaningful ways. But, I don't know that I have found a way to do that at a reasonable pace. I don't know how to get the ebb and flow to cooperate. It seems it's just flow, flow, flow. 

I was recently talking to another writer who has a similar difficulty. The world tells us, "Say 'yes' to everything in order to advance in life." Ok. But, what happens when you've gotten so good at saying "yes," that you forget how to say "no?" I think I need a more fine-tuned instruction manual going forward. 

There's something about spring and, in particular, the month of May that makes everybody buzz about seeking new ways to grow, not only in the garden but in their spiritual life, family life, professional life, and--hopefully--their creative life. 

​Sometimes our creative lives take a back seat to all the other lives we maintain.

If you're hoping to grow in your creative life, a wonderful and free resource is available to you thanks to a collaboration and sponsorship from Wakefield Community Access Television (WCAT) studios titled The Journey of a Story interview series. 

No matter what genre you write in and regardless of the age your target audience is, some things remain constant in writing, and we have uncovered some really helpful insights that can save you a lot of time and frustration when it comes to the publication process.

In The Room to Write's interview series, The Journey of a Story, we focus on the writing and publication process rather than the content of each book. We're not at all interested in an author's pedigree, but we are very curious about the obstacles in each author's journey that they had to overcome in order to persevere all the way to publication. We love to learn about time-and-sanity-saving hacks!
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We're not so much interested in plot twists as we are curious how a writer battled writer's block, formatted a query letter, found an agent, and the nitty gritty details of the revision process. The Journey of a Story series is a high-quality series on a low budget because--let's face it--most writers are not making a living from their creative writing projects and publications. By day they are teachers, doctors, financial advisors, therapists, and successful entrepreneurs. Other writers have only found the time to write after they retired from their full-time jobs.

So, tune into 30 (currently) different interviews of authors who write everything from adult romance to children's picture books, poems to plays, kids non-fiction to adult essays. It's quite an eclectic group and they share generously from their experiences. The one commonality? They are all from New England, with the vast majority reside in Massachusetts.

So sit back, tuck it, top off and learn how real writers write and how they eventually publish!

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 
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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. 

​I'm sure you've heard of the term, "I've got a frog in my throat." 99 times out of 100--the person is not referring to an actual reptile that has hopped down their windpipe unbeknownst, though last summer frogs were beyond reasonable numbers in my backyard. (See July's blog posting: Wild Kingdom or Unexpected Sanctuary for more on the frogs.) The vast majority of "frogs" in throats are actually emotion or nerves. Emotion can make it difficult to get words out.

​Emotion is like a cloud floating above us, unnoticed while we buzz about our daily routines, until they gather and rain. Just as clouds can shed water, emotion can become too much to ignore. The frog in my throat presented more like a frog in my pen. I couldn't get words out on paper--aside from the necessary words for correspondence and work-related writing.

When my mother passed away at the beginning of last year my work-in-progress, which is a middle grade novel that focuses on a secret garden, got dropped suddenly from my list of "things to do." For some, grief and creativity work well together. For me, grief is a head space hog. It saunters in, plunks down with elbows boldly claiming what I understood to be a shared armrest. Shoes kick off, cell phone conversation blares--smelly and loud all at once. Grief is the most obnoxious and inconsiderate airplane seat mate imaginable. There will be no relaxing, no focusing, no enjoyment on a flight alongside grief. 

Creativity evaporated. I had been really enjoying my work-in-progress, Secret Lives of Leaves, up until my attention was no longer my own and grief took hold of all my senses, sucked out my reserves of energy--insisted on getting my full attention. Clearing my mind became impossible. Time passed. A whole year. Then, a couple weeks ago--I sat down to write the next chapter of that novel. One great thing about middle grade is that it allows for shorter chapters. So, I talked myself into writing a paragraph, then two--then, might as well finish the page . . . as I rounded the corner to the next page, I developed a scene in my head and had to follow it at least until page two. The result was a 6-page chapter.

It felt so good to get a little further on a fun project that had so long lay dormant, just as I had been getting to the good part: the secret garden! One year later, I find myself at the other end of the emotional spectrum. The juxtapositions of life border on comedy--satire, really. 

I can't say I'm sorry to see the year 2022 bid adieu. Goodbye!
"Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord . . . well, you know the rest."

This year has been skipping to the same beat all year and it sounded like this, "What! A new month? Which one?! (Insert current month here) already!! No way." Even on the lead-up to Christmas week the song I remember hearing most was any Christmas song by Trans-Siberian Orchestra with its electric guitar and spastic musical climax. That could have easily been the theme of the entire year: hurried, admittedly painful, too much and yet not enough.

So, there it is: my year in review. Uninspired perhaps. Soggy and a bit stodgy, as they say on the Great British Baking Show when they bite into a piece of cake that is supposed to be yummy, looks promising, but just isn't--at all.

Let's hope that 2023 is all that 2022 wasn't. 
I did not dress up for this evening's ringing in of the new year. 
Wearing my favorite pair of sweatpants (with pockets of course), a well-worn t-shirt that has an image of Cape Cod's Sagamore Bridge and reads "Cross that bridge when you come to it!" beneath a long, cozy sweater (also, pockets:) and fuzzy, purple polka-dotted socks is how I will enter the new year:
Comfortable.

Hopefully 2023 will skip to more of a Nat King Cole beat: slower, steady and soothing.