It’s
been six weeks since I’ve posted. I’d like to use my typical “off with the
fairies” excuse—and in some ways, I think I would be justified—but really, time
and creative energy have been sorely depleted.
I know some of you loyal, compassionate readers, if you follow me on Facebook, have been waiting to hear the warm, fuzzy details of my romantic relationship with “that one guy” (or, if you’re Sean Piscioneri, the guy before that guy—sorry—inside joke). Alas, the guy who began as a friend and briefly became “boyfriend” has now agreed that “friend” is the more healthy status for us. We like each other. Always have since we met 27 years ago. We just don’t… see eye to eye on some things. It’s not important what they are.
Among the critical take-aways from that brief experiment, however, is the fact that my mental health can still easily be tipped off balance under certain circumstances. This surprised me. I mean, seriously, when you get to the age of 70, and you’ve spent decades working to shore up your strategies and defenses against panic attacks, you float along through life thinking you’re safe from them. Then out of the blue a trigger is pulled—however gently—and suddenly your heart is racing and that dark shadow is just there, over your right shoulder, looming. Takes your breath away. Like, literally.
So one of my accomplishments this summer was finally—FINALLY, damn it—getting an appointment with a therapist. It took a month, from initial phone request to finally seeing someone (and by “seeing,” I mean staring at a screen image via Zoom), and I had to push hard with follow-up phone calls. But hey, the energy expended was worth it. I like my therapist. More on that in future posts, I promise—not because I really want to talk about my childhood trauma—I don’t—but because I want to do whatever I can to encourage others to seek professional help in being the best version of yourself you can be today. And tomorrow.
Another satisfying accomplishment of the summer was writing 31 poems in the month of August and sending them out to strangers on postcards. This was not a zany idea of my own. Rather, it was part of the annual “Poetry Postcard Fest” sponsored by Cascadia Poetic Labs, the mission statement of which states: “Empowering people to practice poetry & deepen connections to place, self & the present moment.” (Gotta love the alliteration!) The cool thing about signing up for the PPF is that you also (potentially) receive 31 postcards. So far, I’ve gotten about 20 postcards, mostly handmade and decorated with creative artwork, in addition to the poetic offerings. It definitely put some pep in my step on my daily walk to fetch the mail.
I didn’t expect to write any particularly whiz bang poetry. Just as in the year I participated in NaNoWriMo, I signed up for the PPF simply to challenge myself, to impose the discipline of working on poems in addition to my other writing. (Once upon a time, I did call myself a poet, because I have had a few poems published. But that was years ago.)
Surprisingly, though, I was quite satisfied with several of the 31 poems I wrote, and so, for the first time in decades, I think I’ll send some out, just to see what happens. Stay tuned.
As you can imagine, I needed inspiration for those poems. I also needed time alone to process pre and post panic attack, so off to the woods I went, hiking every few days with Miss Maya Angelou Murphy, who continues to let her guard down with me. Nature is an inspiration in and of itself, so I was pleased to capture some photos reflecting my awe.
And, of course, I spent time with my emotional support pals, Sgt. Thomas Tibbs and Jenny the Cat. The Dog Who Hated Being Touched has now become The Dog Who Loves to Be Loved On—brushed, petted, scratched, massaged, whatever. Whenever the world becomes “too full of weeping,” as Yeats described it, I can sit down next to Thom, give him head rubbies and ear scratches, and tell him all about it for as long as it takes for my blood pressure to drop to normal again.
Don’t
get me started on Jenny’s antics for comic relief. This cat… oh my dragons…. If
I had let her, she would have stayed outside on the patio for the duration of
Tropical Storm Hilary as it blew through our town with crazy wind and sideways
rain. As it was, she stayed out, curled in a corner of the blanket on the patio
swing, until I finally made her come in when debris began flying around the
yard. And let me tell you, she let me know how unhappy she was about having to
do so. She always lets me know exactly how she’s feeling about my
unilateral decisions. That’s where dogs and cats are different; dogs say
“Okay!” and cats say “Who said so?”
Speaking
of cats… and dogs… and dragons: I also spent the summer—as promised—working with
artist/illustrator Allie Myers on the cover of Fey Girl, the first book in my Dragon
Singer series of middle grade fantasy novels. Allie is beyond amazing—I feel at
times she is somehow “seeing” what is in my head—and she has just informed me
(as in, this morning!) that the front illustration for the cover is complete.
And, oh my dragons, it is exactly—no, it is better than what I had imagined in
my head. I will be sharing that in a separate post, along with more information
about the series. Since the back cover and spine are simple, the cover should
be ready in another two weeks, which means the book could be released as early
as late October, early November—just in time for Christmas. Again, stay tuned.
I am so, so excited about these books, and I can’t wait for all four in the
series to be out in the world.
If you’re still reading, thank you. Let me sign off here with one of the poems from this month’s Fest that I particularly liked, once I was satisfied with the final draft.
Constants
S. Kay Murphy
I wake up moody, musing
On
the problems of yesterday.
In
the still-dark, I take the dogs
Out
to the yard, looking up,
As
always, to find my constants.
There
is Taurus, stretched across
The
sky, the Seven Sisters,
Whispering
secrets, and proud
Orion,
on his back in August,
Perpetually
sighting his arrow
Nonetheless,
unconcerned
For the tilt of the Earth
Today, tomorrow, or yesterday.
