flowering

I'm going to be honest with you, why I'm not writing on here much these days. Eye me curiously all you want, but it's true: I have a boyfriend. He is wonderful and I happily let him take up all my spare time. Though he insists I need alone time to write, I'm too stubborn and cuddly for him to ignore. Funny what a good man can teach you about men and self. Things like: "Hey! Not all of us are made of asshat!" or "You are smart". I heard Kelly Clarkson on the radio this morning and thought, "Good sweet Lord. I'm relating to her lyrics [new low?]. Where did Miss Independant run off to?"

I digress.

The good news related to my writing: I had a fabulous dream the other night that was so complex I'm actually putting my other writing project (loosely titled "book") on hold to start writing this one. My first book, that floppy attempt, will be picked up again this summer for some finalizing patchwork and, hopefully, printing. Admittedly I've succumbed to the pressure of having a PERFECT FIRST ("Hey look at this blockbuster movie they just made out of my first book!" ~ giddy young author with horseshoes up her writing utensil). No more! I've decided a crappy first book is better than no first book. Will continue to work to that end, and aim to write crappy books. Two potential weekend writing retreats in the works, one writing conference in fall I'm hoping to soak in, and gracious supporters from all sides. Did I mention I finally have a couch? Makes me want to stay home. All of this is good for my writing.

In leiu of my own poetry (which is second-rate at best), here's a beaut my friend just shared. Dwell in this one for a bit:

Graham Franciose via Etsy

. . . I look out
at everything
growing so wild
and faithfully beneath
the sky
and wonder
why we are the one
terrible
part of creation
privileged
to refuse our flowering
(David Whyte, “The Sun”)