Keeping Good My Promise
Just a week remains before I head off to Seattle to begin the sabbatical adventure. The whole project is becoming real, not that it wasn't after being told I was granted sabbatical, but now that the bike is boxed up and shipped off, now that all my gear is boxed up and shipped off, the idea I wrote down in my proposal is beginning to take shape.
Actually, the idea began taking shape at the start of summer, right after the kids and I settled into the house we now call home. A friend suggested he and I ride and write together this summer. So we did. We committed to writing new pieces to share then discuss. Because of him, his support, his encouragement, his knowledge of poetry/writing/creating, I've been able to get a jump-start on my sabbatical project. I currently have 13 poems, and I have several more poem ideas percolating.
Each time I have a draft of a poem in place I'm emotionally exhausted. Immersing myself into the years of Mom's failing health brings out sadness, guilt, longing, pain. So many emotions flowing through me as I write. I hope those emotions are felt by the reader. My friend tells me they are, and I trust his responses to what I've written.
My friend has encouraged me to send a few of the poems off to literary magazines. And to keep my promise to myself that this year I would be persistent in writing and seeking publication, I have been sending my poems off. Each time I hit the submit button a twinge of fear bursts in my heart space. But I have to try. I have to keep good my promise.
Actually, the idea began taking shape at the start of summer, right after the kids and I settled into the house we now call home. A friend suggested he and I ride and write together this summer. So we did. We committed to writing new pieces to share then discuss. Because of him, his support, his encouragement, his knowledge of poetry/writing/creating, I've been able to get a jump-start on my sabbatical project. I currently have 13 poems, and I have several more poem ideas percolating.
Each time I have a draft of a poem in place I'm emotionally exhausted. Immersing myself into the years of Mom's failing health brings out sadness, guilt, longing, pain. So many emotions flowing through me as I write. I hope those emotions are felt by the reader. My friend tells me they are, and I trust his responses to what I've written.
My friend has encouraged me to send a few of the poems off to literary magazines. And to keep my promise to myself that this year I would be persistent in writing and seeking publication, I have been sending my poems off. Each time I hit the submit button a twinge of fear bursts in my heart space. But I have to try. I have to keep good my promise.
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