A-1 Bookstore of Canton, Ohio (photo taken by Cat Russell, 2021)
While I’m rewriting my draft for my second novel, Hera Unbound, I’m altering my monthly content from poems to either writing prompts or short posts about current events.
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CURRENT EVENTS:
Last November I utilized the resources of National Novel Writing Month–aka NaNoWriMo–to create the first draft of my next novel, a retelling of the Olypian coup against Zeus by his wife, Hera, goddess of marriage. Most people who are passingly familiar with Greek mythology only know Hera as the goddess of marriage demonized as the persecutor of her husband’s mistresses/victims. I wanted to tell her story.
Originally I planned to take a couple months off and begin the second draft in the new year, but my family has been hit by one thing after another and honestly, it just kept getting put on the back burner. I had a couple false starts that didn’t really pan out. Then, after months of triaging my life, I finally decided that instead of trying to edit the original draft, I’d just start over. I looked over my original draft–including notes on things that needed to be addressed, redrafted a new outline that corrected the previous problems, and started over. I’m currently on chapter two.
WRITER PERMISSION: I’m giving myself permission to ease my commitments to my blog, writing short summaries instead of creating fresh poems for each post, in order to concentrate on this larger project. I also give myself permission to take a step back if and when needed, as many times as needed. I may be a writer, but I’m also a person, and my mental health comes first.
I am including this, not only to reaffirm this to myself, but to tell any other struggling writers out there, it’s okay to take a break when you need one. If you can’t write anything, go work on something else. Or binge The Walking Dead. Do whatever you need to do to find your equilibrium again. It’s not only okay, it’s necessary.
Thank you.
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*image taken by myself in 2021 of A-1 Bookstore in Canton, Ohio.
*Next Friday, I’ll also post a short followup on my Patreon. If you’d like to read about my progress and plans for this year, you can subscribe there to support my work for as little as $1 a month! Until next time, stay safe and well, and read often!
“i wandered carefree as a weed”
(a lyric in honor of my lawn--as well as Wordsworth’s I wandered lonely as a Cloud)
I wandered carefree as a weed
that floats through clouds and skies of blue,
unlike the golden daffodils
landlocked in groups of ten and two,
narcissus bent faces downcast
despite the sunny bright forecast.
the daffodils herald spring days,
the dandelions announce them too,
but one lasts weeks, then petals shed
must twelve months wait until renewed,
while hardy yellow lion’s teeth
dot greenery, rebirth, unsheathe
after a short time within
their green leaves folded over blades
the hue of sun transmutate
to angel wings of snowy grace
while daffodil’s corpse litters ground
the lowly weeds’ freedom is found
the cultivated daffodil
lives lonely, keeping company
with others of its kind plus one
red tulip flushing prettily.
vanity did isolate it,
its love is unreciprocated.
meanwhile the humble sunlit weed
keeps face upturned to heaven’s vault:
the azure skies, the cotton clouds,
even the thunderstorm’s assault
of mowing blade now sharp and cruel
that can’t defeat this disdained jewel
Often I lie upon my bed
and wonder that resilient bloom,
its color bright, its upturned head,
survives despite the farmers’ doom.
Daffodils may dance sublime,
but me? I love the dandelion.
#
This poem is posted in honor of the 30th Annual Dandelion May Fest, which takes place this weekend. If you’d like to read about my progress and plans for this year, you can subscribe to my Patreon and support my work for just $1 a month! Until next time, stay safe and well, and read often!
“watercolors”
practice trains you
to observe everyday details
the exact blue of heaven isn’t blue
it’s cobalt, azure, gold and scarlet,
rose blooms into violet,
silver marbles the horizon
before blackest night
awash in color
Rorschachs blossom
my mind’s edges cauliflower
errors discover possibility
fill each canvas with pauses
lightening then brightening
always saving the darkest for last
nothing cannot be adapted
to something new, sometimes better
forgiveness is pigment
forgiveness is water, brush, paper
always ready to soak up excess
or spread radiant hues
ad libbing elements
an individual choice
ships may soar dew-kissed sky
clouds break like china cups
black holes rip gaping edges
in the empty vault of heaven
ready to swallow all
#
Next Friday, I’ll also post on my Patreon. If you’d like to read about my progress and plans for this year, you can subscribe to my Patreon and support my work for just $1 a month! Until next time, stay safe and well, and read often!
“paper journeys”
Long lonely childhood days
I lounged beneath the mulberry tree,
just Thisbee and me,
waiting for Pyramus
to take us away, I'd play
host to Hermes and Zeus,
coast wine-dark seas
devour siren song,
draw Labyrinthian threads
through Minotaur’s home,
and soar cornflower sky
beside Daedalus before
my waxen wings would melt;
lofty flight cut short by sun
and seafoam, left alone
in my room, immersed in biblichor,
i buried myself beneath thin sheets,
knowing only myths’ allure:
my escape into fantasy
i knew no other hope
for awkward me,
so dreamed gods and heroes
fell for my charms, left heaven itself
to save me from earthly woes,
protect me from those
i could not bear to face.
those travels served me well,
provided refuge--fiction and facts
to complement the lessons of experience:
wilder girls braved the unknown;
Lois Lane endured without Superman;
Nelly Bly broke stories, wrote and made
history; the deaf and blind may see
farther without the gift of sight;
despite millennia, a woman's verse
survives in fragments of paper mache,
and princesses are heroes too.
the old saying rings true:
the journey is more important
than the destination, though
each step needed to be
to arrive at now. i needed
to grow up to learn
saviors exist outside books alone,
adventures are not what we await
but opportunities we create
stepping outside our comfort zone:
the heart of each encounter
when we brave enough
to rescue ourselves.
#
Next Friday, I’ll also post on my Patreon. If you’d like to read about my progress and plans for this year, you can subscribe to my Patreon and support my work for just $1 a month! Until next time, stay safe and well, and read often!
the world opens up as a new monster looms on the horizon, belching fire, slaughtering victims without thought to gender, creed, or age: the smallest of the small, resistant to her older brother’s charms, no longer spared infectious breath.
not content to massacre millions by breath alone, she melts crematoriums whose iron frames soften, run from the heat of so many bodies burned in so few hours, days, weeks of death; chimneys crack from overuse, appalling mockery that mimics hospital beds buckling from the influx of live bodies they strain to save and might despite their failures. Parks no longer host festivals but burning pyres that brighten twilight like bonfires left behind by the wyrms’ warm feasting
or colossal candles lit in earth’s cathedral for each of those extinguished lives, bright enough to catch the eyes of the gods in their heavens or the demons down below.
the beast that plagued last year seems tame beside his younger sibling, the serpent virulent exhaling flame who does not deign to spare the lives of children.
Will she leap across the waters, span the ocean, leave that far off land to spread her curse upon our slowly awakened shores?
Does she await our recovery only to make her scourge more felt?
# Thanks for stopping by my blog. If you’d like to read about the crafting of “Plague of Dragons,” check out my Patreon next week for a free technical breakdown of the poem.
“last year’s revels”
the toddler rolls from bed,
a ballerina princess excited
for the special day ahead,
anticipates her long-awaited party.
strawberry-topped chocolate cake
with a grape soda chaser,
she’s fueled for festivity:
rainbowed streamers wave
above a table piled with gifts,
sunshine yellow ribbon
seals each shining gold wrapper,
as storm clouds gather unheaded
outside her window’s thin glass.
she tears a first package apart,
eager, greedy for its contents,
frowns at the dimestore damsel’s
impossible figure and painted smile,
tosses her aside for another
bright box’s glinting temptation,
enchanted to find inside
flint enough to fire her tinder home.
caffeine-fueled and sugar-dosed,
she blazes pirouette on tip-toes,
ecstatic homage to firenadoes
swirling flame outside her door.
she watches in delight,
her face crimson bright
as a demon risen to scorch
this mortal earth with hellfire.
hay-colored landscapes wither,
flames kindle the world: fireworks
enough to entertain her swollen
all-too-childish brain. she collapses,
in a fit of giggles watches murder hornets
bloom across the blood red sky.
her joy indisputable on a face free
from the thin cotton mask she refuses to wear.
she knows these days are hallowed,
these endless nights will last
for years to come.
exhausted from her revels,
quietly
she tears the Barbie’s bloodless arms;
the doll’s blank eyes reflect nothing,
the hollow chest holds her silent scream,
her frozen face beaming
an eternally vacant grin.
#
If you’d like to know more about the craft that went into this poem, next week I will be posting a poem dissection on my Patreon–which is free during the pandemic. Thank you for stopping by. Stay safe, stay well, and read often!
on the eve of my mother’s birth and the swearing in of a new leader
last night i dreamed: i came upon a strip mall and stumbled upon the store my father had built from scratch all those years ago
i did not dare believe my eyes though it seemed too real not to be believed i ran inside hoping for a glimpse of the man that ruled my childhood my hero who taught me chess gave me his own bike to ride
today i thought i saw another gone silhouette perched upon the windowsill
he died so long and yet not so long i longed so to see his familiar face i could not help but catch a glimpse his bald(ing) head and bright brown eyes
today my mother opens chocolates “her president” as her present she says as each morsel melts washed down with a cup of steaming Lady Grey
i couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of another dear departed, gold fur and eyes brown as warm caramel, i couldn’t quite help but wonder what else dies and is born today
sometimes we need to coat our tongue with warm sugar, sweeten our swallowed bitterness
is this a new beginning or another end?
**In my previous post I said I was going to resume regular scheduling in February, but since this poem is topical I decided to post it today. Normally I let poems sit between edits, but obviously that would not work for a timely posting, so (although edited) this poem is more raw than what I normally share.
Happy New Year! Hopefully, 2021 will be less problematic than 2020.
In the meantime, I’ll share the books I’ve read in the past year. Due to the recent interesting times, many of them are books I’ve read before. When I want a comfort read, I’ll often reach for old favorites: Cyrano de Bergerac and The Walking Dead graphic novels are among my favorites. Since the list is pretty long (I’ll reach 100 one of these years!), I’m listing them by title. If you would like me to go into detail about any of these books, just leave a comment or contact me on social media. I love discussing books!
If you’d like to read one of these selections yourself, I’ve included links. Many of the reads were ebooks and audiobooks via various platforms, often through local libraries. I’ve always loved digital format, but in the past year it’s been more important than ever. Enjoy the list! Maybe you’ll find something you’ll like too.
If you’d like to hear about my favorites from this list, a free complementary post appears on my Patreon. Until next time, stay safe and well and read often!
Every December for the past couple years, I’ve posted my New Year’s resolutions. I do this as a way of holding myself publicly accountable to ensure I stick with them for the next twelve months. Since starting this tradition, this is the first time I’ve failed to accomplish them all.
That sounds bad, and it is–but it’s also understandable. Despite unforeseen complications, a worldwide pandemic, and some personal crises, I accomplished some of my goals–not all. Honestly, I may have been able to if I really pushed myself, but I decided against this for two reasons: my mental health and the quality of my work. I felt that under the hellacious circumstances of this year, if I pushed myself too hard, they both would suffer. I wasn’t willing to make that trade to meet a self-imposed deadline.
SOME. In a limited capacity, I did. Last year, I promoted my poetry book, Soul Picked Clean, by reading at bookstores and libraries across Northeast Ohio. I had several events each month, sometimes many the same week, and anticipated the same type of schedule for my newest book. Unfortunately, social distancing due to the pandemic forced a different approach.
I’ve worked hard over the past few years to become more comfortable reading and performing my work in public, but I’m really uncomfortable with a lot of the technology we’ve been forced to use the past nine months. ZOOM has had security issues, and although they are supposedly resolved, I’m reluctant to use their platform because they have not been forthcoming in the past. Unfortunately, almost all the poetry events seem to use that platform.
However, I was able to work around this issue with some help from very understanding people. Instead of attending a local author fair at the library, I recorded video of my author talks and readings. Instead of attending workshops and cons, I shared on social media. Instead of having a Book Release Party, I organized and participated in a Halloween-themed multi-author event via FaceBook Live. I was invited to read for a December event, and the host kindly let me phone in instead of using ZOOM. Instead of selling my books in person, I offered online deals via social media and PayPal.
Volunteer more.
NOT DONE. Pre-pandemic, I volunteered as an usher on a monthly basis for Ohio Shakespeare Festival, and I wanted to contribute to other things too. For example, years ago I had read for Librivox.org and thought if I reorganized my schedule I could do that as well.
I managed to volunteer this year up until the quarantine began at the end of March, but that was it. Instead, I increased my posting schedule on my Patreon (and made the posts free to view during the pandemic) as a way to contribute supplementary reading material during a difficult time. Little did I realize how long that time would be, and I was eventually forced to scale back to my previous posting schedule.
Submit another poetry collection to a publisher.
NOT DONE. I attempted to compile my second poetry collection earlier in the year. I picked out the poems, printed and gathered them into a folder to experiment with physically rearranging them, and made some progress before the proverbial feces hit the fan. I tried to get back on track a couple times throughout the year, but each time other things came up which took priority.
Publish my poetry collection.
NOT DONE. See above.
Do things that frighten me.
SOME. I am very nervous doing online video, especially live video, but in lieu of a book launch or author events, I participated in several live video and/or audio programs, including some new (to me) such as SpoFest Poetry & Prose and (online) Second Sunday Poets. My anxiety soared before each one, but I was able to disregard this while they were in progress by focusing on what I read and on the other participants.
I did not do any events using the ZOOM app, which I’m afraid to use because of their security issues and lack of transparency. However, I was able to participate in events where other people used ZOOM while I phoned in.
MY 2021 RESOLUTIONS (and my plans to accomplish them):
Finish compiling my second poetry collection.
I’m already partway to this goal, but I need to regain the momentum I lost this past year. But to do that, I need to regain my peace of mind first, which 2020 has shaken, so I’m giving myself a hiatus in January. Then starting February 1st (at the latest) I will start fresh on my already printed poems. I’ll create a schedule with a firm deadline which I’ll stick to religiously. Pacing is important, so the schedule will be light but strict, that way I can always work ahead as I’m inspired.
Submit my second poetry collection to a publisher.
I’m fond of indie presses, for obvious reasons: both my books have been published by them. Also, I know and respect a lot of people who run their own small presses, so I plan to submit to an indie press.
Regain my former schedule.
I’ve lost a lot of steam this year, as well as many of my traditional outlets. With the vaccine on the horizon for the general population, I’m hoping things will slowly get back to normal. When social distancing restrictions relax so libraries, bookstores, and other venues resume their former hours, I will return to my previous monthly activities: volunteering at Ohio Shakespeare Festival and attending poetry events. Obviously, this one depends on forces beyond my control, so I’ll have to see what happens.
Do things that scare me.
I promise to be open to opportunities and not resist them simply because I’m afraid. I started this one when I honestly looked at myself and realized the main thing holding me back from my goals was my own fear. Since I first made this resolution several years ago, I’ve never regretted it.
REFLECTIONS:
This year has been hellish for a lot of people, myself included, and while I don’t think the New Year will magically make everything better, I do think things will get better. Although I did not accomplish all my goals, I did the best I could under the circumstances. Venetian Spider Press published my second book, and although I wasn’t able to promote it in person, I did promote it and made some sales. Despite social distancing, I kept in touch with my friends and family.
I know this is a dark time for a lot of people. I really want to end this post on a high note, but I also think it’s important to recognize that; even though you try to focus on the positive, sometimes things just suck. It’s okay to feel bad, and if everything gets too much, it’s okay to seek help.
I’m not ashamed to say I needed help this year. What tipped me off was when I lost interest in books, in reading poetry, and in writing. I’ve loved books since before I could read. I remember annoying the hell out of my mother by asking her to read every sign on the highway, instructions on boxes, and anything else that would help me learn. So when I lost interest in books, I knew I needed professional help.
If you notice yourself having symptoms of depression (such as loss of interest in things that normally give you joy), please seek help. You’re worth it.
Thank you for visiting my blog, and I hope you’ll return in January. I’ll start 2021 with a post about the books I read in 2020, so maybe you’ll find your next great read! In the meantime, stay safe and well, and Happy New Year!
Cat Russell 