It’s been pretty quiet around here lately. Following Sea is bobbing out on the surf, and I’ve been busy watching it.
I’ve been invited to and have arranged a few readings – including a National Poetry Month event at Forth Cafe in Winnipeg on the last day of this month, with a bunch of other fabulous poets (see the poster) – and have had some nice things said about the book.
But all-in-all, I find it kind-of an odd place to be: this post-publication period.
There’s a bit of let-down, a bit of postpartum blues, at least for me (and I’m not being obtuse here, as a person who experiences depression).
I sort-of spin my thumbs, wondering what I can do, how I can encourage people to read my little darling, love her, make her their friend.
But, you know, there’s nothing much a writer can do. She has to make it on her own, find her own place in the world. (Yes, my books are most definitely female).
And, meanwhile, we write. Right?
Or think about writing.
Or type up the written words in my notebook.
Or dream about driving vehicles without being able to see (our Subaru backwards on Ontario’s Highway 400 and, last night, blindly flying a plane, although that experience was less stressful and more exciting).
Or garden (perhaps it was post-book blues that inspired me to start my now-enormous tomato seedlings in late February?)
And, I get ready to go on the road, to share the book up north in The Pas and back home in Ontario, at readings in Orillia and Toronto (and I’m open for more, in case you have a venue in mind: please get in touch!) I’ll send exact dates and locations when we get closer.
Like I said: quiet(ish).
An in-between time. But then, spring is, isn’t it?
It’s sunny, but cold. The birds are back but laying low.
So, I garden, wait, dream, write, and remember, once again, that a finished book in the world is not the path but the outward sign of the path.
Like a plant is the expression of its roots.