Two Years Already?

(and a silly little poem: First Sip)

Today marks two years since I claimed this little space of mine in Substack Land. It feels appropriate to celebrate somehow. I collected a few of my favorite tools, including the new stash of notebooks and pens, purchased by me for me to mark this momentous occasion! Also pictured are some of the books that have inspired me recently, and the candles I use to remind me that writing time is sacred time. Two candles in honor of two years.

I launched my page knowing that many people come to Substack to read news, or social commentary - the serious stuff. I also knew that wasn’t why I was here. I needed a home for whatever would arise in my then-brand-new daily writing practice. “Here” seemed as good as any. I’m here to share my musings, and to become accustomed to letting my words exist somewhere outside of my notebooks and laptop. To let them loose out in the wild.

One thing I didn’t know when I began showing up here is that I might also find a place to connect not only with readers, but with so many other writers. That’s been such a great bonus and truly inspiring! Whether you’ve been here since the beginning or stumbled onto “dump cake” recently, thank you for taking time to read. It feels good to know I’m not only writing for myself, even though that is a big deal on it’s own. Commenting when / if that feels right to you is a huge encouragement as well. Thank you for all of your support!

The last several weeks I’ve been completely focused elsewhere, intentionally adding to the memoir project I’ve undertaken. As it happens, TODAY is not only my Substack anniversary, it’s also book camp graduation day over in my writing community (www.awritingroom.com). I exceeded my personal goals, which is great, and I’m more than ready to mix it up and let the memoir breathe for awhile. Hopefully, that will mean I can be more present here both as a reader and a creator. I’ll admit that when the world’s chaos looms large, I struggle greatly to share my content. I feel guilty for taking up space when there is so much of real consequence weighing heavily on us all.

In the spirit of “doing it anyway” and because I haven’t written anything new for this space in awhile, I’m going to leave you with a lighthearted poem that “spilled” (pun intended - you’ll see) out of me early one morning a few months back. Its a bit about me and my writing process, just for fun. Enjoy!

First Sip

French roast, dark and bold
emboldened the poet
who sometimes awakens in me.

She too can be bold,
the boldest it seems
of my voices, all striving for “free”.

The poet breaks in
surprising like cinnamon
unexpectedly swirled in the grounds,

demanding my pen,
reminding me again, that
a story doesn’t always need prose.

I can “tell it slant”
on scantily clad pages,
still revealing what needs to be known.

Between the lines might live multitudes,
layer upon layer:
foundational;
protective;
forgotten.

It all matters. It’s all me.
Like that well worn cliche,
I’m “much more than meets the eye”.

Yes, I always drink coffee
and I sometimes drink tea:
Earl Grey, fragrant mint, spicy chai.

I won’t be limited
by that predictable first sip.