I like to believe that the spring equinox marks the actual New Year. It just makes more sense with all of the new life and new activities going on in nature.
I believe we can find the same newness within ourselves if we let nature guide us.
So cheers 🥂!! Here’s to new life, new growth, and a happy HaPpY new year.
P. S. Speaking of new … I have new book covers in the works. I’m kinda looking forward to these new creations.
Here in the northern hemisphere today is the winter solstice, the first day of winter, aka midwinter. It is reportedly the shortest day of the year hence the longest night.
It is also that time of year I routinely share this bit of poetry with you all.
This page is from the story of August Wolf which is also found in the short story compilation Greed.
You know what? I just love the cover of August Wolf.
My fondness is not because I designed it; I also designed the different covers of Greed. I just never really loved any of the Greed covers. 🤷🏼♀️
And another little tell-all this fine Tuesday…. drum roll please…
The main character in August Wolf, Jason Carroll, was named after my parents. After all I couldn’t reveal the orderly’s true identity. Putting one of us in danger was enough.
What does A Face in the Falls, August Wolf and The Sharecropper’s Son have in common?
These stories reveal the perplexities, the strengths and the weakness of people that are true to life and like life these stories expose the innate greed present in mankind.
“There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”
I love this photo for so many reasons. I wonder what those little boys are thinking? What one said that created such an expression in the others.
My 5th grandson started playing baseball this year. He, like my other grandsons, is a rascal on the field and off.
The photo made me think of my other grandsons (their ages range from 10 months to 22 years) and some of the things they discuss/discussed.
I imagine right about now I have a grin like the little guy in the picture as I remember how I busied myself, pretending to be unaware while they talked.
Their conversations ranged from bugs to books and dinosaurs and bikes. Rocks and clouds and robots. …
When the older boys discussions evolved to automobiles and girls I busied myself out of hearing range.
And just for clarification, I don’t consider it eavesdropping if I’m in your presence.
We humans get impulsive and short tempered when we get hot, literally and figuratively.
Science says when the body overheats, it needs to spend energy to cool itself down, that response can come from the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that helps people self-regulate.
That explains why people are more impulsive and less likely to think before acting.
I’m not sure if that’s what happened to Savannah Dawn and her mom, but something made them snap.
“Mama had worked up such a sweat the glue melted leaving her eyelashes dangling at an odd angle to her lids. She tried to dislodge them but after a few failed puffs, she snatched them from her face without blinking. They landed like two dead caterpillars at my feet. I quietly picked them up and stowed them in my pocket.”
Those of you in the Southern Hemisphere are (hopefully) enjoying summer while us folks in the Northern Hemisphere are entering winter and the longest night of the year.
Though it is the Northern influence that spawned The Long Long Night, I wish you all a happy December solstice and warm poetic evening.
so without further adieu I give to you …
The Long Long Night
He would sculpt and I would write to get us through this thing called life – what seemed to be an aimless plight
The long, long night
I used pen and he used clay to cope with all the pain filled days which lived within our slow decay of
The long, long night
But in between the words and mud we found the art of making love and pacified the angst and blood of
The long, long night
Forsaken pages ripped and torn, spattered earth across the floor, graphite tales of love and war and
The long, long night
Come into my bed sweet angry lover, your tender calloused hands beneath the cover.
Find the place where none has been, beneath the ink and turning pin, get us through yet once again
Smoke Free is a weird little story conceived in the smoke of a brush fire. I was out in the woods snapping pictures, the images combined with a twisted imagination and tada! The rest is history.
The photos below show the cover; from the first photograph to the finished cover.
Smoke Free is probably the only book cover we have not changed at least a dozen times. The truth is I have never wanted to change it. I love this cover and the image of that little pumpkin smoking a cigar never fails to amuse me. (I have the husband to thank for that.)
I had never heard of Irwin Smutter before that day and he (like the cigar smoking pumpkin) still amuses me with his absolute weirdness; him and the bizarre world he resides in.
And here’s a bite sized sample of the lunch break tale …
The room appeared empty other than an oversized sofa. Irwin reposed himself against the frigid vinyl, crossed his feet and sighed. A lively timbered scene covered the wall opposite the door, designed in such a way it almost looked like a window. Beyond the dull sheen of the pretend window was a forest where rays of sunshine cut through a smoky haze. The remaining walls were un-textured, pale and bare. The room smelled of sandalwood and acetone, a bizarre sweetness that sickened and comforted him at the same time. Irwin shifted nervously on the stiff upholstery in search of a warm spot. There was none.
The faux leather, the lifeless walls, the fake window – it was all too unsettling. Nothing is real, he thought, stretching his arms until his hands met above his head. Fads! The world has been reduced to kooks, phonies, and fads. Reassured by his own summation, Irwin interlaced his fingers and stretched further. When the joints in his entwined hands refused to pop, he rested them at the base of his neck.
Smoking cessation.Yeah, right. It was not Irwin’s idea. Irwin enjoyed smoking. The pungent smell of a fresh-lit cigarette made bitter coffee sweet. Smoking was one of the few things he looked forward to each day. A good smoke, a little booze, a lot of caffeine and Evie.
The Real Janna Hill in 