Skip to main content

On publishing my first poetry chapbook during COVID With love, faith, and ample allowance for depression

 


Over a year ago my publisher, God Bless Her Heart, signed on for an ‘urban-fantasy’ novel and yet, here we are now, and I’m debuting my first book of poetry.

You’d almost be forgiven to think, for good reason, that I’d pulled a fast one on her. Executed a sleight of hand; the old switcheroo — !

“Not true!” I’d harrumph in protest. The novel, all 3/4ths of which, by the way, is actually complete, is just gestating, I’d say. It’s nearly complete, but needs some time yet to ripen.

I’m doing some additional research. Reviewing story lines and story structure and plot development and rhythmic flow and —

Well, yeah. All of that. And more. And none of it. And COVID and spiraling levels of depression and parenthood and strained relationships and love and loss and —

Yeah.

So, marjorie steele  (God Bless Her Heart) got a book of poetry, Songs for the Cleveland Avenue Warriors, for her press, instead of a novel.

She even acted as if she were enthused for the whole endeavor; put in a tremendous amount of work, time, love, and the faith to see the project finalized.

Her enthusiasm for the work remains contagious. I’m excited to share it with you, with the world, because Songs for the Cleveland Avenue Warriors represents a journey for me, an exploration of my own discrete World Line, and I can’t wait to hear what you think of it.

Be aware, though, I stumble at times, admittedly, along the way. Trip outright and fall flat on my face at other times. But for some of the journey, for much of it, I feel as though I’ve found my stride.

It would humor me if you were to choose to stroll along with me, if only just for a little bit.

I could use the company.

gzus

https://medium.com/creativeonion-press/how-did-i-get-here-3ea5abcce5c3

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Monique Felani Kokua-Binti
Post a Comment
Read more

Chapter 35: Knock Knock Who's There

35 During this time, Bealz found that the suites were warded. He could not venture beyond the vestibule doors. He was essentially a prisoner, despite being well kept and constantly and fastidiously attended to. He heard and watched the breaking reports play out in the background of his news feeds about the building collapse not far from here, but ultimately, it was meaningless to him. He has miseries of his own. Bealz had been left to pace the floor, with little more to do than to eat and worry for his mother. At this point in time, he had decided to dismiss his disappointment of a father. Bealz hardened himself to the fact that his dad was just another letdown in an endlessly difficult existence. Just another ex-con baby daddy, gone again just as quickly as he had arrived. Bealz couldn't help but feel sorry for himself because of it, though he tried hard not to show it. He instead looked to toughen himself, to steel himself against an ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Chapter 41: The Matriarchs

XLI Monique still could not quite understand what was happening. She knew that she sat cross-legged on the remnants of a filthy shag rug in the living room of an abandoned house with Jo-Mel. They traded stories. And yet: Monique was experiencing a sense of vertigo. She felt as though she had fallen backwards, had tumbled down into herself. She continued the Telling along with Jo-Mel. She continued to tell her story. But she was now submerged within it, pulled along by its own momentum. She opens herself to the press of history that washes over her. It floods her senses with more than the human mind alone could possibly process. Monique thrashes about, the story splintering, slipping away. And then she feels something firm, something solid lifting itself up to meet her, to support her. She finds a rock upon which to stand. There, she meets her Mothers. She meets the Felani. Mamurakan was not among them. She wandered still,...
Post a Comment
Read more