The Long (Break) and the Short (Story) Of It

Here’s the short of it: It’s been over a year. I am so ready to get back to writing. And I mean, real writing. Like, creating. You know, the magic – putting words together and making something that didn’t exist before it came together on a blank page.

Here’s the long:

Having a 1-year-old, and the year and change in between her birth and now, is busy, crazy, different every day, and exhausting. It’s also amazing, inspiring, fun, and its own kind of magic. Lucy is my whole life, and finding ways to bring her needs into harmony with my own has been a challenge that I meet in novel, interesting ways every day. Some days, I succeed, and we’re both satisfied. Some days, I…don’t succeed quite as well…and she is happy and her needs are met and I have not even brushed my teeth. Time for writing? Nah. I barely have time to eat. “Well, you’ll make time for what matters.” Dude, have you had a baby? SHE matters. More than anything else. But I matter, too. And I do want to make time.

So, where does that leave me? What does it mean?

It means that, for the next month, I’m going to sit down at least once a week and jot down ideas, and good lines of dialogue, and when I can, a few paragraphs of beginnings and endings. And come January, I’m going to start posting short stories again.

I don’t know if I’ll do a theme like I have in past years, or if I’ll try something different. Back in October of 2023, I posted the start of something fun, and maybe I’ll revisit that. I would like to know how it ends.  

I don’t know exactly what my writing will look like in the new year, but I’m going to do it, and there will be stories. I hope you’ll read them!

But for now, Lucy’s waking up from her nap.

Future (A Poem)

I have a
little girl
to take care of.
Her world,
her future,
her life –
they start with me.
To teach her to be
kind
and
clever,
to show her
love –
how to and why –
and when it’s right to fight.
And to never deny
the darkness,
but always
always
always
help her shine her light.
Nothing else matters.
Everything matters.

Ode to My (Postpartum) Hair (A Poem)

Here, there, and everywhere you are,
my hair –
in the shower drain and on the rocking chair,
fistfuls in my hands,
landing all around in tangles, clumps, and pairs.
You and me,
we were really something, weren’t we?
One day you’ll come back,
I know –
or, at least, I hope it’s so.
Until then,
my old familiar friend,
we’ll weather the (thinning) clouds together.

New Days (A Poem)

Cloudy sky spitting snow,
and 364 to go.
One year gone and lessons learned
as another comes to take its turn –
new and old meet at the door
and cross the threshold.
For us
(the three of us):
Hope and joy,
love and light,
a bright dawn after a lonely night
and so many happy memories already.
These are truly the new days.
May they last and linger
and spread out
endless and infinite.