I’ve been busy working on those adjuncts that
go with getting Rain out into the
world: covers, blurbs, loglines, teeny-tiny things on my author Facebook page
(S.E. Hudnall), and waiting, perhaps not as patiently as I would like or
should, for feedback from beta readers, so I can put on the final polish and
proof. Snow is being submitted,
chapter by chapter, to my critique group. And, for no reason I can fathom, my
sci-fi love story seems to be peculating as well. It’s a long list and a story
too long for blogging. I must write faster. I want four of them out before the
end of next year. I think I can do that. I believe I can.
But . . . perhaps I have an inflated sense of
my own capabilities, or maybe I’m just a cock-eyed optimist. Like this one I
found in my backyard Sunday morning.
Optimist
A piece of
trash . . . surely
Blown in by
some capricious wind
A remnant of
someone’s overload refuse bin
Now caught
in the skeletal branches
Of leftover
summer flowers
But . . .
no.
One single
white iris
Blooming low
to the ground
Shy, but hopeful.Whispering . . .
I’m here. Is winter gone yet?
