Tag Archives: April

Ah, Spring! Ah, Poetry! Ah-choo!

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Despite the soaring pollen counts and the jungle that used to be my yard, I love spring.

I love walking outside and seeing a bunch of tiny daffodils peeking through pine straw. I love chocolate bunnies and jelly beans, little kidders in their church finery, with Easter baskets and bonnets. I love the explosion of azaleas blooming at The Masters and the excitement of the highs and lows on that Sunday as golfers make a run for the green jacket. I love digging out my sandals from the back of the closet, and sitting on my deck, reading (and sneezing) in the sunshine. There’s something poetic in the air when spring arrives.

I know booksellers and teachers and poets and the like got together and chose April for National Poetry Month ostensibly because it was available and people could celebrate with a high degree of participation. But that sounds awfully stuffy and dry, doesn’t it? I’d rather think it’s because April is right there in the midst of spring when the earth is coming alive again, just like words come alive in a good poem. Rebirth, renewal, rejoicing!

I hope your April has been glorious and that you enjoyed a poem or two. If you haven’t got round to the poetry, here’s a list of 10 Classic Spring Poems Everyone Should Read and I liked Dr. Oliver Tearle’s choices. I have to admit that it’s The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot that always comes to mind in spring but only because of that well-known first line…”April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land…” Maybe in an English Lit college class long ago, a professor made me read it, possibly explained it, but it’s just that line that’s stuck with me.

I don’t believe April is the cruellest month; maybe one day I’ll write a poem titled “April Sings of Hope” but until then, I’ll keep writing at the Muffin. This month’s offerings, “New Tricks” about learning my lesson when working on novel edits, and “I Get By with a Little Help from the Pros” where the advice therein is great whether you’re a writer or new car owner.

Which reminds me…I need to figure out where the button is that will spray my windshield. It’s a pollen-y mess!

Cathy and Libs ♥ (who is on the prowl for snakes because yeah, April is Snake Month, too)

If It’s April,Then It Must Be the Black Snake

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Here it is April already. And the snake is back.

So basically, we’re going to be talking about snakes today. And I wanted to put it right out there for you so you’d know what was coming. Furthermore, if you do not want to see a snake, you should probably click out of this post right now. Although…

The snake tied in remarkably well with my topic over at The Muffin today and I’d hate for you to miss out on some terrific writing tips just because of a snake. But yes, there’s a snake there, too. The post is called “First, You Need a BIG Black Snake (Or How to Grab the Attention of Agents, Editors, and Readers)” so you gotta have a snake. But at least you know the snake’s there. Sometimes you have to take the bad with the good, y’all. Although…

BIG black snakes are good to have around. I’m just sayin’.

Anyway, back to my original point. Which is BIG black snakes and April. This is the snake that Libs alerted me to the other day:

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You’ll note that this snake is on a walkway of my deck. And though it doesn’t look like much at first, you’ll see that in point of fact, it is a BIG black snake, even if it’s all twisted up.

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(It was stretched out next to the house and I had to disengage it and so it responded by coiling into itself.) But the minute I saw this snake–I was walking on the deck/walkway and talking to Youngest Junior Hall who was telling me about the bear (Yeah, I said bear. What is the world coming to?) that had broken into the golf cart barn where’s he working now–I recognized the snake.

Oh, yes, friends. I knew this snake. In fact, I’d documented this snake right here on the blog. So I went back to find the post where I’d discussed this very same BIG black snake and there it was: “If It’s Wednesday, It Must Be Time to Post.”

The snake had nothing to do with that post, except–and this is really what the post, “First You Need a Big Black Snake...”  is all about: every single comment on that year-ago post was about the BIG black snake.

Anyway, as I was proving, you’ll note the date of the first appearance of the snake was April 18, 2018. So clearly, this snake has a nice, comfy home somewhere under and/or around my deck and walkway. And I’ll bet you five bucks right now that in that home, possibly next to the front door, you’ll find a calendar with April circled.

Checking In, Sort Of

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The pic will make sense, eventually.

So I was outside, picking up my recycling bin (which is a maneuver fraught with anxiety for me since it was whilst picking up the recycling bin that I took a tumble down the driveway and lay there for 20 MINUTES waiting for Mister Man to come and investigate and when he did not, I somehow stumbled into the house and took the next twelve months sorting out the various bumps, bruises, cuts, sprains and strains associated with said tumble, taking the opportunity to complain to Mister Man whenever possible) when I saw my neighbor.

We don’t see each other often, so we had a little chat. And then he asked a simple question. To wit, “Do you work?”

Now, let’s not forget that I was already anxious (due to the whole recycling bin thing) and so I paused. And I don’t mean just a blip of a pause. I mean one of those really long and uncomfortable pauses. He clearly thought he had somehow wandered into some incredibly inappropriate waters and he began to flail around, apologizing, but really, there’s nothing wrong with asking a person if she works.

Except for me, it opened up the door to Angst and Uncertainty. A year ago, I would’ve said, “Oh, yes, I work at home. I’m a writer.” And then I’d explain how I don’t make a ton of money but I enjoy my work, blah-blah-blah. I’d have meant it, too.

But as I stood there on the edge of my driveway (and honestly, I considered catapulting myself down the slope so I wouldn’t have to answer the question put to me because I’d rather take another tumble than explain exactly what it is I am doing these days), I did not know what to say.

Do I work? Well…that required me to consider whether or not I was still a writer. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I think a writer should actually…you know…write. And to work as a writer, I think it might be necessary to put writing out there in the wide world. To try at least to make some money from writing, even if the money’s not enough to pay your internet bill (which just went up again).

And here it just happened to be the end of the month, when I was thinking about checking in and realizing that April had been a not-so-very accomplished month. To tell the truth, April has been a very unaccomplished month (unless you count all the books I’ve read, which I don’t, because let’s be fair, reading is not writing).

So all of these thoughts were whirling about in my head as I stood there, not saying anything for the longest time. Until at last I said, “I work at home. I’m a writer.” And then we blah-blah-blahed about writing and I talked with one part of my brain while the other part of my brain was screaming like the old woman in Princess Bride, “LIAR!, LIAAAR! LIARRRRR!”

Who would’ve thought going to get the recycling bin could be such an emotional experience? (Well, besides the crazy emotions I always feel, getting the recycling bin.) But as I walked back into the house, I thought, Cathy, poop or get off the pot.

I’ll let you know how that comes out. (No pun intended.)