The email message said.
Fantastic! Relief. What next?
Fingers tapping on the desk.
It is now time to plan a celebration for my fourth eBook publication. I will get right to that list of my dearest friends, who read my words, again and again and again. If they are far (as most of you are) I will Zoom them in.
I will get to selecting the perfect outfit. One that does not scream for attention, but turns heads with a whisper when I step in. One that subtly hints at my poetic craft (or my attempts). I will surely hear, “I love your dress. It shows off your curves.” and “Where did you get your black heels?” To which I will respond, and their attention, attempt to dismiss, “Oh, thank you. I was in such a rush, you know, writing and publishing and such, I did not have time to make a fuss.”
I will get to rehearsing the poems that my guests will savor with each delicious bite. Sensory overload. Auditory delight. For cocktails, I will recite lines, earthy and smooth. For the main dish, I will read something with a kick and a twist. For dessert, I will select a sweet and sensual surprise.
Everyone will depart with a smile and poetic inspiration. On their arm they will swing a curvy gift bag containing a blank journal and three Womanly collections. The piece de resistance – a gold-crested pen that flows with magical ink, turning even those at a loss for words into the next celebrated literary genius. Inspired by all they have seen, tasted, and heard, each guest will rush home to use up and fill up their gifts with their own savory words. They will exhaust the night and greet the morning light with a newly ignited soul.
I cannot wait to begin.
A night that will never be,
because this party planning is already too much of me.
My publication celebration is right here, right now, next to a blooming Jasmine, across from a bursting tree, shading Miss Lady Banks, whose yellow roses are a distant memory. Her petals and seeds, along with my tears, dropped and carried by the wind to some unknown destination – perhaps to their distant origin, where they will spring forth and begin again. A band of birds sing the notes that my heart longs to hear. The undulating wind whips my tumbleweed hair. Faded bougainvillea leaves twirl around my bare feet, practicing the dance for a poetry party in the land of make believe. One leaf lifts, another spins, but on two I am transfixed – rotating around each other, faster and faster, then with a quick gust, they fly away. They disappear. Random. Orchestrated. Syncopated. Nature’s celebration is more worthy of my attention.
Sorry to disappoint, my friends.
I am canceling the party.
I am tossing the list.
A night of me will never compare to this
unplanned natural bliss.
The satisfaction of a writing task complete and enjoying nature’s gifts are all the celebrating I need. Today’s poetic prose weaves in previous posts that fill in some of the backstory of the womanly journey my illustrator, Sammi Lee and I have been on over the last year. The last reference, “Miss Lady Banks,” is part of my celebration, not my publication. Those referenced posts are in bold and are listed below and are offered for those who may be new to my site and would like to know more.
This recent eBook release marks the final publication goal for our Being a Woman collections. Marketing is another subject! 😵 A special shout out to those who have been reading me since late 2019, which is when I wrote the poem, “My Curves,” that inspired a feminine awakening in me, sparking three womanly poetry collections. A sincere thank you to Ingrid at Experiments in Fiction for inquiring about this eBook on the same day I had it marked on my calendar.
Each collection is now available as a paperback and an eBook. Thanks for the visit and the listen. Be well. 💗 Michele
fourth eBook publication and curves~ Being a Woman – Forthcoming – My Inspired Life
Womanly Collections~ Being a Woman Collections & Reviews – My Inspired Life
Miss Lady Banks~ Connected Roots – My Inspired Life
Photo 1: my barefoot party space Photo 2: recent WHAM poetry reading (live feed)
© 2021 Michele Lee Sefton.