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Pursuing Your Passion

After much procrastination, I finally published my first book of poetry in May. Called Love Warp, a raw but necessary part of the overall tapestry, it involved the loves and labors of three decades as my life looked for a theme.  Do you have a dream of publishing a book churning around inside of you?  It is well worth the effort to see your work in print and hear positive comments about it.  I sent a copy to Grace Cavalieri, Maryland’s Poet Laureate, who “absolutely loved it.”  This amazing woman, creator of “The Poet and the Poem” podcast has interviewed hundreds of poets for her Library of Congress venue and vowed to list me as number forty-one on her long list of favorites to be interviewed for the program. Now ninety, she promised not to die before she interviewed me for the program!

Why not publish your book?  Publishing, though it can be daunting, is flourishing like never before.  There are hundreds of contests that pay publishing costs for the fortunate winners and launch careers in poetry, though only a small fraction win this opportunity.  There are also many reputable, independent publishing companies that will enable a writer to accomplish their dream for a fee.  Thus, my debut book, Love Warp, was published by Vanilla Heart Publishing Co., a lifelong goal achieved.  My book is available on Amazon and Kindle, my domain, Joankselby.com, and at the Washington County Arts Council and Valley Art Association’s Mansion House Art Center.  Do your research, read the fine print, ask questions, and set a budget. Unless you produce a bestseller, you may be lucky to break even financially. 

But fame and riches are not why most writers write!  There is nothing better than to have someone read your work, fall in love with a piece of your heart, and engage in a very special author-to-reader friendship.  That is a dream worth achieving!

An Outside Spring

I like the colors of collision:

blue azure for hope, 

the wrap-around hue of aching heat

meeting icicle air, sudden

impact of full-color daffodils as they leap

from an A.M. edition of a town

I once knew: fog and snow streaming

down trunks of trees in a slither,

of brown rivers worrying,

and racing motors of the seasons. Yes,

I’m driving toward a celebration

through tornado tailspins,

over rivers that hop their tracks.

And as I near my destination,

I put on lipstick.


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