hendelar

Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here Carey
But it’s really not my home
My fingernails are filthy, I got beach tar on my feet
And I miss my clean white linen and my fancy French cologne

Joni Mitchell
Carey

…quaint ain’t

weekend writer’s retreat, discussion with a publisher about money…and other things, of course
all of it useful, gainful, learning

along the way these discussions have been had, with other publishers and with agents; yes, about that money thing
no secrets, no surprises…sometimes you do, everybody knows

might have been the moon phase (dark)
maybe the tiredness of looking in the wrong places for what i still don’t know
perhaps the nutrients i’ve been taking for the past month have kicked in
or, it’s the surfacing of an earnest longing for those trappings
predictable comfort
stuff and years
now given and gone

or, beyond the doubts that leave droppings all over hope
it could be, even if i am so equipped, success will be found lacking

dunno’ about it,
this quiet shift
glh