This past year since my daughter died has been very difficult for me. I haven’t been able to work, or at least, I haven’t been able to write. I finally pulled myself sufficiently together to get a new book of poetry in order, “The Seasons of Forever,” a book I’m dedicating to Anne’s memory. It’s published and available now. It’s not yet in paper, only in digital editions, but you can pick your preferred seller and e-book format from here: https://www.books2read.com/u/bWZq90
So I have a book of poetry for Anne. It’s a start. I still have a problem with fiction, though. I’ve been thinking about this, since the next installment of the Tiger Lily series is seriously overdue. I have significant plot changes to make, among other things. I was stewing about this as I lay in bed last night trying to sleep. I kept thinking about Anne, the new book, and then Anne again. I finally did fall asleep but apparently my subconscious was not ready to let go of the problem. I snapped awake from a doze, hearing Anne’s voice. She had that slightly exasperated tone that adult children (and yes, teens, which is where I think they perfect it) can use with their parents. “Mom! Just do it, Mom!” I’m going to try to take that advice.
