As the final phase comes to fruition with the new book, Rejecting 18 Square Feet, I feel a tremendous sense of mixed emotions.
On the one hand, I cannot believe I am finally releasing the tormented woman that has pervaded the past five decades of my existence, and on the other hand, I’m not sure how this will affect my writing. I have penned from a place of pain, sadness, and rage. I have provided the therapy necessary to keep my feet somewhat firmly planted on the ground. Above all else, I have survived it and come to terms with why it was my life path.
This is my last poetry book, which creates a sense of melancholia as the poet inside of me craves the verse upon the page.
My new journey begins soon, and I know that everything up until now has laid the groundwork for what I deem my calling.
Now the time has come to affect and through my words reach out and help other’s heal. Now it is time to step outside of my personal universe and expose my raw and un-jaded being through new words. Now it is time to write from a place of love.
That is all.