For My Friend Mary Elizabeth Lang 

On November 6, 2023, my dear friend, Mary Elizabeth Lang, passed away of cancer. She braved the disease for half the time I knew her, which is more than twenty years. When the cancer metastasized, she knew she was dying and she picked this picture for her memorial service. It's a lovely picture of her in the sun among the flowers. But, I shared with our mutual friend, Paula, that I wished we could see her eyes. It's not up to us to understand why she chose this picture. If I were to surmise, I would say that it wasn't what she could see with her eyes that was magical, but what she could see with her heart.

This is reflected in her poetry, which is among the finest I've ever read or heard. But also in her intuitiveness and understanding of the relationships between humans, animals, and nature.

As the anniversary of her passing approaches, I am overcome with emotion. I miss her. She is one of the few friends I can say I truly loved. I cannot define the sorrow I feel over her absence.

Two weeks ago, I remembered a premonition she had that she shared with me. I was compelled to write about it, preserve the moment forever. So, I created a poem to hold onto that moment. I embellished the conversation to try to capture her essence and loving nature. I hope I succeeded.

PREMONITION

            from my friend Mary Elizabeth Lang

 

 A cat is going to come into your life.

Not a stray hoping for food

or a kitten born from a friend’s pet.

This cat is special, meant for you.

 

There are other homes for him to choose,

where children could pick him up

like a scrappy stuffed toy

and carry him around the yard.

 

Or where a lonely widow

could scruff his head while sipping wine

and watching Jeopardy!

Yet, he knows those homes aren’t for him.

 

I’ve heard your words,

proclaiming you will never adopt again.

It leads to too much heartbreak,

as these little darlings always die first.

 

This cat will still exist if you don’t accept him,

but he will exist without the family

he was meant to have.

And you will exist without knowing his love.

 

I’m not worried. Although he’s never met you,

he’s seen you in his future.

And although I’ve never met him,

I’ve seen him in your future.

 

In a dream, he was in your house,

sauntering through your kitchen

toward his food bowl in the corner,

content with his tail in the air.

 

He gave a little chirp as he passed by,

to say “Thank you” for the savory morsels, 

for his comfy cat bed, which is also your bed,

for playing snaky, and for being his mom.

 

Their time here is short. That’s true.

But they have nine eternal lives to enjoy

on many planes beyond this mortal one.

These are spiritual beings.

 

That’s why he found me

to help him find you, and you will embrace him.

Each day you will rejoice in his being here,

and each day you will fear his loss.

 

I know, because I have lost many darlings.

I’ve cried and mourned. I still see their ghosts

ambling around the house.

And I worry for my living furry children.

 

Because this time, I will die first.

Cancer has won over my body,

giving me the gift to foresee

when my last days on this earth will be.

 

But don’t worry. Like our cats,

I have nine eternal lives to enjoy

on many planes beyond this mortal one.

We are all spiritual beings.

 

So, believe me when I tell you

a cat is going to come into your life

and you will become family.

I saw it in a dream. 

(Mary Elizabeth with one of her furry children at an Artemis meeting in her warm and inviting home.)

P.S.

Yes, we adopted the special cat from Mary Elizabeth's premonition. He had been sheltered twice prior to coming to us. He has been living in his forever home for eight years now. He's thirteen, happy and healthy. His name was Max before we adopted him, but he didn't respond to it. So, he renamed himself Scruffles.

       

Second Chances

There's an adage going around social media that is supposed to be inspirational to writers. 

"You fail only if you stop writing."

This message on writing has been attributed to Ray Bradbury, but I've seen it modified to fit any talent that should not go to waste because someone stopped trying. I even posted this message myself on social media, believing I would never be that person who stopped writing because it was too hard. Then...

Last year, I was able to acquire an agent for my latest novel One Good Kick, a dark thriller about a young woman who has everything, but makes one bad choice that leads her on a spiral of deceit, murder, and madness. The agent and I went through the first edit together, then her boss suddenly passed away and the family closed the agency. With that, my agent decided to retire. I am grateful to her for giving me a chance and helping me through the first step toward publication, but I was left without an agent. I tried for several months to acquire another agent to no avail. 

After this defeat and some very personal and hurtful criticisms of my work, I started to question my journey as a writer. I was heartbroken, disillusioned, and exhausted from the hurt. This was in March of this year. 

I was still teaching creative writing through the Wethersfield Adult Education Department, so I turned my focus away from novel writing and toward creating an instructional book on writing that I could use in my classes.

Then in May, I was informed that the Wethersfield school district was abolishing the Adult Ed Department due to budget cuts and that there would be no more classes offered except Driver's Ed and English As a Second Language. I went into a deep funk. Sure, there were other towns in which I could teach, but none that would fit my hectic work schedule due to travel time.

For two months, I mourned the loss of not only my life-long ambition of being a successful writer, but of my creative outlet teaching writing to others. Even though I had already published four volumes of poetry and short fiction and one novel titled The Windsome Tree, I felt that my dream had come to an end. I actually said the words "I quit" out loud in front of my friends and family.

For those two months, I felt empty, lost, anxious, afraid (of what, I wasn't and still am not sure, but it was palpable), and most of all, I felt sad. 

There were times when scrolling through Facebook, I would see memes of that quote about failing and a sudden pang would hit my heart that I had fallen into that kind of failure. Not the kind that happens because you didn't get the job you wanted, but the kind that happens because you didn't apply for the job you wanted. 

Then one day, I saw the meme again, except this time it had the longer quote from Ray Bradbury.

I thought, am I writing because I want to write a hundred great things, or am I writing because I want to write? And I gave myself the lecture that I've given others. 

Ten years from now, you don't want to look back and say, "If only I didn't stop writing, I could have finished that novel."

Ten years from now, you don't want to look back and say, "If only I kept revising and submitting, maybe I would have gotten that agent and published my novel."

Ten years from now, you don't want to look back and say, "I wonder how many wonderful things I would have written and where those writings would have taken me, if only I didn't stop writing."

So, I started writing my book on writing again. And I looked back at my novel and realized that letting it go for all those months was beneficial because I could see what it needed. (Read my previous blogs to know more about this.) And I began revising it. That was three months ago. I finished the revision of my novel yesterday and sent it out to my beta readers for feedback.

As it happens, this accomplishment comes two days after an agent who showed interest in the novel over six months ago, then never got back in touch, contacted me. I thought she just passed on the book without letting me know. It turns out she had major surgery, then suffered a debilitating injury directly afterward. She apologized, said she's feeling better, and asked that I resubmit my query and samples when she opens up for submissions in November.

The timing is amazing, as it comes just as I was finishing up the revision, and it gives enough time for beta readers to give the novel a go before I submit. Now, with others reading the novel, I will return to my book on writing titled Glittering Little Stars. The title is taken from an Anton Chekhov quote about how to "show, and not tell" in your writing. (See a previous blog to read more about this.)

Even if she doesn't sign me, I'll be sad, but I won't stop writing. Because this is the sign I needed to say, "never stop trying." You never know when you'll get a second chance.