Cathy Coley

I continue to recover from the last year of cancer treatments. Fatigue and brain fog are lifting. I’m getting out for walks again, now the two plus months of downpour seems to have lifted, too. And I’m writing again, in a way I haven’t for a long time.

I joined a weekly zoom writing group with an old friend and his wife and others. It’s run really well and intentionally kindly. Everyone is enthused about each other’s work, which helps a lot. I hadn’t engaged directly with other writers in this way for a very long time, and I’m re-learning that, as solitary a creative endeavor writing is, it’s essential for me to engage with other writers to keep my mojo working.

I wrote two solid short stories in the past few weeks or so, and I’m getting back on the horse of submissions.

I’m not sure it’s completely an imposter syndrome thing anymore, but more of an executive function thing, my reticence to submit my work to magazines and websites for the possibility of pay. I am a writer, and have been commended for it since I was a young child. It’s so much work, and a different kind, finding who the correct editors are to submit work to in various publications, that I stop myself while I’m still in the racing gate. Still aiming for that horse metaphor, it’s a stretch.

After years of dealing with physical and family issues, so that my brain function shrunk to survival mode for a very long time, it’s nice to see I still got it. “That thing, that thing, that thing” - I’m singing Lauryn Hill now, even if the lyrics don’t match the situation - that brings meaning to my life, outside of caring for my kids. The thing is so much a core aspect of myself, that when I’m not doing it, the world dims a bit. The sun is coming out outside my window, and inside my mind.

I like it.

Hope you're making the best you can of this pandemic era. I'm trying to through many challenges.

Be Safe,

Cath