Hi Blog Friends,
It feels trite, in our severely troubled times, to be posting about publishing my book. As we quarantine and mask and alienate ourselves, missing friends and families and hugs, we watch our country torn asunder. We watch peaceful protesting alongside violent looting. I am as ill equipped to address this, as I am to effect change. Yet we know that our cumulative votes can ultimately effect change. Our votes matter: nationally, regionally, and locally. I will hold on to that truth.
My excitement at seeing Tablecloth Nights, ready to ease its way gently into the world, feels rightfully subdued at this time. In the next few weeks, it will become a reality, available on Amazon, and optimistically, at independent bookstores at some point in the future.
Tablecloth Nights has been a long time happening. Friends and family have gone gray, developed aches and pains they didn’t used to have, moved away, gave up asking, and yes, sadly, died waiting. Case in point, my sister Margaret. She would appreciate this morbid irony. How often she said to me, in her last couple of years, “I hope you finish this book while I’m still around to read it.” Bless her.
Tablecloth Nights started out as a bunch of essays I strung together, like glass beads, for my own emotional necklace. The genesis of the story was wrapped up in the genesis of…me. Gradually the essays revealed themselves as chapters, and I juggled them around like the apples and oranges of life. I had never written a book. I had written and published poetry, had written content on jobs, had done freelance writing for a newspaper. This was a different process. Writing a book sucks you in, demands time and attention and emotional connection. Sometimes you walk away from it. I did, more than once.
There is a little aura of mystery about Tablecloth Nights. I lived within the mystery and didn’t even know it. And yes, there is the reveal. That took years to happen, both in life and in the book. But Tablecloth Nights, as life, is more than a mystery and a reveal. It’s about the long ride we take to wherever we think we’re going that teaches us the lessons. Or not.
I hope you get a chance to read Tablecloth Nights, and I hope you enjoy it. I will post the news on Facebook when it goes public. I look forward to your feedback.
By the way, I’m working on the bones of my next book, Hopefully, this one won’t take years…
Stay well and stay safe.
Happy to introduce our Guest Blogger:
Glenn Costadina of Knoxville, Tennessee. Glenn is widely known for his storytelling ways, and I've coaxed him to put pen to paper for this month's blog. And, a little nepotism reveal...he's my son.
Talent is what they say you have
after the novel is published
and favorably reviewed.
Beforehand what you have is a tedious delusion,
a hobby like knitting.
Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps. Before that
friends keep asking when
you are planning to go out and get a job.
Genius is what they know you had
after the third volume of remarkable poems.
Earlier they accuse you of withdrawing,
call you a bum.
The real writer is one who really writes.
Talent is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure.
You have to like it better than being loved.
I welcome your comments! email@example.com.
Fern Suess writes, snaps, and makes art. She has written poetry for decades and has written a work of autobiographical fiction,
re-titled Tablecloth Nights, which tells the story of a woman discovering the identity of her biological father. She's happy with a camera in her hand, likes to write in her car or in a coffee shop, loves the smell of paint, works in mixed media, collage, and three dimensional concepts, and has exhibited in group and solo shows and outdoor installations.
kfernsuess.com is listed as a Guest Blog on the Art Times Journal website.
Check out the other listed blogs, creative opportunities, cultural events, gallery listings, etc.