Poetry of Love?

As Canadian wildfire smoke turned skies orange way down here in the Outer Lands Archipelago, I wrote love poems…

TikTok video of Stolen Moment, one of the first poems
in the poetry collection Hold Me Tight.

Why A Poem?

At our wedding, our best man advised us to follow the KISS principle: keep it simple stupid — the shortest speech in the history of weddings. Now that we’ve had a lot of time to think about it, that was darn good advice for a twenty-something guy to give.

And now, what could be simpler than a poem?

And did you know, poetry is alive and well? So I thought I’d give it the old college girl try.

Immediately yes! I loved it. I’m a pen and paper note taker, a list writer, a scrapper, a note hoarder. My entire career thus far has been about making stuff up, fitting it into impossibly small spaces, and broadcasting it.

More Love

You’ve probably heard some version of the Cherokee legend in which an elder uses a story of two wolves to explain to a child how to choose a course of action. One wolf is FEAR and the other LOVE, the one we feed is the one that will survive.

In that vein, I started a new project early in the summer of 2023 — a series of love poems — to be dedicated to my husband of more than three decades. I carried around a notebook almost everywhere I went. When I got an idea, I jotted it down. When time allowed, I worked poems out like word puzzles.

I kept the poems short to make them easier to read and share.

Before long, there were a dozen poems. I started setting them up as a collection of love poems in a 6x9” book format using Canva. I created a black and white photo collage illustration for each poem. Each poem got its own two-page spread.

As I finished poems, I added them to the book. By Labor Day weekend, I had 36 poems. That was a good place to stop, I decided. When you’re the decider, you can decide anything!

With the world burning, I wanted to give love more oxygen in my life.

I played around with the title, subtitle, description, and cover design. I researched key words and categories. I added the dedication to Cary and a copyright page, the inside title pages and the acknowledgements — and a couple of About pages.

Cover reveal

So here is the final cover:

Can you spot the typographical error?… I’ve decided to keep it there lol, at least for now. And also to give my inner perfectionist a chance to relax.

Going Wide, Going Global

I purchased a bundle of ISBNs (International Standard Book Numbers) from Bowker and published the book as a paperback on Amazon, as a hard cover on Ingram Spark (which offers it to independent bookstores, libraries, and other retailers), and as an ebook on Draft2Digital.

The book is now available on a wide range of platforms all around the world. That’s cause for a celebration right there! No?

Draft2Digital offers a nice thing called a Universal Book Link on its sister platform Books2Read. Using one link, you can direct readers to get the book in all of its formats wherever they get books around the world. I’m slowly building those links… Here is the UBL for my book of love poems, Hold Me Tight.

Time & Money

This little poetry collection took six months to conceive and bring to this point. It’s been a labor of love! The main investment was my time and focus, which I borrowed from my loved ones a day at a time.

How Print on Demand Works

Print-on-demand publishing is free for authors who can create, edit and produce their own books and upload them. Only when someone orders the book is it printed/produced. The author sets the book’s price and receives royalties from any sales. There is no up front print cost.

Sharing Poetry

I’ve definitely been dragging my feet about sharing the book, even though I feel pretty good about its contents. As the lion in The Wizard of Oz said, “C-c-courage!”

Final Thoughts for Today

Though published, the book is still a work in progress.

I’ve barely touched the promo work that would have to be done for readers and the book to find each other.

I’ve learned so much, and there’s still a lot to learn.

Writing a love poem can lead to the permanent existence of a book of love poems for posterity, what’s left of it.

~ Nan

P.S. I made 4You a FREE pdf sampler of the poems in the book. Click here!

“Facing Reality” wins 1st prize in short story contest

“Brilliant,” said Georgia Warner, seasoned short story contest judge. She was referring to the winning short story in the ShtoryTime contest, which I was delighted to be notified was mine!

The rules for the short story contest were simple:

• 1,000 words or less

• must use three prompts released just one week before the submission deadline

• the three prompts were: someone’s ex, gallery, umbrella

And without further ado, here is my “brilliant,” prize winning short story.

~ Nan

Image by NG Swett from 10x10” acrylic painting on canvas board

Facing Reality

by NG Swett

My ex-therapist was a good listener, but he just didn't get it. Certainly, I was sleep-deprived and approaching a big milestone birthday. But my obsession and encounters with the number 50 weren't just delusional. His prescriptions only amplified the signals.

He dismissed all the 50th anniversaries lately as mere history: the first moon landing, Russia's space launch to Mars, and the establishment of the EPA -- to name a few, but I could go on and on. And what about the ordinary, everyday sightings of the number, down to the 50% off sale on those journals he recommended, and the coincidence of the fifty-dollar insurance co-pay? He wanted me to talk and talk and talk about my childhood, an enriching subject for sure. I want to get beyond all that!

For someone who didn't believe in magic, he sure put a lot of stock in wearing all the sports fan merchandise on game days. I called him out more than once on his belief that a jersey or a mug can decide the outcome of a game.

Running out of sessions turned out to be a good thing. A string of synchronicities led me to a group that gets it. I've just had my weekly televisit with my Territorial Specialist by satellite, and as I head out to pick up dinner to bring back to my apartment, I feel energized. Today’s observations relayed and recorded: the value of the letter L in Roman numerals (50), how long it’s been since we’ve had a constitutional crisis like this (50 years), and how long an imperiled legal precedent has been in place (also 50 years). Taken together, TS and I see the magnitude and gravity of the situation.

Passing by, I see a big gold banner hanging from the front of the museum. It's for a fifty-year retrospective, and I know I must pop in. I follow signs to the gallery dedicated to modernity and find the retrospective show. There is a buzz in the air, and my antenna goes right up. I know TS will appreciate my findings. He may even pass them up to the umbrella organization for all the territories, The Org, which I’ve come to envision as a supra-global council that assembles in the skies on dark nights.

“Sending dispatch for 50-year wave series. Level L high potency source. Copy.” Right here in the gallery, I type with my thumbs and check for typos before hitting SEND. I pocket my device and continue viewing the artworks, taking a dizzying circular view from the center of the room. TS always accepts my dispatches and helps me sort through the data and signals coming across the 50-year wavelength. My pocket vibrates.

It’s TS. “Please stand by."

In truth, TS is the kindest voice in my life, and the professionalism and courtesy are truly top rated. Take it from me, a lifelong member of one of the world’s oldest professions: Clerk. Lately, encounters with irate and deranged members of the public have become unavoidable, causing so much distress that it’s nearly impossible to remain in my job. Let’s face it, my profession is facing obsolescence. So whether it’s frenzied dispatches late at night, after watching the news scroll in red blocks across the bottom of the television screen, after doom scrolling up and down my phone's news feed, or after calmer morning epiphanies, TS is always there and always helpful. Together, we've detected patterns revealed in 50-year events and crises, and we also know that the size of the surf is growing bigger and wilder. We can sometimes see hundred-year waves. We believe that something tectonic is about to happen. Taken together, events will reach a tipping point. The wave will peak and collapse into itself in a wild frothing, roiling undertow of chaos and destruction. When it comes to waves, TS says the best place to be is out front, so we've been working on figuring out what exactly to expect and how best to prepare.

As I stroll through the exhibit, what I see confirms what we’ve already discovered but which only art can reveal as powerfully as this: the bold shapes and colors, the irreverence, the abject rebellion and revolution vividly signal a complete obliteration of all of our most animating beliefs.

“Go ahead,” TS comes on again with a buzz.

I step out of the gallery into a dark hallway, type in my dispatch, and on my way back into the gallery, I re-read it for typos. SEND. I’m taking one last look at the exhibit when my hand buzzes. It’s TS.

“Begin preparations immediately to reach high ground. Expect increasing instability, a cresting of the wave, a long moment of silence, and a catastrophic crash, followed by a gradual clearing.”

“Got it,” I tap, exiting the museum. On the sidewalk, I glance at people coming toward me and watch everything in my peripheral vision. I’m alert.

Back in my apartment, I gobble down my combination platter and start to pack. I’ve got the news on in the background, and I’m half listening for the thing that will be the tipping point. Hopefully I’m not too late. I throw all the things I’ve put aside for this occasion into a duffle bag. Thankfully, I’ve liquidated all assets, both earned and inherited, and entrusted them with the Org. Their proprietary geo-political calculations, which use new computer technology beyond mortal comprehension, are sending me to a familiar territory where I’ll be safe.

It is with a lightness of being that I exit the building for the last time. I’m heading to the terribly beautiful Outer Lands Archipelago, where I’ll be joining a team studying waves and flying reconnaissance missions in and out of the fabled island where I grew up. The primordial land masses have secrets to share dating back to the Ice Age. Hopefully, close observations will reveal the key to unlocking the future.

Acknowledgement: I’d like to thank my friend Toni for generally encouraging me to write and letting me know specifically about this fun short story contest.

Link: ShtoryTime is a holiday short story contest that’s open to all. For more info visit the website here.

Copyright: The short story and the cover art are copyrighted by NG Swett.