Even as I gear up for publicity on my forthcoming book, THE MURDER OF A QUEEN BEE, I am taking a little time to reflect on my just-finished third novel in the Henny Penny Farmette series. Deep breath. I confess I’m feeling a bit disoriented.

This novel is the second in the Henny Penny Farmette series that began with A BEELINE TO MURDER

It’s as though I’ve climbed a mountain that demanded a lot of mental and physical energy while writing and pacing to the finish on that third novel that arcs the series. And now that I’ve descended that mountain, my thoughts, feelings, and bodily energy must shift back to who I was before that story claimed most of my waking hours over the last year.

Nature nourishes the spirit and renews creativity

I think it must be true of all fiction writers that we leave bits of ourselves strewn throughout our stories. But in the end, we realize the scattered bits are and have always been part of us. After the writing is done, we relegate those bits to memory (where all our experiences in life are stored) and move back into our natural rhythm. Like flower stalks in the wind, we bend against the force and then when the pressure stops, we return upright. We are rooted as before albeit often changed.

Through the passage of time and the process of writing, I learn, evolve, grow older. During the writing of a book, I’m obliged to answer lots of questions and to dig deep into myself in order to understand the why’s. Poet T. S. Eliot ‘s lines ring true for me: And the end of all our exploring/Will be to arrive where we started/And to know the place for the first time.

“Let yourself be drawn by the stronger pull of that which you truly love.” –Rumi

With no new immediate deadline looming on a new project, I sit in my garden and write about these feelings in my journal. I watch the bees forage on the lavender and the scrub jays feed on the sunflowers that have become massive seed heads. The dry seed heads hang low on ten-foot stalks now that it’s September. The water falling from the Italian fountain coos a quiet lullaby. Breezes cool my face. Sitting, observing,and journaling is how I knit myself into wholeness again. In nature and silence and over time, I begin to feel the impulses calling me to a new beginning. I scribble out a title, describe a character, write down a name. So . . . the cycle to start a new story begins anew.