Month: June 2022

An aMAYzing Month

~ Solo Chick Traveler ~ 2 Comments

I planted some seeds in the spring. I applied for a grant from the Anne McKee Artists Fund for my book Gut Instincts, to pay for editing and for the accountability to finish it so there was a book to actually edit. I submitted an essay entitled A Father By My Name to a WOW! Women On Writing contest. And I tried to quit my job by giving the following notice: “I think I’m going to go disappear into nature for awhile and write.” Key West was getting warmer and I felt the pull of literally greener pastures. As right as it felt at the time, I couldn’t sleep that night, which is unusual. The decision kept flipping around in me all unsettled like. I retracted said resignation the next morning. A few weeks later I’m offered a promotion — from my already cool job of playing games in swimming pools at resorts to regional manager. May first was my first day.

On May 12th I get to go to the awards ceremony for the Anne Mckee Fund and see the positive reaction to the name of my book and the inspiration the board of directors felt from my application. I’m handed a $500 check for half the grant award and tell myself do not spend this on a tattoo. I deposit it into its own savings account, just to make sure.

End of May I receive an email saying my essay has advanced to the top 40. The first time I submitted to this contest I didn’t advance at all. The second time, I made it to the top 40, but no further. This was my third entry and in June I see through tears of joy (bawling is more like it!) I’ve made it to the top 10 list, out of 244 entries. Regardless of where it places–first, second, third or one of the seven runner ups–my essay will be published, my bio and photo featured on their site along with an interview on their blog The Muffin. First, second and third come with cash prizes and if I’m fortunate enough to make it, I’m definitely getting a tattoo!

All these seeds sprouted–even the job one I tried to uproot and transplant–blooming in brilliance and then handed back to me, like a long-stemmed rose. The fact that I’ve touched someone with my words, took some chances and put myself out there, and went up a few steps in my resume` while trying to go a different direction are all pretty incredible gifts already.

Can’t wait to see what summer has in store. . .

Contest Notification

That First Spark

~ Solo Chick Traveler ~ 1 Comment

What attracts us to someone? Their beauty? Their eyes? Their lips? Their laugh? Their touch?. . .

I met a good friend out for a drink and a listen to live music. I didn’t really want to. Having been out late the night before I was looking forward to catching up on sleep after a quick stop at the grocery store. I’m running this plan through my brain, sighing a little at the thought of my soft bamboo sheets, as I lock up my bike outside the dispensary, when I hear “Juniper!”

Only Pat calls me that. Uses my middle name as my first. I sashay over in my rainbow for Pride lit up tutu and say it’s between bands at the amphitheater. They’re biking around in the spontaneous gear of see-what’s-happening that’s so easy to do in Key West, especially on Duval Street. We go our separate ways but say we’ll stay in touch.

Once back at the amphitheater, dancing and writing in my head for a couple songs, something inside me start to drift. My mind’s casting about for alternatives and though I’ve just returned, I leave out the gates again. Pat’s texted me “At the tuna (Smokin’ Tuna) watching Marshall Morlock.” It’s a bar I’m not fond of and a band that’s been on my To-See list for half a year. I bike on over.

His friend Rob gives up his stool, but the crazy good cover of Message In a Bottle demands booty shaking, head banging, and fist pumping. Marshall Morlock’s guitar prowess continues and my “Just for one drink” quickly becomes a “Do I really need to stop at the store?” And after he strums the first notes of Purple Rain, turns to a declaration, “Sleep! Who needs sleep!?!” My mind scoffs.

The attraction to Rob begins when the night is ending. Already ended — it’s after midnight. He goes to high-five me goodbye and I feel something when our palms touch that makes me thread my fingers through his and curl them over his knuckles. Our hands separate after an instant, then for some reason we do it again. As a test? That feeling increases. It’s an inner smile somewhere behind my solar plexus, a warmth on an already steamy hot night. He follows my lead, folding his fingers the same way, latching us in, but holding me loosely enough so I don’t feel bound by it. He’s holding me, but I’m free to go.

A delicious, delicate, balance.

His skin’s dry roughness makes my soft skin even softer. I’m aware I don’t want to let go this time. So I don’t. Slowly dancing away, I raise our outstretched arms and twirl underneath them until they can stretch no further; swinging my hips and dancing myself out the door. I climb onto the seat of my bike wondering, What was that? The only answer is, Whatever it was, I like it. And I’d like more.