The First Trapped Bumblebee of the Year - Joan Lennon

My bedroom window is inexplicably alluring, even though I do not sleep in a push-up bra.  Vampires do not haunt the sill but, all spring and summer and well into the autumn, bumblebees, other kinds of bees, and wasps do.  They buzz about outside, find a way in (buzzing) and then seem incapable of retracing their steps.  They fling themselves loudly against the glass instead, waiting for me to come, open the window to its full extent, and shoo them out.  And this week, after a long winter, I woke to the first bumblebee doing the routine.  Loudly.  Buzzing.

Mrs. Tittlemouse has her own problems with bumblebees

Beatrix Potter The Tale of Mrs Tittlemouse (1910)

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Like the bumblebee (go with me here) I am in a state of dependence on others.  I am in the midst of a number of projects where I've done my bit, and I'm waiting for the other people involved to do their bits so I can then do what I need to do to take the whole thing to the next/final stage.  I'm waiting on art work, a translation, edits, website pricing, the go-ahead for a proposal. 

I'm waiting for somebody to open the window so I can get out.  Get on.  I've tried to distract myself by starting a What-the-hell novel, but I'm just buzzing.  Not really committing.  I have to be writing something, but ...  

So that's the story from here.  Lots and lots of waiting.  Sound familiar?  I bet it does.  But at least the wait for spring is almost over.  

I've freed a bumblebee to prove it.

Vilhelm Hammershol The Tall Windows (1913)

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Joan Lennon Instagram

A Shelter for Sadness by Anne Booth

In October 2017 I wrote a poem about sadness, drawing on my own experiences of sadness, as a child and as an adult, but inspired by  the incredibly beautiful and wise words of Etty Hillesum, a young Dutch Jewish woman  killed in the Holocaust.

'Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge-from which new sorrows will be born for others-then sorrow will never cease in this world. And if you have given sorrow the space it demands, then you may truly say: life is beautiful and so rich.' (Esther 'Etty' Hillesum (15 Jan 1914 - 30 Nov 1943)

 I heard them first at a talk given at my church, and, four months after my dad had died, they really spoke to me. Some sadnesses can't be fixed, but we have to honour them - we can't deny them or push them away without doing ourselves or others great damage, and this works for peoples and nations who have suffered, and for individuals.  I came home and wrote my response, sent my poem/picture book text to my agent, Anne Clark, she sent it to Templar, to Ruth Symons  and Templar asked David Litchfield if he would like to illustrate it. He said 'yes', but he had lots of work to do, so I was told it wouldn't be published until 2021! It seemed an impossibly long time to wait, but we all knew that David was worth waiting for.

And now it is here, at last, published on the 21st January 2021. And David's illustrations are so wonderful. 

I must also acknowledge the wonderful design of the book by Genevieve Webster, and the editor was Alison Ritchie.

https://blackwells.co.uk/bookshop/product/A-Shelter-for-Sadness-by-Anne-Booth-David-Litchfield-artist/9781787417212

I had no idea back in 2017, that on top of all the other sadnesses in the world, there would now be Covid-19 and all the sadness caused by that, and lockdown and stress and unemployment and being apart from loved ones and bereavement and fear and anxiety, but I am glad now about the long wait for our book's publication, and hope that my words, and the beautiful illustrations by David Litchfield can be a help to children and adults, now and in the future. 

And I hope that we can all somehow manage to build shelters for our sadness during this time, and find consolation in small joys, and that we can emerge at the end, and, even with our sadness, be happy again.

Patience is a Virtue - Joan Lennon

To all appearances, I am a mild-mannered, reasonable person who understands that editors and publishers have many calls on their time.  So, when I send out my words to be read by them, it is of course in a gentle, fluffy-feathered fashion, like these auspicious cranes, who will perch politely on the recipient's roof, and wait their turn.

Auspicious Cranes by Huizong of Song (1082-1135)

But, if truth be known, I am neither mild-mannered nor reasonable.  I am a green-skinned harpy witch woman.  THIS is how I would like my submissions to go out into the world - like terrifying flying monkeys who grab the editor or publisher away from whatever else they might be doing and whisk them, shrieking, to the castle of Reading My Stuff NOW from which there is no escape.  (Until, you know, they've read it.  And, well, really, really liked it.  And don't suddenly become possessed by any desire to get silly with buckets.)  

Fly, my pretties, fly!*

I could be getting other things done as I (patiently) wait.  But, alas, I am Grace of the poem, that one my mother recited at me in moments of impatience/inadequate ablution:

Patience is a virtue 
Virtue is a grace 
Grace was a little girl 
Who would not wash her face

It isn't as if I weren't SURROUNDED by metaphorical face-washing needing to be done, but no, I am not making use of my waiting time in any useful fashion whatsoever.**  Just dreaming of a world of flying monkeys and instantaneous response.

Sigh.  

* Yes, I know, the Wicked Witch never actually said this.  But it's such a great line, and she's such a great witch, that if the world were organised as it should be, she would have.

** It is always reassuring to know we are not alone.  For evidence of this, see:

Savita Khan's Angst

Jess Vallance's Things I used to think about publishing

Liz Kessler's Waiting Game



Joan Lennon's website.
Joan Lennon's blog.
Silver Skin website.