Her own words
Shooting daggers of delight
Through her mind
And tears of joy
Through her heart,
Washing away the feelings
Of not enough
And too much,
Leaving only a resolute stillness
In her perfection, just as she is
©Ashley Castle Barnes
I’ve published 3 books now. The first one, The Angel Inside, was undoubtedly a testing of the waters.
Would the sky fall if I put this out? How will people react? Will I gain friends? Lose friends?
It was an exercise in self-trust and following my intuition.
Nothing dramatic happened of course. I published a book, people who loved me celebrated with me, and then life went back to normal.
So I published a second book, The Rising. And now I’m here with my third, Liminal.
What I’m finding with each turn is that not only do I get more comfortable putting my work – myself- out into the world, is that there is a quiet comfort in creating for the sake of creating, which is what I do.
I don’t write to publish books. I write to breathe.
To go back and read my own words with wonder and awe, not because they’re so great but because often they feel foreign and lovely, even to me.
I open a page to a poem and it speaks to exactly what I need to hear in that moment – which is also what I hope for anyone who buys a book.
I’ve had in the back of my mind for some time that I would eventually craft a poetry memoir. I’ve been collecting poems for that purpose for several years.
Yet, as I’ve tediously and methodically reviewed and revised Liminal, it’s become clear to me that I’m already creating that.
One poem at a time. One book at a time.
A collective shared wisdom that just happens to come through me.
And I feel honored to be the conduit.
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