When Revising My Writing Becomes Impossible

Tuesday I learned that my beloved manuscript for my first memoir (working title, “Hawaiʻi Calling”) may be 1-1/2 times longer than allowed by the Haliʻa Aloha hybrid publishing program in which I am participating. Talk about murdering “our darlings”? (article in The Cut, July,22, 2020.)

K-l-l-lam-m-mp! The lid slams. In a coffin. I can’t see. I can’t move. I can’t turn. Claustrophobia descends. Panic. Not enough room. Not enough air. Not enough time. Not enough life.
Overwhelmed, I drift. I pass out.

I awaken. Panic renewed. “I’ll never get out. I’ll die here.”
I spin. I fall. I pass out.

I awaken. Panic still grips. “I can’t do…”
I fade. I pass out.


I am awakened
By a light. A window.
I sit.  I stand.
I reach for the latch on

the window opens
Unto a new world
of blossoms and songbirds and butterflies and sweet gardenia and the sound of the harp and the waft of a gentle breeze

Upon my now-rosy cheeks.
I step out 
I reach
for Hope. 
It’s a new dawn. It’s a new day.
I see the way…

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