Trying to reconstruct one’s life over a period of time sometimes proves difficult—not always because you can’t remember—but maybe the memory of past events makes you reflect—and you just shut down.

It’s been over a year since my last blog post. I’ve thought about it many times. Honestly, I didn’t have the energy, time, or thought process to write anything. Social Media, to me, is one big smorgasbord. Some feast hourly, daily, and weekly piling on plates full of opinions, ideas, and endless advice. The internet is packed like a rock concert—full of poetic authors requiring no reservations, just a commitment to come and join them.

Trying to fit in time to write—my priority (expand my other novels’ outlines, a play and a children’s book) and live in the literary world of “getting noticed” to “building my audience” has proven so far to be overwhelming. I did manage with my first novel, The Ears That Have Eyes to receive excellent reviews on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

But I had to step back and follow the yellow-brick-road to live what I call the Rabbit Hole for a time of reflection. This journey has been longer than I wanted or hoped, but regrets are not part of who I am.

Deep into the Rabbit Hole I found paths to memberships in well-respected national and international writing associations. This solitude has allowed me to concentrate on completing the novel I’m writing, The Last Merry Go Round (more about this soon).

In the Rabbit Hole, I also experienced unexpected grief and seemingly insurmountable worries. My family had three major deaths. My cousin, his father, and his mother all died within six weeks of each other. My cousin, a well-respected college professor, drove between his home and his parent’s (sixty-five miles one way) to take care of them and handle all the required details. Exhaustion caused his heart to give out. I still grieve for him because of the future plans we had made. My sister, diagnosed with ovarian cancer, made losing my only sibling unthinkable. I’m relived she’s cancer-free for catching it in time, and our bond has strengthened.

Why I stayed in the Rabbit Hole longer than I had planned is a question I’ve wondered about as I begin again nibbling at the smorgasbord. I would think a self-analysis (what writers do, right?) is to blog about that big question—WHY do I do what I do? Why do I think the way I do?

I believe solitude and reflection have given me freedom to define my next steps as a writer. As I edge for a seat rejoining the poetic authors—I will pace myself and eat from the smorgasbord only what I absolutely need.

I think if any poetic author needs to recharge, give yourself permission to travel down the Rabbit Hole. You’ll survive.