Decay. Degradation. A slow and silent wasting. Those of us blessed to live long enough all suffer the fate of a scarecrow–bits and pieces lost to time and weather, rot and sadness tucked behind a smile that begins to show its seams. I couldn’t not submit to an anthology with such a theme. Now I wonder where I got the energy. It seems, sometimes, that my own body is not my own, but something made to mock me. For a while now I’ve been dealing with some as yet unidentified medical issues that have me so fatigued I can barely see straight, let alone keep up a blog, a novel series, or half a semblance of a life.
It’s hard not to feel like the scarecrow, that forced observer of his own steady decline. I’m still trying to wear that worn out grin, still waving through the nasty weather. But I’m feeling quite weak. I will be under the care of a neurologist soon, and hopefully securing some answers. Meanwhile, my grin has grown after seeing some stunning cover art ideas for my soon to be released novel, Char, and an interview shared by Rhonda Parrish, editor of Scarecrow (one of several anthologies in the Magical Menageries series by World Weaver Press). So of course I’ll continue to scatter my chaff, and see what the winds will make of it.
The arms of my boys wrapped around me, the slow and unsteady novel in progress that haunts, the well wishes of loved ones and the promise of a long day’s end–these are the things that keep me going, the stars above my long-held post. For those who’ve lauded my meager successes, and especially for those who’ve loved the unlovable, consider this a scarecrow’s salute.