Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

Opinion-Waiting for retirement January 16, 2020

I keep running into people who have big plans for their retirement.  They’re going to move somewhere with less snow.  They’re going to get serious about that hobby.  They’re going to start writing that book.

I ask them what I asked myself in 1998: Why wait?

One Spring Break when I was in my thirties with two pre-teen kids, I’d driven south with the kids to see my parents. I went to Vancouver, and sitting in the Water Street station, I looked around at the blooming tulips and plum trees and pondered the foot of snow in my yard back home.

On our 800 km journey back home, we drove past lots of schools.  I looked at those schools and had an epiphany.  There are teachers working here.  Why wait thirty years to move?  Why not have the life we want to have NOW?

I returned home and had a chat with my husband.  I sent out applications.  He interviewed for a transfer in his government job.  He had a few offers around the province that he turned down.  I was called to an interview in Salmon Arm and subsequently accepted a position. Two days later he was offered a position in Salmon Arm, too.  Serendipity and synchronicity.  Two months later we were living in a beautiful community that actually had four seasons that appeared when they were supposed to on the calendar (instead of two seasons: ‘winter’ and ‘bugs’).  That was twenty years ago.

I dreamed of being a writer, but thought that in my forties, it was too late to start.  Then my school hosted the BC Book Prize tour, and I discovered that every author visiting us had written their first book after fifty.

I started writing just after Thanksgiving and the week before Easter I finished Grace Awakening.  The week after the following Thanksgiving at the Surrey Writing Conference I pitched it to a small publisher, which subsequently offered me a contract.  A dream come true.

This October was ten years after I pitched that first book.  I was offered a table to sell my books at a signing event at the Surrey Writers Conference, alongside some of my author idols.  I am working in my dream job, teaching English & Creative Writing in an amazing school in a beautiful place, WHILE writing books!  It couldn’t be more perfect!

I still have a few years before retirement.

I have retirement plans.  When I retire, I plan to write a lot more books, and visit schools to teach a lot more teens and adults how to bring their dream stories to life.  I will travel and write and read.  It will be awesome.

But.

A year and a half ago, I received a brain injury.  Out of no where, in my own home, BAM: Life changed.

Words swam on a page.  I couldn’t decipher hand-writing.  The computer screen hurt.  Crowds hurt my ears. Lights hurt my eyes.  I had head-aches and eye-aches.  I was dizzy.  I was nauseous. For MONTHS.

I told my doctor that he needed to figure out healing quickly, because I needed to go back to my dream job and keep working on my books!   He said, “Shawn, you might be retired now.”

That scared me.  The idea that I might enter retirement unable to read, unable to write, and unable to teach or travel was horrifying.  What a bleak picture!  On the bright side, I thought, at least I have been able to have this wonderful job, teaching teens to write, and to inspire them.  At least, I have published nine books.

Thankfully, I had excellent concussion therapy and I have recovered enough from my brain injury to work part-time again.   Despite my injury, 6 pieces were published last year.  Some had been written years ago, some were short articles or stories that took me weeks instead of a day to write.  Slow progress is still progress.

My injury wasn’t the end of my dreams, but it could have been.

Wouldn’t it have been horrible to have all my plans completely unreachable due to poor health?  Wouldn’t it have been a hundred times worse if I had saved all my dreams for retirement, and not have the health to attempt them?  I had two colleagues who were in good health when they retired, but were dead six months later.

If you have a dream, don’t wait for retirement.

We only have today.

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poem-ten October 12, 2019

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:46 pm
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ten years ago

dream in pocket

breathless

learning to pitch a book

awed by everyone

talent

knowledge.

Wishing.

Today, I pull a bin

to my own author table.

I am awed at everything.

It’s just ten years.

Same space I pitched!

Now,

ten books to spread

for this event.

My words searching for homes.

A blink of time

those dreams

are truth.

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I just realized that this month is the 10th anniversary of my first writing conference.  I bravely registered for one day of the Surrey International Writers’ Conference, took my husband and our exchange student to Vancouver. While they spent a day exploring, I pitched my first book to the publisher who would eventually offer me a contract for it and had my first blue pencil with a professional author (Meg Tilley).  Ten years later, I’ve been invited to sell at a Guest Author table, in the very same room I pitched in, and I will have ten books on my table to sell and sign.  How astonishing.  How quickly a decade passes! How amazing to see what happens when you take the risk!

 

poem-shouting late October 27, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:20 pm
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She’s eighty-nine

and now she tells the story of rape,

of giving up a panopoly of dreams

for the baby boy.

(Shot gun wedding)

Love and happiness can’t be forced,

like sex.

Society forced her silence,

condemned divorce,

when she refused abuse,

and sought in the ashes of her dreams

for a phoenix.

Bitter choices,

dream fragments,

cobbled into a life,

grumbled about now.

Dream stealing beast,

a boy who wouldn’t hear no,

seven decades of curses

don’t erase the bitterness

of loss.

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(true story)

 

 

 

 

poem- push on January 28, 2018

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:28 pm
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We labour in monotonous isolation

Words falling onto pages

magic spells

new worlds

It might be good.

It might be worth sharing.

It might just be,

what it needs to be for us

to set our demons free.

Isolation and monotony,

and then someone

you respect

says

“Such lovely prose!”

or “beautifully wrought characters”

or “Loved it!”

and you think there’s hope

for your imaginary friends

and your imaginary world

and your imaginary dreams.

Labouring becomes inspired

by encouraging analyses.

 

poem-lingers April 10, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:15 am
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It’s all just possibility,

isn’t it?

The hopes

The dreams

The wishes.

What ifs that linger about us

orbiting like electrons, protons, neutrons

Actively giving us

possibilities

if only we can combine the other elements

to bring them to reality.

 

poem-kindle November 10, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:46 pm
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Under your skin

you’re kindling dreams.

Letting just enough

hope gleam through the ash.

Your head says,

“You can’t.

It won’t be,”

But the kindling dreams

wonder,

“Why

not

me?”

 

poem- fewer September 13, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:25 pm
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There could be no fewer steps

than those he trodded toward you

straight limbed and unencumbered

directly into destiny.

There could be no fewer steps

than those away from dreams

point-less apparitions

of troubled consciousness

directly into destiny.

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(I don’t know what it means.  If you have an idea, feel free to share!)

 

 
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