Hourglass gets five stars!: Reviewer calls it “Stunning”

The first review is in on Hourglass! And it’s good. As an author I can always appreciate when other authors talk about breathing a sigh of relief when they get the first good feedback on their books. I mean, we all know our creation is great. Fantastic, even. Doesn’t even matter what you think.

But we still wait for the reviews.

Well, my first one is in, and it’s five stars. Imagine, if you will, how relieved I was. Graphic novel/comic book is a bit of a stretch for me, a romance writer and poet. Plus, I’m just not sure what to call this thing, either. Too short to be a graphic novel, based on my poetry, not really a comic book… It’s like an illustrated poetry book with a storyline to tie the poems together.

Anyway, my very kind reviewer said this about my baby book: “filled with stunning art, photography, and poetry, and the message is lovely.”

Picture the big grin on my face when I read that! Actually, no need to picture it. Here you go:

A bit of fact and a bit of fiction in this one. Mostly, that’s me, though. Self portrait by Michelle Garren Flye

I hope you’ll decide to try out Hourglass. Someone called it my “passion project”, and they’re not wrong. I want to be good at this. I want to publish comic books where every page is a work of art. I don’t know if I’m capable of that yet, but I’m gonna keep on trying.

In the meantime, if you read Hourglass, maybe you can give me an idea of how YOU think I should market it. But definitely let me know what you think.

National Poetry Month: Poem 30

I wanted my last poem of poetry month to be different. A little special and about something I don’t write about often. So here you go. I was as honest as I could be.

Poem 30

Self Portrait

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

Broad strokes for face,

Not my favorite part.

A finer point for hands,

Nimble and quick—

But the weather changes

And pain sets in.

Pink for the breast

And scarlet for the center.

Let the red run a bit,

Let the heart bleed—

No shame for feeling

The world’s hurts.

The head is hardest,

The brain a smudge of gray…

But changeable, like a thundercloud

On a summer’s day.

It’s me, but not.

Not quite, anyway.

I suspect I don’t really know

What others see,

And there’s no other way

To know me.