It’s Time

Photo by: Photo by Jill Wellington from Pexels

It’s My Turn

By Diana Ross

I can’t cover up my feelings
In the name of love
Or play it safe
For a while that was easy
And if living for myself
Is what I’m guilty of
Go on and sentence me
I’ll still be free

It’s my turn
To see what I can see
I hope you’ll understand
This time’s just for me

Because it’s my turn
With no apologies
I’ve given up the truth
To those I’ve tried to please

But now it’s my turn
If I don’t have all the answers
At least I know I’ll take my share of chances
Ain’t no use of holding on
When nothing stays the same

So I’ll let it rain
‘Cause the rain ain’t gonna hurt me
And I’ll let you go
‘Though I know it won’t be easy

It’s my turn
With no more room for lies
For years I’d seen my life
Through someone else’s eyes

And now it’s my turn
To try and find my way
And if I should get lost
At least I’ll own today

It’s my turn
Yes, it’s my turn
And there ain’t no use in holding on
When nothing stays the same

So I’ll let it rain
‘Cause the rain ain’t gonna hurt me
And I’ll let you go
‘Though I know it won’t be easy

It’s my turn
To see what I can see
I hope you’ll understand
This time’s just for me

Because it’s my turn
To turn and say goodbye
I sure would like to know
That you’re still on my side

Because it’s my turn
It’s my turn

It’s my turn
To start from number one
Trying to undo
Some damage that’s been done
But now it’s my turn
To reach and touch the sky
No one’s gonna say
At least I didn’t try
It’s my turn
Yes, it’s my turn
It’s my turn
It’s my turn
It’s my turn

Latest Review

Inheritance, by Lisa Barker

By Johnny Payne, author of THE HARD SIDE OF THE RIVER

Beginning with the Book of Lamentations, Barker announces suffering and the hope that is to follow, and that is the curve of this forward-looking novel. Here, religious faith meets the imperfection implied by humanism. It is the story of a little family, modest in its ambitions, looking mainly for closeness. But there are nasty wounds, some of them self-inflicted. In other hands, sexual addiction and child abuse might set the tone for a grim, Zola-esque recounting, fatalistic in outlook. The novel begins with the excitement of home runs recounted, and Dad closing a deal. Dad’s 1950 Chevrolet gleams in the son’s future, as the latter goes to wax it. Soon this gives way to Joe, the father’s, seduction of a young woman, because his practiced eye know that “all the women come to the parties full prepared for being seduced.” Things get good and sordid, just shy of a potboiler, but walking that line mostly with success. A typical scene ends with a fist in the face by a jealous real partner. Joe’s inner struggle is Faulknerian, the family curse: brilliant martyrdom. Booze and a woman at hand, but Joe in a perpetual bad mood, with sex as a “battering ram for his aggression.” There are sloppy explanations, brusque equivocations. Underneath, the current of hope simmers. Joe wants his woman to feel safe, if he can figure out how. First, he has to figure out for sure which one she is. Julie comes, her perfume mixing with the crisp high country air. Always the shadow of the father haunts him. The sex is plentiful but not explicit. Strangely, one’s precocious child could read it and not be offended. The novel is driven by dialogue, something in the nature of a screenplay. Inevitably, Joe ends up in the church confessional. Meanwhile, Wendy agonizes over smaller sins. Much of the novel is about “release,” a word that applies both to coitus and the mystics, the ecstasy of a body and that of God, two parallel paths. As this struggle continues, dark, wounding secrets about the past present themselves. There I leave the matter. You’ve have to read the novel to know where this undercurrent takes him and you. Barker’s novel deserves readers. One feels in the writing commitment, a yen to get down under the skin and find out what the characters are all about. No one is disparaged, yet no one is spared either.

20,030 Words

NaNoWriMo 2020 is complete. I exceeded my 20k word goal by thirty! I’m so very pleased.

This year I wrote the opening chapters to TAKE A CHANCE and DELIVERANCE, some heartfelt Christmas letters to my adult children, and logged many words encouraging other writers.

October and November opened up the writing world for me again as I met writers my age with my experience, joined a couple writing groups, and talked shop in those forums. I feel like I’m swimming in my old writing pond again.

Thanks to the friends that dropped me a note or posted their encouragement. I am very grateful.

Happy Holidays!