writing – Rebecca Daniels

April 9, 2026

When I started my author website and newsletter 6 years ago in March 2020, I was a newly published non-fiction author making my way in a post-retirement landscape (and during the first months of the pandemic!). Building a presence in that environment was a huge challenge, but a publisher believed in my work enough to publish the first of three books I’ve written since retiring from teaching, so I was determined to do my part in getting the word out about what I was doing.

Back then, I started using a free newsletter mailing service that was being used by the theatre I had been working with for a few years, even though it meant making two kinds of posts: first, the one on the website about my writing process, and a second email to send the website link to folks who had chosen to join my e-mail newsletter list. Recently, an upgrade to my author website started adding more names to my newsletter mailing list, and the previously free service was going to start charging me for those extra names and took away my sending privileges until I paid up.

So, my early April newsletter didn’t go out on schedule last week, though I did post the link on Facebook, and some of you may have seen it there. Lucky for me, my web designer knew that the service I had purchased and was using for my website upgrade had a newsletter service that I didn’t know about but was already paying for, so she was quickly able to convert my newsletter to connect more directly to the website itself.

That transition is the entire reason for this new post. If you are not a Facebook friend and haven’t yet read the April newsletter, you can easily scroll below this post to the April 3^rd post entitled “Spring is Sprung, but the Grass is Just Getting Started” to get the full story. In the future, any time I post to the “Thoughts” section of my website (which might not be as regularly as before), folks on this list will get an immediate notification.)

In the spirit of a season of transition, I leave you with the image above. Only three mornings ago, we started the day with a new coating of snow on the ground and decorating the bare trees (though it was gone by midday). Today, I saw the Glory of the Snow (Scilla forbesii) that is always the first to appear every spring, part of the roller coaster ride that is April in New England. It’s a volunteer that started popping up in my back yard mulch pad some years ago, most likely thanks to a passing bird. The flowers are tiny, only 2-3” tall, but their cheery presence in a sunny corner of the brown expanse that sits between my fire pit and the back of my house tells me that spring is finally on its way for real.

April 3, 2026

It’s been a very long time since I’ve put out a newsletter., and this has been a particularly long and cold winter here in southern New England. In addition, the last six months have required lots of necessary attention to my health: first the fall brought me a new heart valve I didn’t even realize I needed, followed by a cardiac rehab program through the holidays; then the new year brought two slipping/sliding incidents (one outside on ice, the other indoors a week or so later) that between the two events pulled at least one muscle, possibly two, in my hip flexor joint and gave me some painful mobility challenges. This resulted in a month of living on the main level of my house and the installation of a stair chair to help me get back into the upstairs. Needless to say, not much writing was going on while this other focus claimed most of my attention.

Though I did try to do some writing about the health-related situations, not much else new has been happening on my writing front, so I decided instead to remember the beauty of my gardens while I look back at the writing I’ve accomplished in the decade since moving to western Massachusetts for my retirement from university teaching. I’ve written about each of these in past newsletters, but it feels good to put them all in this single entry as a new transition begins. In addition to general healing, I’m focusing on the spring re-awakening just getting started in my yard, meadow, and gardens. I’m sharing images from last spring, so you will see a bit of what I’m looking forward to in the next couple of months.

Here’s what the meadow should look like in a few weeks.

One of the first things I did when moving into my new community (beyond making a yard plan) was to look for and find a women writers group with a focus on memoir, since I knew that the stories I wanted to share fell into that category. That group, led by a fabulous facilitator named Jane Roy Brown, has sustained me throughout the decade, and though the writers have changed now and then over the years, there’s still a strong sense of bonding among all the alumna, and we consistently give each other honest and supportive critiques for our works in progress. Having to share three chapter length pieces for each 10-week session really kick-started regular productivity for me, and being someone motivated by deadlines and due dates, I got a great deal done with the encouragement of the women in the group: three memoir-style books (all published by Sunbury Press in PA between 2019 and 2024), dozens of essays about both my past and present experiences and relationships that I sometimes call my Mosaic Memoir (though I don’t expect Sunbury would be interested in publishing my essay collection as a book). During this same period, while the script of Weaving Penelope was never presented to the women writers group for feedback, I also collaborated with Richard Carp, my co-author on the West Coast, to finish a full-length play script that had been in our minds and hearts for many years (first rehearsed staged readings were in 2022). and which may see a full public performance in southern California next summer.

A look into the back yard later in the spring with the roses and rhodies in bloom.

At the moment, the writing group is taking a rejuvenating break for the spring/summer session and will resume its work in the early fall. And as it turns out, I also need a break, mostly because I seem to have run out of stories that I’m burning to share. I have no doubt that ideas will come to me again, but for the moment, I’m not putting any pressure on myself to write again. Not just yet. But when I do have more to share, you will be among the first to know.

The centerpiece of the side yard is the crabapple tree that is also a memorial for Skip Stoughton (one of our shared favorite trees).