Hope

joining the spaces in between

A hopeful sky! Sunset on Mother’s Day.

Hello Friends,

First, I hope everyone who is mothering someone in some way had a Happy Mother’s Day! I hope it was filled with flowers, family, and love.

Second, thanks so much to all new subscribers. I so appreciate you, and all of you who are long-time subscribers! You make this newsletter possible.

I recently read this sentence in The Marginalian, written by Maria Popova:

“Life is a feather borrowed from the swift wing of time.”

I was so overcome with it’s beauty and truth that I had to share it. The post was about Emily Dickinson’s most famous poem “Hope” is the thing with feathers and the unrequited love that was the possible inspiration for it. The sentence occurred in Maria Popova’s closing paragraph.

I find I’ve been living on hope these days, and if you are any kind of artist who does not have any fame at all, you will know exactly what I mean. So much of an artist’s life occurs quietly, behind the curtain. Of course I share on social media, but the hours spent writing and painting are much more than what appears on Instagram or Facebook.

Reflecting On

If

The below sentence was the last in Maria Popova’s Emily Dickinson post:

“‘If' is the widest word of all, the immense alternate universe in which all of our possible lives live. Hope is what we call the bridge between this universe and that one.”

Wow. Again, blown away. As an artist and writer, I live in this liminal space, constantly on this bridge between creation and delivery. So much of creativity depends on enjoying the process, and yet we aren’t truly complete until we deliver our art into another’s hands.

The Heart of It

As I reflect on this idea a bit more, I can’t help but think isn’t all of life like this? We must live each moment in process. There might be shorter wait times for shorter processes, such as making dinner. But the times when it takes longer, such as graduating from college, writing a novel, or learning a piece of music, it becomes more challenging to live in the in-between. It can be lonely, disheartening, and downright frustrating. But I believe a human’s biggest challenge is rooted in learning to live well when we feel adrift. If we can keep our eyes on the goal while in the chop of untamed waters, then we’ve gotten the message.

I’m not saying we won’t be afraid or cry out or even lash out at the unseen forces that knock us over, I’m saying that if we know in our core there is hope, the bridge that connects us to whatever our goals are, then we can come back to equilibrium.

In Closing, An Update

Maybe it’s just me who has a problem living in the in-between. (If not, let me know how you deal with it in the comments!) But these days I’m better at it. Trying to get published has taught me many things, including how to wait. If you are new here, my goal is to become a hybrid author, meaning there are some projects I save to send out to literary magazines (traditional), and others I plan to publish myself.

Here is where things stand now in my writing life: I have two stories out at literary magazines, one of which has been in review for eight months, the other was sent out last week. If you don’t know much about submitting to literary magazines, the eight months is actually normal. Sometimes editors respond quickly, other times it takes a while. I once heard back from a magazine after a year and a half! Thank goodness it was an acceptance, but I’ve heard of scenarios where a story can be rejected after a year even two. So, yeah, patience is key.

I also have two novels in the works, one I just started last week and the other has been in rewrite for about a year. It’s close, now, though, so I’m looking forward to a celebration soon. Once it’s about to launch, I will share excerpts here, so stay tuned. :)

Emily Dickinson is one of my favorite poets, and if you’ve never read it, here is her poem that has been an inspiration to so many:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Until next time,

Jan

*Image “Mother’s Day Sunset” by Jan M. Alexander

*All writing on this Substack is original by Jan M. Alexander. © 2025. All rights reserved.

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