morgangolladay

Here I am with Linwood Jackson, President of the Delaware Press Association.

On May 1, I was awarded a Second Place in the Delaware Press Association Communications Awards for my book, The Song of North Mountain. This was my veryfirstever book released solely under my name, and the award presentation was exactly one year after the book hit publication.

I am quoting the judge, whose name I don’t know, in their comments regarding the award. “This is a beautifully crafted collection of poems that takes readers on a journey through nature, personal reflection, and the deep connection between the land and the human sprit. With vivid imagery and emotional insight, You (sic) capture the essence of the North Mountain landscape, blending personal growth, exploration, and the rhythms of life. The poems are rich with sensory details and metaphor, drawing readers into the natural world where every “rustle of leaves, shift of light, and breath of wind carries meaning.” I find that your writing, both introspective and outward-looking, intertwines the inner and outer worlds, exploring themes of solitude, contemplation, and the passage of time with tenderness and reverence, giving the collection a meditative quality.”

Many of us, particularly of my generation, suffer from imposter syndrome, that feeling that we’re really just pretending to be . . . smart, kind, good at what we do, talented, strong, etc. I’ve been writing since I was a teenager. Mostly doggerel, lines about angst, loss, imaginary friends, and wry observations. As I’ve aged and matured, so has my writing. I’ve discovered poets other than those I was raised on (Longfellow, Holmes, Browning) and many who write in rhymed and metered verse.

College introduced me to more complicated poetry – Ferlinghetti, Hopkins, Stevens, Auden, Eliot, Yeats. And then, foreign writers, like Rumi, whose ideas were so very different from those I had been immersed in.

So, I still wrote, but still privately, only sharing sparingly, for I still did not consider myself a “good” poet.

Well, I guess I am now. This anonymous judge really liked my work! The DPA, in their wisdom, selected judges that were not from Delaware. Delaware, being such a small state, is one where everyone knows everyone else, especially in communications and writing. So all I know about this anonymous judge is that he or she is not from around here. And, they liked my work.

Being a creator, whether in writing, arts, crafts, or just about anything, we have the angels and devils on our shoulders. One says, “Perfect. Absolutely PERFECT. Don’t change a thing!”

The other angel is the voice of the imposter. “Really? You expect anyone to like this? What balderdash! This is ROTTEN!” So we hide our creation away, or simply refuse to edit it.

I think we’ve all been there. The fact is, creating is a matter of taking risks. Making changes. Wondering if what we have written can be said better. And having the courage to play with it. Editing. Changing the recipe. Adding a stroke of color.

I can certainly attest that every single poem and sketch in this book was analyzed, edited, and reworked (and rethought) at least 5 times.

Ghost Light, the poem I included in my last blog, was awarded a Second Place, also. This judge commented that “Your evocative, photographic-like details set the ghost-like mood and scene from the beginning. . . .” And, ‘the last stanza is particularly well-turned — “by chance or intent,/ catch the moment, . . . in a sudden shaft of dawnbreak.’”

The judge noticed. They noticed the internal rhyme, the alliteration, the combining of words to create a new meaning. These are ‘tools’ I labored over, hoping the reader would listen to these words and how they created an atmosphere, a feeling, a response.

We all too often hesitate to read out loud, to ourselves or to anyone else. But it is important. Whether we read to a child, or are read to, there is a chance for us to escape into the word picture created by the author. That’s what I try to do — create word pictures for you to explore.

You can find The Song of North Mountain on Amazon and other retailers, and my author page on Amazon. Follow me on social media at Facebook as Morgan Golladay, Writer and Artist, in Instagram as morgangi13, and please FOLLOW my blog too.

If you have a copy of The Song of North Mountain, please leave a review. Thank you! I appreciate it!

May 15, 2025

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I am recovering from major surgery nine weeks ago. I have been described by some who are nearest and dearest that I am not just an overachiever, but a classic type A personality. To which I say “Balderdash. Not in the least.” But one thing that has become all too apparent is that I love naps. At last one, if not more, a day. And while it feels like an enforced putting down of my will to write, and do, and create, and clear out, I don’t really care. My body has other plans. This is what my medical team refers to as “rest and recuperation.” Rest. Now there’s a thought.

I’m a writer – poetry, short stories, and an almost completed first novel. In all writing (and my reading) I find that the rest periods allow me, the reader, to think, to consider what I just read. One habit I recently developed is reading my poetry out loud, primarily to myself (unless there is a willing listener close by). This is not a new habit, just rediscovered, after a lapse of more than 50 years. I used to do this in college, for it helped me understand what the writer was trying to get across.

What I found in my personal poetry was timing. which phrases required slight stress, pauses, clear enunciation. And my habit of reading each one thee times allowed me to hear with different ears. The rhythm, the internal stresses, cadence, alliteration.

Poetry has always been a way of understanding the emotional frame of mind of both the poet and the listener. The oldest poetry we have records of shows that the stories and sagas were all oral, as well as aural. They transported the listener into another world, a world of magic, feeling, creation, alternate realities, explanations of heroic journeys.

And reading and hearing poetry aloud gives me a different perspective. I remember my grade school librarian reading stories to us. Magic. We could not get enough. It whetted an appetite for more, for it was a group activity led by an older and wiser person.

And the greatest value in my listening, was when she paused, created a resting spot, and then continued. I can imagine sitting around a night fire, listening to a traveling bard recite sagas. Just for me. It became personal, and valuable, and I was personally included in the vast story.

My current resting spot is in my recliner, head back, legs propped up. Napping away. I am not “shoulding” on myself as much. I am resting more, waiting for the next phrase, the next idea, the next thing I don’t have the energy to do. Resting is good, although it is contrary to my nature. But the recliner is so very comfortable!

Author: morgangolladay

Chuffed!

REST