Withdrawal

Creative Postpartum

Lynn, photographed by her daughter, Rhiannon.

Saturday, March 22, 2025

“Hello.” I forced out the greeting.

My editor, Lynn Skapyak Harlin was on the phone. I saw her name pop up on my screen. Had it not I would have recognized the often used number. Beyond that, the unmistakable cigarette inspired vocal chords were a dead giveaway. “I’m in withdrawal.”

“Withdrawal?” I knew exactly what she meant but I wanted to hear her version before I told her mine.

“Yeah.” The voice crackled into my ear. “We worked on this everyday for a fucking year and now nothing.” Lynn is known for her hard-won sailor’s tongue. “I think I’m depressed. I miss you.”

I felt the same. Hardly a day went by without a first-thing-in-the-morning phone call. If she didn’t call me, I called her. “Yeah, I miss having a dragon to slay.” Shifted the phone on my ear. Took a sip of way-too-black coffee while I adjusted the blanket on my legs.

Speaking at the launch. Photo by Karen Chadwick

Creative postpartum is nothing new for either of us. It’s a standard in the creative fields. We work like crazy for extended periods. Totally consumed with the project. One day it’s finished. The next morning you wake up and your world is turned upside down. Empty.

The cat tugged at my arm wanting to play. “But, we did it. We put together a book.” I thought back first over the last year of editing and rewrites. Then I went back to 2014 and the first workshop. What a journey. “You know, Lynn, you sent me my essay I wrote more than ten years ago about what I wanted to get out of the workshops. Don’t have it in front of my, but I think I did it.” Shifted my arm to keep the cat’s claws from digging in too deeply. “ Or, I should say, We did it.”

“Well, the words are yours. I just had to spank the Hell out of you to get them all down.” Heard a faint cough. “But, those are your stories, your words.”

Lynn is by nature a task master. She pulls no punches. One look from her will send a writer writhing on the floor. If you bury your ego and listen she’ll help you get rid of all the unwanted garbage and say what needs to be said.

“Thank you dear friend. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do this without you.” I laced my fingers through my way-too-long hair. “You kept me going.”

“Listen.” The gravelly voiced kept going. “You’ve got to keep going. Get this one out in the world as far as possible. Then start on the next.”

“I will. As soon as I get my feet back under me. Give me few more days to wallow in this state and I’m on it.”

“Same here. Call me next week. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I pushed the red phone button. the screen went blank. I stared up at the ceiling. A beam of sunlight streaked across the room. Now what? I asked myself.

Shantyboat Stories Book Launch. Emerald Station. March 19, 2025 (Facebook posts)

I’ve worked in creative fields for most of my adult life. Either as an artist or curator. Producer or author. Its always the same. As a solo artist, as a collaborator, as part of a creative team. When the work is presented there is a significant let-down. When the work is over the energy is gone.

We had the book launch on Wednesday night. It didn’t go that late, thank goodness. Having things on a school night helps keep the time limit in check. The crowd was healthy. More than a hundred, less than two. I could not have been more pleased.

Emily Moody opened the evening with an introduction to The Phoenix Arts District. My attempts to express my gratitude seem weak in comparison to the depth of their support. Thank you Emily and thank you Tony Cho for this gift. The event space is a treasure for Northeast Florida residents.

Jon Bosworth, a long-time friend and principle of Young Buck Coffee, designed Shantyboat Hymns, a special blend offered as a companion to the book. He followed Emily to talk about both his long term friendship with Lynn and his coffee. He introduced Lynn Skapyack Harlin to the gathering.

After Lynn, it was my turn to speak. I’m always a bit nervous. Sometimes more than others. But on this occasion I just relaxed in front of the microphone. Started my bit off with reading Dylan Thomas. Do not go gentle into that Good Night.

Those words speak to me as I settle into my seventy-first trip around the sun.

The evening surpassed my expectations. So many friends who supported me during this project deserve all the credit. Michael Fitzsimmons did not move from his perch at the signing table the entire night. Keeping up with that is a chore in itself.

Allison Vaughan from 1748 Bakehouse produced a lovely spread of nibbles for the night. She also was the first retail establishment to carry the books

1748 Bake House. 1748 North Main Street Jacksonville, Florida.

Stop in, pick up a pastry or a loaf and a book. Get a cup of coffee and start reading.

John Drum kept the evening lively as a DJ. photo by Karen Chadwick

So many great friends. Here are a few.

Long-time friend and arts advocate, Amy Crane.

A perennial student. Autrelle Holland and I first met 30 years ago during a watercolor class I was teaching at FCCJ (then.) We’ve been friends since. Watching him get his rhythm as an artist is a joy.

Michael Fitzsimmons never looked up during the whole event. He is a treasure.

Also David Nackashi installed art on the walls. He also stepped in to fill the bartenders spot. Laura Evans showed up with a camera, a true friend, indeed. Sarah Zamor and her friend Mac were there for whatever needed. Thanks to all.

So the book is launched. I”ll post later with all the locations it is available. Happy Medium Books at Park and King is having a hard time keeping them in stock.