Like Bob Dylan, I Feel a Change Coming On

You can see it up here on Signal Mountain: the times are changing. The leaves have turned from orange and red and gold banners into a brown carpet. We’ve already had night temps dip below freezing, so the moths no longer mob the front light. The blue-tailed skinks lurking around the door or skittering up the legs of the porch furniture have vanished.

Standifer Creek, which runs behind our house, once burbled with water, but, after a three-month drought, now is awash with dead leaves.

Standifer Creek,  behind our house, once burbled with water, but, after a three-month drought,  is awash with dead leaves.

And I hope—hope—the copperheads and timber rattlers, which I’ve yet to see, have found themselves a nice deep hole to curl up in and go to sleep. Otherwise, I’ll have to call on my five-foot tall neighbor Sandy to come over with her handgun to blow their heads off, as she did when a rattler tried to climb her steps to reach her snarling dogs. (For the record, I don’t like guns and don’t want to kill anything, but I draw the line at snakes on the porch.)

And change is inherent to this blog. Our staff has waxed and waned and waxed again to the list of bloggers you see on the left side of this page. A shout-out to Brenda, Chrinda, Eve, and Susan, who have been with me from the beginning. Later, we welcomed Ann, Deb, Janet, Jessica, Kate, Stephanie, and Sue. (Claudia Fedarko, Janet Weeks, Andrea Carpenter, and Crystal Klimavicz stayed for a while, then left to pursue other projects.) Fifteen wonderful women writers with whom it has been my pleasure to work.

For four years, almost every Wednesday, we at Readers Unbound have brought you book reviews, author interviews, craft articles, literary travel features, and more. Two hundred forty-nine of them. Today’s post, our last for now, makes 250.

Maybe it’s the English teacher in me—like the old fire station horse that still snorts and paws the ground when it hears the siren—I actually enjoy reading copy and correcting it for grammar and punctuation, as well as making suggestions to improve content and organization.

But I fear that editing this blog has become an enabler to my procrastination. You see, as much as I love reviewing books, I have my own story to tell. It sits—virtually finished—in my brain. The page is another matter. So I’m putting this blog aside for a while to see if I can do it again, write another novel. (My first book, now firmly shelved on a computer file, was my equivalent to a learner’s license.)

Meanwhile, the blog will remain “active”; that is, you can still visit the archives on the home page to find and read old articles by your favorite bloggers or click on the pages listed in the right hand corner to access live links to book signings or poetry readings or writers’ groups. Check out the Blog Roll to see what your favorite bloggers are doing, too.

Change: the one constant. Just look at sand sharing on Georgia’s Jekyll Island. That’s when tides, perhaps abetted by storms or construction, erode the sand on one island, then move it to another. You can see it at work on Driftwood Beach, North Jekyll, which is dotted with dead live oaks whose sandy soil abandoned them for neighboring St. Simons Island.

Driftwood Beach, November 2016

Driftwood Beach, November 2016

Maybe Percy Bysshe Shelley said it best:

Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability. 

And now, my dear, dear readers, it’s your turn to share: how has life changed you, or how have you actively changed your life? 






12 thoughts on “Like Bob Dylan, I Feel a Change Coming On

  1. Readers Unbound, you all will be missed. You’ve been my favorite blog, always a good read.
    As far as change in my life, I’d have to say (not as eloquently as Christina) that writing has introduced me to a new world, new people, new topics, new perspectives, and there’s so much more waiting down this road. Hoping to see all of you along the way.

  2. Dear Chris,
    As our fearless leader you have offered us your very best – insisting on the highest standards and supporting our reach to meet them. I wish you great success in your next endeavor.

  3. Christina, this is exquisite writing. I can perfectly visualize the carpet of brown leaves and the blue tailed skinks (and even the snakes). Except for announcing your stepping away from RU, it is a beautiful piece. And, if stepping down allows you to work on your own writing, at least we have the consolation of looking forward to your future work and hopefully publication. I appreciate the time and effort you have put into RU, and inviting me to participate. It has been a pleasure to have such a gifted editor make my own posts the best they could be. I wish you the best for the suture –

  4. I am going to miss that feeling of terror when I realized my post
    time was coming up! You always encouraged me when I was
    sure I couldn’t write well enough to participate, and I thank you
    for that. Most of the other people on the blog are published
    or at least WANT to be–for me, it was a stretch and a wonderful
    learning experience. Enjoy your mountain retreat and your lovely
    property–write that second book, and just know how much your
    guidance and support has meant to all of us.

  5. Chris, I’m a month late and a dollar short as usual, but I want to tell you how lovely your last post is—so descriptive, felt I was there on the mountain. Enjoyed my time working with you and the others on this blog. Thanks for asking me to join and helping me with my ideas when I got stuck. Good luck with your book, and Merry Christmas to you. We will stay in touch because I’ll need a report on your writing progress.

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