It's March, and I am reading a saga-thick stack of entries for our local writers group's 2014 publication. Poems about abused childhoods, pine trees, eagles, and wakes. Short fiction about spurred first loves and funerals. Creative non-fiction about winter vacations to Mexico, spring flowers, stacking hay bales in summer, and death.
Few are funny. I would love a 'saved by the bell' short story: Grandpa came to during the wake. A 'we all lived happily after grandma died' poem.
Funeral black doesn't make for a 'buy-me' cover. I'll vote for a pristine blue lake surrounded by swaying Norway pines. Make the grave insignificant, the headstone plain.
And hope that when it is my turn to transmute sorrow into creativity, my entry will be half as good as these.