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Elizabeth Dutton


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the struggle is real


A few updates for my few readers:

  • I will be appearing at the “Coming of Age” panel this Saturday at 9:30 a.m. at the South Carolina Book Festival in Columbia. It’s free. You should come. Who knows what will happen.
  • I finished my poetry collection but have decided not to shop it anywhere. I think I just needed to clear the decks. Whatever.
  • I am in the process (still) of adapting Driftwood to a screenplay. Work and life have been getting in the way. The time is now, though.
  • At the same time, I am working on my next novel, The Sorrow Hand. This one is going to be…sinister. It’s dark and complicated and I love it. Basically, Driftwood is like a breezy Eagles song and The Sorrow Hand is like Nick Cave and Black Cat Music in a dark alley.

That said, let’s get down to brass tacks.


air conditioning

having my very own first new car that I bought all by my damned self

bruises (I don’t know why, but I am a fan — perhaps because I bruise so easily, I might as well get used to them)

my garden

pasta salad, heavy on the fresh basil

my creative writing students (BRILLIANT — it was an honor to work with them this semester)

baby birds successfully leaving the nest and seen feasting from the suet feeder

dogs, even muddy and rascally ones

trip planning

the love of loyal friends

written letters (but emails are fab, too)

the wild chamomile ringing one of my lawns and the meadow — smells heavenly when mown

being able to choose my own path and hold my own worth



uncertainty (although I should embrace it, I really can’t)

that sick feeling you get when you realize you’ve been made a fool (again)

pointless meetings

medications (having to take them, having to switch them)

needing a pedicure but not liking people touching me

homesickness for somewhere that may not really be home anymore

Remember, everyone, that I love you. Even when I don’t.


One comment on “the struggle is real

  1. Mona Sellers says:

    May I read some of your poetry sometime? Still want you to sign my copies of Dritwood.


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