Carl Jung said that each of us carries the collective unconscious, so Dale views her writing as road trip for an a cappella chorus. She is always delighted by invitations to join fellow travelers.
Poetry is a new genre for her. She was a prose writer, short stories. Then she had a 12-year intermission in writing anything but checks due to a vivid attack of life as she knew it, and in 2007, when she finally made it back to the swoony state of writing, she could only produce poetic forms which made her wonder if more happened than she understood. She fought for a bit with her psyche; they were sick of change. Now, she is only comfortable playing inside the short form. Life.
She is a psychotherapist, a transplanted New Englander/New Yorker living in southeast Georgia, a place only lightly touched by time. However, one of the good things about that buckle-of-the-bible-belt is that is does love its crazy people, so she is hardly noticed among the Bougainvilleas and Spanish Moss.
She is Googleable, a phenomenon she finds both thrilling and irritating, so if this little piece whets an appetite there is more of her available to wandering hands and eyes. She’s listed the print pieces in case there are few other luddites who go to libraries, the real deal libraries:
Print Journals: Passager, 2012, 2008; Poetry of the Golden Generation, Vol 5, Fashlight Memories, 2011; Baby Boomer Birthright, 2008; Her Mark, 2008; Word Trips, 2007; 2012; Ilya’s Honey, 2007.