If anyone told me a year or two ago that I would be publishing a poetry collection, I’d find it hard to believe.
Since I started writing four years ago, I’ve always had several works in progress. I was working on my fantasy trilogy, writing short stories in between novels (for different anthologies and for my own short story collection), and even started learning screenwriting.
I think the first poem came out of nowhere when I was feeling overwhelmed with my teenage son going away for a month and a half. Writing my feelings down was sort of therapeutic. Back then, I just left those words in a note on my phone, not knowing that it was the moment a new door opened for me. Or, rather, for my words—in poetry form.
I often say that poems pretty much write themselves, and it’s true. They either come or they don’t. I never sit there thinking, “I should write a poem. What will it be about?” No, the words just appear in my head and insist on being written down.
As more and more poems poured out, I started putting them all together into a collection (as well as sharing them on social media and here on my blog).
They’re all different. Some short, some long. Some dark and raw, others uplifting and inspirational.
One thing they all have in common is that they come from the depths of my soul. From looking inward and trying to understand myself and this world.
That’s why I decided to call this book Reflections.
I’m beyond anxious to share this collection with the world, to be honest. I have never considered myself a poet. All the words — as imperfect as they may be — are genuine and heartfelt. And it’s a scary thing, serving your heart on a plate for everyone’s judgement.
But I dare hope that apart from judgement my words will find a different kind of connection with the reader. One where they make you feel something. Where they inspire you to look inside, and ask questions, and seek answers. Where they inspire reflections of your own.
Below is the back cover blurb for Reflections. It releases on November 30, 2024, and is currently available for preorder on Amazon.
If you decide to give my little book a chance, thank you from the bottom of my heart and I truly hope you enjoy it.
Who do you see when you look in the mirror?
A friend? An enemy? A stranger?
Have you ever truly stopped to look into those eyes—not a rushed glance, but a long, deep, searching gaze? They say eyes are the windows to the soul. What do you see in yours? Light or darkness? Hope or despair? Pain, anger, joy, or love?
Perhaps it’s a little of everything. Inside each of us is a vast, unexplored universe—a fascinating, complex world that often feels too scary to confront. But if you find the courage to dive in, to truly look inside, you might discover something you’ve been searching for all along, perhaps without even realizing it.
You might discover yourself.
Reflections is a poetry collection that invites you on a journey of self-discovery, encouraging you to look inward with open eyes. Through raw, honest verse, this book will be your companion as you explore the depths of your soul and meet the person waiting to be found.
“What really matters is that you’re starting a new chapter of your life. On your own. And a piece of my heart goes with you.
My life will never be the same. Neither will yours. And I don’t even know if you feel that piece of me that goes on the journey with you. I hope you do. I want to think it’s one of the essentials you can’t leave behind.
But I don’t know that.
So whatever is left of my fractured heart aches. It’s my problem, though, not yours.
You go. Spread those wings and fly. Face whatever awaits you. You’ve got this, I know.
Live your life. Make the best of it. Have fun. Make mistakes. Learn from them.
And that piece of my heart will always be with you, wherever you go. A souvenir from home. A keepsake. A guiding light, reminding you that you’re loved. So, so loved.”
But I don’t say any of this. Instead, I just remind him to pack all the chargers.
I’m watching my little son as he sleeps. Marveling at this miracle we’ve created. Trying to wrap my head around how perfect he is. And how this perfect human being came from inside me.
It’s such a strange season of my life. My youngest turns 5 next month. And no matter how cliche it sounds, these years just flew by in the blink of an eye. They really did. There was a lot that happened in these five years, of course. There was a whole pandemic that turned the world upside down. There was a start of my writing career that turned my life upside down. There were struggles, adventures, learning curves, moments of joy. Tears and laughter, hellos and goodbyes. Everything you could imagine. And yet, I look at this little angel (aren’t they all angels when they sleep?) and wonder—when did this happen?
I’m about to book a one-way flight to another country for my eldest son. He’s 18. He’s got a life of his own and rarely finds time for me. And he’s getting ready to embark on a journey of a lifetime, going abroad to study.
For a year, to start with.
Although he’s planning to stay longer. Okay, in fact, he’s not planning to return.
Which is a good thing, of course. We can never truly go back, we can only move forward. Besides, every journey, every smallest trip we take always cause irrevocable change inside us. You just can’t come back as the same person.
I know it. And I love it.
When it comes to my journeys.
But as I plan for my young adult’s departure, I realize that those eighteen years also flashed by. My little baby is not a baby anymore. And I have no idea how it happened.
Years.
Decades.
I’ve been building my life.
And a life for my kids.
Rebuilding it.
Sometimes from scratch.
Making decisions.
Going places.
Changing directions.
Countries, cities, homes, identities.
Am I even me anymore?
Who was me, anyway, and does it even matter, if I’m not her?
Who am I now, and who will I be next year?
I’m just someone who finds herself in a funny time.
Turned 45.
Published my 4th book.
Got my 1st tattoo.
Celebrated my mom’s 80th birthday.
Choosing a cake for my son’s 5th birthday.
Hoping my other son can come home for his Christmas break to celebrate his 19th.
Numbers.
They don’t define anything, yet they carry so much weight. We always rely on numbers, don’t we? They scare us but also ground us at the same time. As if they’re something we can desperately hold onto in this whirlwind of a life.
Except we can’t. Because numbers tend to change. They never stay the same. Because this is how time works.
Imagine a café somewhere between the worlds, where you can meet your lost loved ones.
You’ll sit down and order a drink, and then you’ll have a chat as if nothing happened.
Or maybe it’ll be a different kind of chat. The one where tears stream down your cheeks as you keep repeating, “I’m so sorry for everything” and “I miss you so much.” And they just smile and pat your hand, saying, “It’s okay”, and give you a tissue.
The sadness hiding in the corners of their eyes will tell you it breaks their heart to see you like this. And you’ll realize that it’s not what you came here for. It’s not why you were given this chance.
So you wipe your tears and order another drink, and maybe a meal too. And you say, “Hasn’t the weather been crazy lately?” Or “You know, the other day my car wouldn’t start, and I was late for work.”
And you tell them that your cat has been acting weird lately, and that you’re starting a new diet, and that the prices went up again. And how amazing the last book you read was, and that the rose bush in your garden is about to bloom.
You save those tears for later. For when you wake up and realize that of course it was a dream.
Time slips through my fingers, and I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white, but the precious grains of sand keep escaping. The wind picks them up and carries them away, mocking me.
“Catch me if you can.”
Of course, I can’t.
Another day gone. Another week, another month.
Another story left untold.
Another path not explored.
Isn’t it cruel—that here it is, this enormous, fascinating, delicious world—so tempting, so mouthwatering—yet you can’t bite off more than you can chew?
“There are no limits!” My immortal soul squeals in delight.
“Oh, yes, there are.” The earthly body glances at the watch. “No time for this today, my dear. We’re on a schedule, mind you. Chop-chop.”
They’ll come at night, in my dreams. Exciting, untold stories.
Wondrous, undiscovered places.
All the might-have-beens and could-have-dones.
They’ll leave me in the morning, as I open my eyes, with a pang in my heart and a faint shadow of regret.
Author Elena Carter 