--12/18/20  Secondary Cicatrices poetry book seems to be ready for sale and back on line! 

Thank you Middle Creek Publishing!

--Excited to be participating in this year's virtual Geopoetry Conference from Edinburgh, Scotland, on October 1st.  


             Registration is free if you want to check out any of the live program on October 1st.


       --My two self-published children's stories are now available as public library e-books in Nevada, I believe, via BiblioBoard and Indie Nevada. Looking forward to finding out more!

--My sincere apologies to those of you who bought the 2nd Edition of Secondary Cicatrices with new publisher errors involving pagination and formatting.  Currently being fixed.



--Lynne planning to attend Georgetown Library's Holiday Bazaar on December 7th, 2019,  from 10 AM to 3:00 PM

Georgetown, CA! 

Book sale and signing

Thank you Georgetown Public Library!

--Lynne planning to attend South Lake Tahoe Library's Special Winter Anthology of Authors

December 14th, 2019 event from noon to 2:30 PM

South Lake Tahoe, CA! 

Book sale and signing

Thank you South Lake Tahoe Public Library!


---"I" voice in poems can be confusing.   Will change a poem line on page 43 in Secondary Cicatrices to help clarify in case you received early copy of book.



         ---Apologies for Publisher errors on the back of the book if you received an early copy of Secondary Cicatrices

We are working to fix that.  Thank you.


        ---Lynne is very grateful that Nebo: A Literary Journal published one of her poems in their Spring 2019 issue. There were, however,     five errors/typos in their printing of it.  Here is the correct version:




Head Rearrangement


What made me think

that a mounted head on a wall was okay?

Above the fireplace, remnants of a moose

jut out as if the partial animal belongs there,

its foam-stitched skull screwed together,

glass eyes touched with clay

staring interminably without body, some

tanned, twisted presentation of death, vestige

constructed by taxidermist

as if

stuffed, wild creature seeming to break through wall

at forever-at-peace pace to remind—remind us of what?—

that you, its hunter, killed the animal with a gun?—

How you didn’t miss in your shots?

That you scared and delivered pain several times

till the animal lay dead in a blood-spilled no escape?

Maybe someday your own human head

will hang in a home of another alien species,

the trophy of you signifying that your attacker

got you—shot you right in the back—

another easy slaying preserved for all to view—

one more human who didn’t see it coming—

clueless you—foraging prey. 

You’d proclaim you didn’t deserve it—

yet you’d have no voice to call out

to question such an ill-begotten fate.

Your death to silence

would be way beyond your control.



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