Between the rosé and the cheese plate,I figured it all out. Or actually, I figured out absolutely nothing, and that was everything. I left what I knew about myself and decided to remember the old parts. The parts that lived in the breath and blood.Giving me controlled life along the way, until I surrendered. Finally... Continue Reading →
I am learning my own language. The sounds and subtext of my bodywhen the vowels make long, drawnout sounds, and when they stop suddenly. Blunt and obvious. I haven't spoken this language of mein a long time, and I am stumbling through every awkward sentence. Did you hear me?Do you understand me?Is all of myself... Continue Reading →
I am a highway they've tried to change. Because I am something not everyone knows how to love. I triumph like a girl; an overwhelmingly dangerous animal is a part of me. Teeth baring and protective of my meal. Here I am. Alive more than some. When I write words on paper. When I see... Continue Reading →
It's not plot. It's what comes in night terrors and dreamy dripping fantasies that take over the afternoon. Things that don't make sense, finding their way inside chest cavities, through open-ended questions, burning paper with every single thing that needs to be forgotten. Or repaired. Or rebuilt. Lyrics I forgot I knew until the song... Continue Reading →
The world stopped, and so did that section of my soul that has to throw itself into written words. The writing. The poems. The scribbles in the notebook. (Ok, a few words written at the screen in panic/devastation/frustration. So much so, I forgot I even wrote them. But that was it.) It all just froze... Continue Reading →
I can’t quantify a year. Or ten. I can’t look back and say ...this moment was best. Because every second that my feet find their way to the cold hardwood floor each morning is a second I want to breathe in, like molecules full of energy bursting the moment they hit my lungs with the... Continue Reading →
I wrote this two weeks ago: Not very often in my life do I feel so overwhelmed or stretched thin that I feel close to breaking. In fact, my breaking point is so incredibly hard to get to, I sometimes wonder if I have one. I also sometimes wonder that if my breaking point were... Continue Reading →
This past weekend, I attended a small, intimate writing workshop on mindfulness and creative writing. I heard about it only the day before it happened and when I read the description, I felt pulled to go immediately. Now, if you know me––you'll understand that I calendar the shit out of my life. I am two... Continue Reading →
I still have a lot I want to share about Brave Magic. So here is post three: all about *MOTHERFUCKATUDE*, as coined by Cheryl Strayed. When I think about power in a general sense, I usually get stuck on how it is misused by old white guys -- the patriarchy, you know? And how systems... Continue Reading →
The only thing that has been saving my sanity over the past two weeks is working through my notes from Brave Magic. Because, what on earth is happening in our country right now? What world am I living in? Oh yeah, one run by powerful, old white men. Just double checking. Here we go.... One... Continue Reading →
--quote: Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic-- Most writers, at some point -- no matter what kind of writing they do -- toy with the idea of writing a book. What “book” means to different writers, is of course different, but the innate drive to see one’s work in book form seems to be real for almost... Continue Reading →
Do you ever have those days where you just feel like breaking down in tears and you can’t really pinpoint why? And no, I am not talking about hormones here -- so you can all get that old school misogynistic business out of your head. This isn’t women’s hysteria. I am talking about those days... Continue Reading →
In The Way 