Below you'll find a list of all posts that have been tagged as “writing”
Some nights it’s true, there just aren’t any words, no pretty ones anyway. None worth showing to the world. None that even seem worth the pages of your journal. Just self-indulgent scrawls that amount to nothing. Some nights the silence is too heavy to hear through. Some nights no matter …
How long have you been waiting to tell your story? Not a week (rarely a day) goes by when I don’t hear from someone out there in this wild world of ours, someone just like you. Someone with a regular, ordinary, mundane life. Someone with joy and bliss and heartache …
This is a love letter for the writers… Hey you. You who writes. You who keeps on writing. You who pours out your hurt and your joy and your bliss and your ways of being and existing and understanding onto page and screen. You who hits the submit button again …
My entire last decade hinged on the power of one question alone. The answer, when I lived into it, dismantled all I had known and transported me into a life that looked nothing like the one I expected to be living. No doubt, questions can hold a tremendous sort of …
Most of you probably noticed that June was pride month. If you weren’t already aware, the plethora of rainbows on social media probably gave it away. Around the world us gays are got the chance to celebrate being..well….really gay (in the very best way). There were photos of parties and …
{get writing is a brand new series of writing prompts, exercises and resources that I’ll be rolling out here each month to provide inspiration, guidance and structure to your writing practice. stay tuned for more} Listen to the audio reading: Don’t think too much. As a matter of fact, don’t …
This time around – Uncommon Sense is a little different. This time, instead of being the one who answers the question – full of wisdom and all the right words – I am the one asking, the one tangled in doubt and insecurity and the wilds of creative resistance. The …
Last week – a week I rather dramatically called ‘Do or Die Week’ – I sent the following email to my list of subscribers on the topic of creative resistance. More specifically, my own creative resistance. I was in a space that held both deep doubt and fierce faith. It …
{listen to this post as you read} We start out on this earth wild. Unfettered. Free. You did. I did. We all do. We speak our needs. Cry our hurt. Kick and scream our anger. Sing our joy. Do you remember it? Do you feel that tingle way down low …
Calling all the reluctant creatives. The inhibited artists. Those who only dance in the dark and secret corners when nobody is watching. You’ve got canvas and paint stacked in the closet and an entire novel bursting at the seams of your soul. You burn with the need to make things, …
I like my wine in old mason jars and my whiskey poured over ice. Is it the same for you as it is for me, does the music hold the key to all your memories? I surround myself with green and growing things here in the desert to remind me of …
You have a story. A burning story. It lives in your fingertips. In your kiss. In the spaces where no words will ever be quite enough. It shivers just beneath your skin. It travels electric from the earth up your spine and spins out into the heavens. A cyclone of …
‘You’ve got millions of worlds of words inside you’ she said. ‘But what am I to do if I can’t ever get them out?’ It’s true. I am haunted by that question. The words live in me always. Tumble all over each other inside and out. There are voice memos …
It was one night. Late. Alone in the center of tangled white sheets. Lost in the throes of fever and cough. Of chills and heat and sweat. Of the way the room grew distant and sounds became liquid and I floated in the middle of all that was and had …
The muse has got an edge tonight. She doesn’t have a lot of extra time and she’s not in the mood for the usual bullshit. You feel her come in on a breath through the open window and settle deep in this space. Like she owns it. It’s strange how …
We will always have a mistress. Poetry is our religion and the muse is our deity. She owns us. We will submit ourselves to her; beg for her to appear, turn ourselves inside out and go down on our knees to please her. At some point, you will come second …
Look at you, beauty Sitting so quietly I see you there The way the light hits your face The way the wind filters through your hair How the curve of your neck is the definition of grace How your story lingers just beneath the surface. I know you have things …
Truth: There is no choice The stories burn for release. We are writers by birth and by destiny and by intention. Not by choice. If we never scratched another word on a coffee shop napkin, this would not change. A writer is not someone who does. A writer is someone …
1. When you wake and feel the sadness flood you, take a moment to honor your broken heart. She is wise and powerful. She is never anything but exactly what is needed. She will break and break and break again, and still choose love. You know this. Do not pretend …
What are you waiting for? you know the words are right there ready to spill ready for truth telling ready for spell weaving ready to be told just sit down with an open journal and a smooth pen or the click – clack of typewriter keys and a pristine sheet …
There is a chill here today. The sky is overcast and the room is darker than usual. I lift my coffee to my lips, hands wrapped around warm white pottery. I drink with some sweet kind of reverence. Thank you for this small grace. Melancholy piano keys offer melody …
“It’s not working. I try and I try and I try. But it’s no good. My heart gets broken. It never lasts. It never, ever lasts.” You’re so right, lover. Of course you are. It never lasts. Things break. They fall apart. People love us and then don’t love us …
The creative drive. ‘Tis life force and relentless demon in equal measure. We artistic misfits cram ourselves into a culture is usually centered on new, better, different. What to create that has not yet created? What to do that is better than what has already been done? How to dig …
This post was written and published seven years ago. It was a a different lifetime, really. My marriage had ended the year before – grief and shock were still lodged in my bones. With seven years as a stay at home mother away from my home country on a visa …
