So I made this cake last Sunday to share with the Joy Search Party gathering in my apartment on Monday. It was a white cake with chocolate chips, and the first thing I’d baked since the car accident I was in several weeks ago. This felt like major progress since I’d been languishing physically, mentally, and emotionally since then. Or let’s be honest. Some of the languishing was not new.
As an aside, I mentioned the little toe on my right foot to Amy, my ND, at our appointment two weeks ago. She was about to do cranial sacral work on me, and I’d shared what seemed pertinent within my body, mind, and heart. It didn’t actually seem like much, which is funny to me now. When Amy asked if there was anything else I wanted her to know about,
Discover the Book You’re Meant to Write Preview #4 The serious part of me will never go undernourished. I mean really, I can put the ponder in ponderous. I can stew for hours with life mysteries, with grief, angst, and a don’t-fuck-with-me kind of reverence for EVERYTHING. Especially now. What to be serious about first, you know? Thank goddess that’s not the only part of me. There’s another part, one
On heavy things like unwritten books and headboards trapped in hallways. Welcome to: Discover the Book You’re Meant to Write Preview #3 (see “The Book is Not the Point; It’s the Entry Point” to explain what I’m offering here). I will start with the moral of this story, which is: you don’t have to carry the heavy thing by yourself. Please be aware that this is also a how to story, as in, how to
Discover the Book You’re Meant to Write Preview #2 Many people know me for my hopefulness, my spirit of renewal, and for always looking on the bright side. Popular thought holds that I may even be part unicorn. Yes, glitter might run through my veins. What you also need to know is that my bright outlook relies on a murky dark side. And this: dark fertilizes light. Endings fertilize beginnings.
Discover the Book You’re Meant to Write Preview #1: The Book Is Not the Point Let’s just get this out of the way: I don’t care if you write a book. I’m not supposed to say that. In fact, I’ve been told I’m supposed to build my business on the fact that I help people to finish their books. But when I think about what matters deeply to me—and in these
This week, I got a much-anticipated check in the mail. My deposit from the apartment, which, up until three weeks ago, I lived in for seven years. When I opened it, I thought I might cry, or confetti might drop, or a gilded mermaid fountain might rise from the carpet in my new living room. But you know, it wasn’t all that exciting. Which totally surprised me. Of course this,
This afternoon a neighbor came by to bring me flowers, and I had a panic attack. I was sitting in my grandma’s old La-Z-Boy, editing a manuscript, when the screen door rattled with repeated knocks. A pause, and more loud knocks. On the main door now. I almost jumped out of my skin and left it there on the recliner while my spirit slipped out the window and up into the
Last night I had a little airport drama that gifted me with an insight and made me want to write to you immediately. So here I am. My flight from Pittsburgh to Atlanta was delayed enough that when I got to Atlanta, I’d have about seventeen minutes to get from one end of Terminal A to the other end of Terminal B. Anxiety showed up early, before we even landed,
In a moment of desperation yesterday, I made crepes. I’m not sure how to write about violence against women, and about it happening directly above where I sleep, last week, in the middle of the night, but I can write about crepes. I can write about coming back into our apartment after a little walk, about the sadness and ache and belly emptiness so vast that all I could know to