Here’s what I want to tell you today. I want to tell you that, if my words are causing vibrations that are running opposite to the truths you hold – sound waves striking dissonance or resistance or choppiness in the good and worthy balance you’ve been working toward, close this browser. There is a difference
On writing, or creating an all-compassing piece of art, craft, work: “Embrace this selfishness, for now. Wrap it around you like a quilt made of air… Don’t leave that essential place. Be a good steward to your gifts.” -Dani Shapiro When I read this, I was in bed. It was January, on a chilled but
On Sunday morning, I’d sit in a hard pew sandwiched between my two wavy-haired, lacy-socked sisters – passing notes about whether or not we thought our mother might let us stop for roast beef and milkshakes after service. We’d sing “Victory in Jesus” from red, dusty hymnals and I’d secretly pray to the Lord that
I receive quite a bit of emails asking me for advice on blogging. Here’s what I say, nearly every time: Write something – anything – you are proud of. Bleed into it on a Saturday afternoon when the world offers much else but your heart denies anything but. Swim in the pencil shavings, dance in
1. Get down all of your thoughts, as fast as you can. Write in all caps if you have to. Punctuate! Underline. Scribble it on the coffee receipt, the bank statement. Get it down, in as much detail as time allots. Save it. Keep it. 2. Find it a few days later, in the bottom
I’ve been a blogger my entire adult life, publishing my first post in 2001 on an entirely different blog with an entirely different focus. Back then, blogs were called “web logs” or “online journals,” although I liked to call them “free therapy.” I fell in love with the platform instantly – the community it created,
“A writer should write with his eyes and a painter paint with his ears.” -Gertrude Stein
Inspiration overload alert. p.s. When I was in college, we would have this fun little event called Pie Day Friday, where we would all bake a homemade pie. When one of my roommates forgot her day, I wrote her an essay on a wipeboard, dedicated to my disappointment in her culinary forgetfulness. The End. Look