Creative Motivation Alert! Do what you’ve dreamed. You won’t out dream it. Do it. Do it. Do it. I believe there’s a reason you’ve dreamed it. The world needs what only you have deep in your soul. Do it. Do it. Do it. Step forward. There’s a hand in the small of your back. Trust it. Let go of the stuff tangling up your path. This big bad old world needs it…that’s why you’ve been given this dream! Do it. Do it. Tell me you’ll do it.
In the current era where arts and humanities programs are threatened with a hard shove to the sidelines, The Southern Festival of Books: A Celebration of the Written Word is a bold and bright voice booming atop the Nashville landscape. For three days in October, the SFB gathers together book lovers and the nation’s and region’s prominent writers, offering dozens of panels on the writing arts in downtown Nashville. Spalding will debut a booth this year with program advocacy and honoring our writers in mind, including faculty member Silas House and his recent novel, Southernmost, and alum Charles Dodd White with In the House of Wilderness, both featured on the main program, as well as faculty member Jeanie Thompson and alum Juyanne James, who are featured in panel sessions. After a year of researching MFA options, the integrity and depth of the Spalding program and a 45-minute phone call with a […]
I like the idea of having a view from my writing space…but I write better with the blinds closed. No distractions!
Tools for my trade…words that wring the Truth out of the why writers must write, a hand-spun pottery mug from a friend (it has a dent for my thumb), an hourglass with shimmering black sand to keep me on task, a stack of little journals I’ve half filled with ideas and thin places found, and layers of warm sun or moonlight…I can write anywhere, but I’m beginning to love my new spot. Maybe because there’s a balcony beside, and a fireplace and stuffed bookshelves behind me. Oh, and my writing chair is three steps away. None of these make me write, but they are like hands from the forest as I run half-blind down the trail following crumbs. Hmm…come to me, you wee voices and fill my alabaster pages.
Small pleasures…getting lost in a book, buying a new book, getting back in the car from wherever and listening to the next part of an audio book, Facetiming with my granddaughter, reading my daughter’s wise, pithy posts, watching my son’s newest adventure on Instagram, eating outside, standing with my back to a fire, laughing out loud, hearing a Truth that makes me sigh, petting a dog, having a conversation with a child…the silent morning ritual of making coffee, clean hair, a good haircut, a classroom of college students laughing and talking amongst themselves about a story, my Mom’s voice and my Dad’s laugh, a faraway friend’s voice, almond butter…watching a classic movie in an old theater, hiking in the woods, planning a new adventure, eating fresh fruit, doing a TRX handstand, creating something, writing a new scene, starting a new short story, getting an old story published, hanging out with […]
Rise. Draw out from within you what is begging to be created. Is it painting? Is it singing? Is it word weaving or gardening? Photography? Is it child or puppy training? Organizing? Business building? Touching the sick or anguished or old? Coaxing your horse to jump? What is it? What well do you tap to express your inner most? This is where healing begins and our armor is restored, battle after battle. We yearn to create, we heal in our creating, because we are like our Creator. It is in the giving that we find our wonder. For me? It is word weaving. Pulling the threads of thoughts and phrases, images and stories from the deep, shuffling and shaping them until they tremble with something je ne sais quoi. Our words lift us up into our true emerging, shifting selves. Create on.