Breath in. Breath out. She mounted the stairs. Hollow footsteps across the stage eroded her confidence. The air thickened as she approached the center. Then she was there. Sweat sizzled off her skin. Her gut was a kettle. The pressure was building. Weighted silence settled. Breath in. Breath out. Begin.
I've been reluctant to begin this series of essays on religion. Partly because I'm unsure where to start, and partly because I'm unsure how it will end. More the latter, than the former. If this series ends with me saying "I'm an atheist" what will that mean to the people that I love, but who…
Navel gazing. I heard this phrase twice in the past week. It leads me to consider: Is blogging naval gazing? I'd be willing to bet that 90% of all blogs are a bit navel-gazey-ish. This blog definitely is. I write mostly about my own personal journey. I don't engage the audience as much as I…
So this is how writers with young children get their writing done. I was up from 2-4 am with the baby boy. He wore me down like a crashing wave wears down a mountain. Slowly. Relentlessly. Fitting imagery, too, since his sound machine is set to "crashing waves" and I've spent the last 2 hours…
Artful Words to Inspire Everyday Living
Self-discovery & creativity.
frightfully wondrous things happen here.
Poetry & Prose...from Prompts
Learn Something New Daily, Teach What You Love
Raku pottery, vases, and gifts
Putting ideas into words.
Charly Slipp 