When my estranged husband and father of my four young children passed away suddenly almost 9 years ago the one thing I heard over and over again was how strong I was. This despite the fact that I stopped eating for the most part, I couldn’t care for my children adequately, and I would spend most days staring out the window of our home.
FROM THE QUILL
DIVE IN
WRITING AS RELEASE
What gives you the right to call yourself an artist? What gives you the courage to put it out there and claim that space? I have always known that I was an artist.
FROM THE QUILL
DIVE IN
prose with purpose
As a child my worst fear was having to introduce myself when meeting someone for the first time. My name always hung on my tongue and wrapped itself all the way down my throat. That suffocation of words, of ideas, of expression continued into adulthood. Most would never know the inner work of a person who suffers with stuttering.
FROM THE QUILL
DIVE IN
WRITING AS RELEASE
Don’t you remember Joy spilling through your clothes when your body spoke to you in rhythms that your ancestors knitted in tight patterns within you? I know I did. Joy was there all along.
