Tag: writing

  • Z Is For… Zeroing In, Zippers, and the Quiet Zone

    Z Is For… Zeroing In, Zippers, and the Quiet Zone

    Z arrives like a long exhale — the moment after the work is done, when the tools are put away, the table is cleared, and the studio settles back into itself. It’s the letter of endings, but also of integration. Z is where everything you’ve touched this month finally has a place to land.

    For me, Z is Zeroing In, Zippers, and the Quiet Zone — three ways the end of a creative cycle becomes its own kind of beginning.

    Zeroing In

    There’s a point in every project when the noise falls away. The doubts, the second‑guessing, the “should I do it this way or that way” chatter — it all softens. What’s left is the center of the work, the thing that wanted to be made all along.

    Zeroing in is not about narrowing. It’s about clarity.

    It’s the moment when:

    • the palette becomes obvious
    • the structure reveals itself
    • the next step feels inevitable
    • the work finally says, Here. This is what I am.

    Zeroing in is the gift of staying with something long enough to hear it speak.

    Zippers

    Zippers are tiny marvels — a line of interlocking teeth that hold things together with a single pull. They’re practical, yes, but they’re also symbolic: a way of closing something up so it can be carried, worn, or protected.

    In the studio, zippers remind me that finishing is its own craft.

    A zipper is:

    • the last seam on a bag
    • the closure that makes a garment wearable
    • the moment a project becomes functional
    • the satisfying slide that says, This part is complete

    Zippers are the quiet punctuation marks of making.

    The Quiet Zone

    After a month of steady creative practice, the Quiet Zone feels like a clearing. It’s the space where the work settles, where the body rests, where the mind catches up to what the hands have done.

    The Quiet Zone isn’t empty. It’s spacious.

    It’s where:

    • ideas compost
    • materials breathe
    • the next project begins to whisper
    • you remember why you make things in the first place

    The Quiet Zone is the soft landing that makes the next beginning possible.

    Together

    Zeroing In, Zippers, and the Quiet Zone form a gentle arc:

    • Zeroing In clarifies.
    • Zippers complete.
    • The Quiet Zone restores.

    Z isn’t the end of the alphabet so much as the hinge between cycles — the place where one creative season closes and another quietly begins.

    Today, Z feels like a hand resting lightly on the table. A pause. A breath. A moment of gratitude for the work that carried me here.

    A Question for You

    What part of your creative practice is asking for a quiet closing — or a gentle beginning?

  • X Is For… X‑Acto, Crossings, and eXperiment

    X Is For… X‑Acto, Crossings, and eXperiment

    Some letters arrive with a whisper, and some arrive with a blade. X is the latter — sharp, precise, and full of possibility.

    In the studio, X is the moment where something shifts. It’s the cut that reveals the next layer. It’s the crossing where two paths meet. It’s the experiment that asks, What if I try it this way instead?

    X‑Acto

    There’s a particular sound an X‑Acto knife makes when it moves through paper — a soft, decisive whisper. It’s the sound of commitment. Of choosing a line and following it. Of trusting your hand.

    I love the way an X‑Acto knife demands presence. You can’t rush it. You can’t multitask. You can’t be anywhere except exactly where the blade meets the page.

    It’s a tool that teaches attention.

    And sometimes, that’s all creativity really needs — a single, clean line to follow.

    Crossings

    Crossings are the places where things meet: materials, ideas, moods, seasons. They’re the hinge points in a project — the moment when you realize the thing you thought you were making has become something else entirely.

    Crossings can be:

    • the shift from drafting to stitching
    • the moment a color palette clicks
    • the decision to abandon a plan and follow the work instead
    • the quiet recognition that you’ve outgrown an old way of making

    Crossings are where the work deepens. They’re where you deepen.

    eXperiment

    Experiment is the heart of the studio — the willingness to try, to fail, to try again, to follow curiosity instead of outcome.

    Experiment is:

    • cutting into the “good” paper
    • mixing inks you’re not sure will blend
    • weaving a square on the pin loom just to see what happens
    • choosing texture over perfection
    • letting your hands lead instead of your expectations

    Experiment is the antidote to pressure. It’s the reminder that making is supposed to feel alive.

    Together

    X‑Acto, Crossings, and eXperiment form a kind of creative triad:

    • X‑Acto gives you precision.
    • Crossings give you direction.
    • eXperiment gives you freedom.

    Together, they create the conditions for work that feels honest — work that comes from the body, not the performance of productivity.

    Today, X feels like a doorway. A small, sharp opening into whatever comes next.

    A Question for You

    Where in your creative life are you feeling the pull toward a new crossing or experiment?

  • W Is For… Wool, Workbench, and Weather!

    W Is For… Wool, Workbench, and Weather!

    There are weeks when the studio feels like a refuge, and weeks when it feels like a return. Today, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me, I could feel the shift — the way the air changes when I cross the threshold, the way my shoulders drop, the way my breath remembers itself.

    W is for Wool, Workbench, and Weather — three things that shape my creative life more than I often realize.

    Wool

    Every morning, Michael and I walk past Anthony’s pasture, where the sheep and goats graze in their slow, deliberate rhythm. The sheep always look like they’re thinking ancient thoughts. The goats look like they’re plotting something mildly chaotic. And every time we pass them, I feel that familiar tug toward wool — toward fiber, toward texture, toward the quiet magic of materials that come from living beings.

    Wool is patient. Wool is forgiving. Wool teaches you to slow down.

    There’s something grounding about working with a material that once walked the earth, breathed the same air, watched the same shifting sky. Wool carries weather in it — the memory of rain, the warmth of sun, the scent of pasture. When I spin or knit or felt, I’m not just making something; I’m participating in a lineage of hands and seasons.

    Workbench

    My workbench is the opposite of wool in some ways — solid, structured, unyielding. It’s the place where ideas stop being ideas and start becoming form. The workbench is where I cut, bind, stitch, draft, assemble. It’s where I make decisions. It’s where I commit.

    There’s a particular kind of clarity that only arrives when my hands are on the tools. The workbench doesn’t care about perfection. It cares about presence. It asks me to show up as I am — tired, inspired, overwhelmed, curious — and it meets me there.

    Some days the workbench is a landing place. Some days it’s a launching pad. Some days it’s simply a witness.

    But it’s always the anchor of the studio.

    Weather

    And then there’s the weather — the ever‑shifting backdrop to everything I make. Living here means the sky is a collaborator. The light changes by the hour. The air carries moods. The rain has its own vocabulary.

    Weather shapes my energy, my pace, my materials. A gray morning invites wool. A bright afternoon pulls me toward paper and ink. A storm makes me want to rearrange the studio entirely.

    Weather reminds me that creativity isn’t a machine. It’s a climate. It moves. It changes. It asks for different things on different days.

    Together

    Wool, workbench, and weather form a kind of creative ecosystem:

    • Wool teaches softness and patience.
    • Workbench offers structure and form.
    • Weather brings movement and mood.

    Together, they remind me that my creative life is not separate from my daily life — it’s woven into it. It’s in the morning walks past the sheep. It’s in the way the light falls across the table. It’s in the rhythm of my hands on the tools.

    Today, W feels like a return to myself.

    What materials, spaces, or weather patterns shape your creative rhythm these days?

  • M Is For… Making / Materials / Memory

    M Is For… Making / Materials / Memory

    Making is the heartbeat of my studio practice. It’s not just the finished object — it’s the slow accumulation of gestures, textures, and choices that turn raw materials into something with presence. M is a three‑part theme for me: Making, Materials, and Memory, because in my world, they’re inseparable.

    Making

    Making is the act of showing up with your hands, your breath, your curiosity. It’s the moment when the idea in your head becomes something you can touch. It’s not always tidy. It’s not always linear.

    But it’s always alive.

    • Making is the pause between inhale and exhale.
    • Making is the moment your hands know something your brain doesn’t yet.
    • Making is the quiet ritual of returning to yourself through craft.

    Some days it’s a full project.

    Some days it’s one stitch.

    Both count.

    Materials

    I’ve always believed materials have personalities. Wool has opinions. Paper has moods. Thread remembers tension. Tools carry the imprint of every hand that’s held them.

    Materials aren’t passive — they’re collaborators.

    • Wool stretches or resists depending on your touch.
    • Cloth shifts under the needle like it has its own breath.
    • Ink pools differently depending on humidity, pressure, and intention.
    • Wood grain guides your hand if you’re willing to listen.

    Working with materials is a conversation.

    Sometimes they whisper.

    Sometimes they argue.

    Sometimes they surprise you.

    Memory

    Every object in the studio holds a story.

    A scrap of fabric from a dress you loved.

    A spool of thread from your grandmother’s sewing box.

    A tool you bought during a season when you needed something steady to hold.

    Memory lives in:

    • the way your hands move
    • the habits you return to
    • the projects you abandon and resurrect
    • the textures that feel like home

    Making is a way of remembering.

    Materials are the archive.

    Your body is the storyteller.

    Closing invitation

    I like ending ACN posts with a gentle question, so here’s today’s:

    What materials hold memory for you — fabric, paper, wood, yarn, metal, something else entirely?

  • J Is For… Journals / Joy / Joining!

    J Is For… Journals / Joy / Joining!

    Journals are the quiet keepers of a creative life. Not the polished kind — not the curated spreads or the perfect handwriting — but the lived‑in notebooks with ink‑blotted corners, taped scraps, half‑formed ideas, and the soft spine that remembers your hands. I’ve kept a journal since 1984, and daily since 1995 — a long, quiet thread running through every version of my creative life. Journals are where the raw material gathers. They hold the questions, the sketches, the spells, the lists, the moments you weren’t ready to say out loud yet. They are the studio’s memory.

    Joy is the spark that makes the work feel alive. Not the loud, performative kind — the small, steady joy that arrives when the pen moves smoothly, when the color lands just right, when the thread pulls through the fabric with that satisfying whisper. Joy is the warmth that rises when you realize you’re not forcing anything. You’re simply here, making, breathing, being.

    Joining is the subtle magic that happens when your inner world meets the page. It’s the moment when intuition flows into ink, when thought becomes gesture, when the studio becomes a place of connection rather than isolation. Joining is not about merging with others — it’s about aligning with yourself. It’s the soft click of recognition: yes, this is mine; yes, this belongs.

    Journals teach us to witness ourselves. Joy teaches us to stay open. Joining teaches us to trust the thread that runs through it all.

    Where does your creative life feel most alive — in the pages you fill, the joy you follow, or the moments when everything quietly joins together?

  • Gone Visiting! I\’m Over At Delilah Devlin\’s Today, Come Join Me!

    Gone Visiting! I\’m Over At Delilah Devlin\’s Today, Come Join Me!

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    Come join me over at Delilah\’s Blog!

    My friend Delilah Devlin has a terrific blog where she shares her journey with art, writing, and cancer, as well as hosting writing friends. I’m tickled pink to be invited back today, where I get to share some thoughts about writing. I’m talking about writing when the well feels low — and how creativity can still meet you there.

    Come on by!

  • E Is For… Embodied Practice!

    E Is For… Embodied Practice!

    Tonight I slipped into pajamas, iced my knee, and felt my body exhale. Embodied practice, for me, begins in these small moments — the ones where I remember that creativity lives in the body first.

    I forget, sometimes, that writing isn’t just a brain activity — it’s a full‑system experience. My nervous system has opinions about noise, about pacing, about pressure. My knee has opinions about how long I sit. My breath has opinions about how fast I move.

    Embodied practice, for me, is the moment I remember that my body is part of the studio. That the work isn’t separate from the vessel that makes it. That the story I finished tonight didn’t just come from my mind — it came from my chest, my breath, my hands, my whole self.

    And when I finally listened, when I iced my knee and let myself settle, something in me unclenched. The story landed. My body landed. I landed.

    So tonight I’m asking myself — and you — a simple question:

    What does your body need in order to create?

    Maybe it’s water. Maybe it’s quiet. Maybe it’s movement. Maybe it’s rest.

    Whatever it is, it counts. It matters. It’s part of the practice.

  • B Is For… Belonging!

    B Is For… Belonging!

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    Belonging isn’t something I wait for anymore. It’s something I build — slowly, deliberately, the way you build a studio you can actually breathe in.

    In my world, belonging starts as sanctuary: a place where your nervous system unclenches, where you don’t have to perform, where your creativity can arrive without apology. A place that feels like coming home to yourself.

    But belonging is also permission. Permission to take up space. Permission to make things that aren’t perfect. Permission to follow the thread of your own curiosity instead of someone else’s expectations. Permission to be weird, tender, ambitious, contradictory — and still welcome.

    And most of all, belonging is a practice. A rhythm. A ritual. A way of returning to yourself again and again, even on the days you feel scattered or small. It’s the candle you light, the playlist you trust, the notebook you keep reaching for. It’s the quiet agreement you make with yourself: I get to be here.

    In the studio — and in the life I’m building — belonging isn’t earned. It’s cultivated.

    What does Belonging mean to you?

  • Mail Bag Monday – Postcrossing Update!

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    Happy 2025, Dear Reader!

    I wanted to share a little about what I\’ve been doing penpal-wise. It\’s a hobby that brings me great joy and I am excited to get back to it, and be a part of bringing good into the world.

    I was thinking about it the other day, and wanted to share what I wrote on my Postcrossing bio with you here. I think there\’s cause for hope, even in dark times, and I hope my words bring  you some small measure of it:

    As 2025 begins, I am filled with hope and concern. Hope, because many people with whom I talk see the same challenges I do and are committed to making the world a better place. Concern because World War III is still going in Ukraine and the risk of it spreading terrifies me. My heart breaks for the people affected. My own country is engaged in a battle for the hearts and minds of our people against the forces of fascism, a fight both of my grandfathers fought in World War II more than eight-five years ago. I am glad they aren’t alive to see what we have done to ourselves and yet, I wish they were here to guide me and to tell me it will be okay. Each generation has to fight for democracy, and this is our fight. I pray that we are up to the challenge.
     

    This I know: community is what will get us through this, as will mindfulness and creativity. Community is what reminds us we have more in common than not, and that we can come together in common respect and admiration when we remember the person on the “other side” is a person just like us, with a family and community for whom they care deeply. We have more collective power than we think we do. May we remember our power and exercise it for the good of all, and remind the greedy and the power-hungry that the world is not theirs for the taking. Slava Ukraini.
     

    My husband and I live on a small homestead outside the town of Duvall, WA, in the Pacific Northwest. We are a couple hours south of the Canadian border. My day job is in the insurance industry and by night, I write novels. I joined Postcrossing because it’s important to me to put good out into the world. In a time of great uncertainty and global unrest, not to mention environmental cataclysm, putting good into the world, however small, means something.
     

    I am an avid textile artist and love to weave, knit, and make things. Our puppy Freya is now four and her brother Loki is three. Two of our cats, Boria and Nadya, died within a couple weeks of each other at the end of 2023, just as I got a total left knee replacement and my job blew up. 2024 presented many opportunities for growth. I have a new job now, thank the powers, and two kittens joined us in January of 2024: Yulia and Yelena. Our oldest cat, Kolya, is going strong.
     

    In May, our first granddaughter Julia was born. We don’t see her as often as we’d like, they live in Florida, 5,000 kilometres (about 3,000 miles) from us. She’s teething now and keeps my son on his toes. She is, of course, the most beautiful baby anywhere in the world. (Don’t all grandparents say that?)
     

    If you’re not sure what to write, try:

    • What is a typical day like in your life?
    • What is your favorite thing to do?
    • If I were a tourist in your town, what would you recommend I see first?
    • What do you want to be when you grow up?
    • What do you do to relax and unwind?
    • What does “nesting” mean to you, in terms of one’s home?
    • What’s the worst advice you were ever given?

    Are you part of Postcrossing? If not, check them out. It\’s a lot of fun to connect with people from all over the world, and to know that there are real people out there with lives and mailboxes.

    • I joined in June of 2020, right at the height of the pandemic, because I was really struggling with depression and isolation. 19 postcards sent, 12 received.
    • 2021: 64 sent, 70 received.
    • 2022: 22 sent, 23 received.
    • 2023: 67 sent, 60 received.
    • 2024: 28 sent, 35 received.
    • 2025: 6 sent, 5 received; however, I have 13 out \”traveling\” as we speak so this will change as the year goes on.

    Write on!

  • I Won’t Let You Break Me

    You’re not the first narcissist I’ve dealt with.

    You won’t be the last.

    And like the song says, you probably think this is about you,

    But it’s not. It’s about me.

    I am strong enough to weather your storm.

    You are nothing more than the wind outside my tent.

    Sometimes hurricanes cause great damage and destruction,

    But they are not us. They are outside of us.

    As you are. As you remain. As it is.

    And so it is.

    I remind myself of my strength.

    I remind myself that my hurt parts who want to respond to you

    Are the lost children of my history that is long and filled with monsters.

    But history is not destiny, and I won’t let you break me;

    Just as she could not break me – and you are nothing near to her.

    You are a petulant child, like another petulant child flinging ketchup at the wall.

    I actually feel sorry for you, when I’m not in the storm of your abuse.

    Your life is hollow, and will remain so.

    The hole you seek to fill by destroying others will remain stubbornly empty.

    And that is Justice.

    I will not let you break me.

    I am not food for your maw.

    I am not fuel for your conflagration.

    I am not sustenance for your starvation.

    I am not yours.

    I claim my power, back from all times and places, from all timelines and commitments,

    Back from all soul contracts entered into consciously or unconsciously.

    I call myself back to myself,

    Into my body, my holy vessel with which I interact and experience this world.

    My body is not yours. My mind is not yours. My spirit is not yours.

    And my breaking is not for you to accomplish.

    Any breaking that will happen here will be me, breaking the bindings you have tried to forge over me.

    I release you. I forgive myself for believing your myth.

    I forgive myself for wanting connection with you who are incapable of it.

    I forgive myself for not somehow psychically knowing what you were about before you showed your hand.

    I forgive myself for wanting to be one of your in crowd.

    I forgive myself for wanting anything from you.

    I release myself from any bondage or commitment to you.

    I reclaim my own power and destiny from you.

    I call back the power I gave you and put it rightfully back into myself.

    For I am strong. I am resilient.

    And you will not break me.

  • J Is For… Just Write It! (aka Following One\’s Own Advice)

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    So. It\’s the 12th. Of April.

    Yeah, I noticed that too. It was the 6th of April like five minutes ago. Oof.

    Here\’s what I tell others when they say to me during a challenge, \”But I\’m so beehiiinnnd!!!\” I say, \”So start with where you are!\”

    What does that mean for me today?

    Well, for a start, it means posting on the blog. I checked my Postcrossing stats, just to see where I was on sending out cards – my goal is to have all cards out at all times, and last time I checked I still had four out – and it turns out I\’m behind there, too:

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    This is what it looks like once you sign up for an account on Postcrossing. (If you\’re interested, you can click the image and I have it set up to take you straight there). When you start out, you only get a few cards to send, but as you send more and others note they\’ve received them, then your send count goes up.

    I\’ll grab my postcard stash and request an address, and then work through the list one at a time. I once selected six at the same time and then got busy, and couldn\’t write them in a timely fashion; I don\’t do that now. I pull the address when I am sitting in front of my postcards so I can send them right away.

    How many of you are already in Postcrossing?

    If you\’re not into it yet, would you like to know more about it?

    Let me know in the comments!

    Write on!

  • E Is For… Easter Cards!

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    I love getting non-bill mail. One of my favorite things to do, is to find offbeat holidays and send cards to my friends and family. Even if you don\’t practice Christianity, the Easter holiday here in the States has become a secular celebration of Spring. We have the Easter Bunny, decorated eggs, chocolates, Easter baskets, and best of all, CARDS.

    You can find inexpensive Easter cards at the dollar store and big box stores. You can find special fancy cards at the fancy card shops. You can find handmade and unique artist cards on shops like Etsy or at local small stores that specialize in gifts or unusual things. You might even find that your community supports artist collective shops where you can go in and see products produced by multiple different local artisans. You can even just use regular paper in an envelope and a stamp – it doesn\’t have to be fancy to say, \”I\’m thinking about you and wish you well.\”

    I need to go find my cards, pardon me. 🙂

    Happy writing!