Light & Love for Weary Souls (and a sale)

Lanterns offers a kind light to weary travelers wishing for companions on the journey toward a well-crafted soul. Stories, poems, and essays offer signposts and gentle guidance, reminding readers that resistance melts away in the company of those who believe in the path set before us. By illuminating the ways we can move outside of our interior reflections into a more inclusive whole, this lovely book provides a way into togetherness that will encourage and inspire anyone longing for authentic connection around their creative work.

~Jen Lemen, artist, activist, dreamer

Last year at this time, I was in the throes of creating Lanterns: A Gathering of Stories. It was a whirlwind adventure in collaborative creation, intense project management, and dream fulfillment. It was my way of honoring and recognizing some of the women who have shined light and love into my life, whose friendships have helped me to unearth who I am, and who have supported my creative endeavours. I wanted to send a piece of this light and love out into the world to other creative souls who may need it.

Now, a year later, it seems like everywhere I turn are intense stories of both loss and hope, woundedness and healing, fear and love. Some days it feels like everyone I know needs an extra blanket for their soul. People all around me are weathering fierce storms, facing seemingly impossible situations, balancing precariously between bravery and despair. Now more than ever, people need some light and love. I wonder if its like that in your corner of the world, too.

I wish I could afford to send a free copy of Lanterns to anyone who needs a little book bursting with beauty and reminders that we are all connected. I can't do that, but I am able to run a little sale between now and December 13 (my birthday). Order by then and save $5 off either the book or the Light & Love package. I know a book can't fix every problem or dry every tear, but I hope it will give you or someone you love a slice of comfort and hope.

As always, a portion of the proceeds will go to Girls Write Now, an New York City nonprofit that helps teenage girls develop their creative, independent voices and explore careers in professional writing.

All the details, including a few sneak peeks and links to the behind-the-scenes of making the book are over here.

Thanks again to these contributors, these friends, these amazing women:

Darlene J Kreutzer
Liz Lamoreux
Jen Lee
Rachelle Mee-Chapman
Lisa Ottman
Jena Strong

What's your writing wish?

My current wishlist of all things writing-related:

• to finish my critical thesis, which sounds like an ugly and scary project, but is full of magic and beauty;
• to write a new batch of sea stories;
• to send a few sea stories out into the world (to literary journals);
• to read and read and read for pure pleasure;
• to dip my toe back into fiction;
• to wade around in poetry for awhile;
• to write here more often; and
• to write a sea story from a cozy beach house overlooking the surf and filled with a community of creative souls. (This wish is coming true in February at a seaside writing retreat. Want to join me?)

What's your writing wish?

Sky, Lighthouse, Umbrella

someone else's yella umbrella, nantucket, summer 2010 (diana f+)

One summer I had a friend who loved the phrase "yellow umbrella,"

Only of course she said, "yella umbrella,"

As one must.

She confessed, this summer friend of mine,

That she bought umbrellas only in yellow.

As one should.

So I, always on the lookout for keen ideas,

Was so taken with this idea that for years, 

I bought only yella umbrellas, too.

Sea Story Snippet: No great lake

Lake Michigan, summer 2007

As I've mentioned, I'm writing a collection of sea stories. (I'm also calling it a lyric memoir about a spiritual journey told through seascapes. But that's a mouthful. So mostly I just say "sea stories.")

This is a sea story snippet, a little peek, a snapshot, a tiny first draft.

 ** ** **

A lake, no matter how great, is no ocean.

I've seen three of the Great Lakes: the choppy little corner of Lake Erie that angles off the chimney at the top of Pennsylvania; Lake Ontario in Canada during my honeymoon to Niagara-on-the-Lake, which is not Niagara Falls; and the vast blue of Lake Michigan where it points down to Chicago. The Erie visit was a quick-stop drive-by just to say I'd seen it. From my vantage point all I saw was a largish lake, but nothing great. I don't remember much about Lake Ontario during my honeymoon. I may have been love drunk. Or wine drunk from all those luscious wineries.

But in Chicago I stood on a pier and stared at the endless blue horizon, willing myself to believe this was just as good as the sea. I thought a Great Lake might be able to fool me, despite my loyalty to the ocean. I wondered if I were a fickle enough lover to find the same sweetness in a landlocked body of water as I find at the open coast. But it's salt I crave, not sweetness. The expanse of blue on blue is enough to lure me in, to make me think that this could be the real deal.

But no. I ache for the rough and tumble, the crash and hiss of water fighting its way in to shore and back to the sea. The lake just sat there, sometimes lapping sweetly at the shoreline or pier. There was no breeze to soothe the humid air. That same soggy air smelled like damp duck feathers, like the down comforter my husband and I bought for our first apartment, the one I had to take back before we ever slept underneath it because all I could say every time I walked into the room was, "It smells like a damn lake in here."

Lakes smell gamey, like decaying waterfowl--a fetid cattail and heron smell. Lakes smell like dead fish with no salt to preserve them. The ocean smells of death too, of crustaceans boiled in the salt sun and left to bake on the sand; of tangled seaweed and jellyfish snarled on shore. Ocean death is briny, sharp with a pleasant tang. Lake death is waterlogged, bloated, like old rubber gone bad. Lakes drain me. But the ocean, she fills me up.

Sea Studio: Pen & Paper (you're invited)

T.S. Eliot called April the cruelest month, but I think it's March, with February being a close second. By February here in the U.S. mid-Atlantic/Northeast, we've had a lot of snow, a lot of cold, and not much sun. People are crabby because the holidays are over and we're all suffering from a Vitamin D deficiency. February is a brittle month full of bad chocolate, that damn groundhog who may or may not see his shadow, and little icy chunks of despair (like dirty snow) that spring will never-ever-don't-you-even-think-of-it come.

But I'm so excited about this coming February.

Porquoi? Let me give you a list:

A Be Present writing retreat,
called Sea Studio: Pen & Paper. (It's such a good name, right?)
A beach house on the Oregon coast.
Time for you, for your very own creative work and dreams.
Time with creative souls in community.
One Ms. Liz Lamoreux who creates retreats full of soul, warmth, and creativity.
The sweet | salty Kate Inglis.
The looks-oh-so fun Christen O. (Olivarez) from Stampington.
And I get to join them as mentors. (whee!)
And you? Will you join us? (I do hope you will.)

This is your invitation to:

• Spend five days on the Oregon coast living within a creative community
• Gather ideas and delve into your own writing projects
• Find the space to hear your creative voice whispering its dreams to you
• Connect with seasoned, supportive mentors about writing, publishing, and living the writing life
• Breathe in the salt air; eat delicious, nutritious meals; and be present to discovering the next step on your path

Registration has just opened, and there are only 20 spots available. So check it out! Sign up! Save me from using another exclamation point!

I'll be offering small group and private sessions at the retreat, as will all of the mentors. So check those out too, because they're packed with creative juice and writing-related goodness.