Come "Write Yourself Free" with me tomorrow! 9-30-25 (via Zoom)
And a poem for your day
Our next Write Yourself Free class (for paid subscribers) will be held tomorrow, Tuesday, September 30th from 4:00—6:00 PM (PST)
Please know that you can join us & learn about writing practice & do not need to share your writing until you are comfortable sharing. There is absolutely no pressure to share.
NOTE: If you plan to come to this class (and any future “Write Yourself Free” classes via my Substack page) and have not yet written with me, please listen to minute 14—25-ish of our first recording so that you can come to class having a good idea of “the rules” of writing practice (which is really that there aren’t any rules!).
I will spend very little time introducing writing practice in upcoming classes (assuming you have listened to these 10-ish minutes of the recording) so that we are sure to get lots of ink on the page!
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Read more about “Write Yourself Free” here.
If you plan to attend, please RSVP so that I have an idea of numbers & can look forward to you.
The recording will be available shortly after the live event.
Want to come to class but aren’t yet a paid subscriber? Click below to subscribe (and then RSVP above).
NOTE: Each month there will be one “Write Yourself Free” class (via Zoom) in addition to one live class (via Zoom) where I will be having conversations with guest writers (& you are invited to join us!).
Be sure to subscribe so that you will be notified of all future offerings.
To access all past & future replays, click HERE.
And now, a poem for your Monday….
Jotting from my Journal. Day #204 of (mostly unedited) daily writing/sharing.
On the Other Side of Surrender
The yellow jacket buzzes, swarms, irritates. Acorns drop. The dog barks, kicks up dirt, yawns, curls beneath the oak. The woman holds the pen, the pen hovers. The woman sighs and sighs again— she is so hard on herself, her own worst enemy her mother likes to say. The crow screeches much too loudly. The song sparrow soothes. The leaf lets go. The chair holds. The paintbrush dips into the magenta. The hair grays, the aging body aches. The heart breaks. The woman opens the door, decides to hand over the heavy to bigger arms, decides that softness is on the other side of surrender. The world asks so much. The woman rebels, decides to sit here at the kitchen table and do nothing but tell the truth.
Note: (I will now be posting MY DAILY WRITING only on weekdays, rather than 7 days/week)