Old family secrets and sacrifices have kept her and her wildlife rehabilitation center safe. Until now. A fawn is rescued, a bitey little thing, who chewed her way out of her mother’s womb, and the town becomes set on finding and eliminating the fawn born with a full set of teeth.

They also want Tess’s refuge to be destroyed to make way for a church that is far more like a cult. She won’t let that happen and goes to every effort to protect the fawn too.

I don’t usually read horror, and I don’t delve into stories where the devil is concerned. However, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and I am glad I did.

C. N. Vair’s writing is exquisite. It is full of gorgeous (and gruesome, as is expected in folk-horror tales) imagery. Her love of nature and animals shines through in her descriptions and her devotion to protecting them. The writing is stunning and evocative; a page-turner. I found myself surprised throughout in the twists and turns of the story, and smiling in places of well-written, perfectly-placed, dark humor.

It isn’t all about a cute little bitey deer though. There are dark forces at work and shocking secrets revealed.

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While it may not be for everyone, those who take the leap and read C. N. Vair’s prose will likely be delighted by the fresh and compelling ways in which the story is told, in the gorgeous imagery and descriptions of the natural world, in the character development of the protagonist and her relationship with the fawn. I certainly was.

Overall, this was such an engaging read that I would recommend it to fans of the horror genre, and to others looking to read writing that is fresh, crisp and evocative.

Thank you to Berkley, an imprint of Random House, LLC, for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are, of course, my own.

Available now for pre-order: The Devil Knows Her Name by C. N. Vair

With a twist.

It made me wonder a couple of things. One, if we had to repeat the same day over and over – what IDEAL day would we want to experience? What would that day look like, and feel like? What would we spend our ideal time and precious energy doing? Who would we spend it with? Why would our choices make it the IDEAL day?

Punxsutawney Phil’s job is to make a prediction about the weeks ahead. This year he predicted six more weeks of winter.

My question for us to ponder is…what do we predict, and determine, about the weeks ahead for ourselves, and for our writing?

Will we put our effort into being focused on our writing projects and practice? Will we keep our promise to ourselves?

Those future weeks will pass anyway, whether we work toward our goals or not.

When those six weeks are in our rearview mirror, what will we have accomplished? What do you want to accomplish? What will best serve you and your writing practice? What action steps will you take to succeed?

What makes you feel afraid about setting a goal and working toward it, consistently, for the next six weeks? What are the roadblocks you usually set up for yourself when you decide to pursue your dream?

What are you willing to give up in pursuit of what really matters?

What works for you? What strategies and steps have worked for you in the past when you went after a goal?

We are all here to support each other. We can absolutely look back over those six weeks and say, “I am so proud of myself, I was not deterred or distracted. I accomplished the goal I set.”

In A Writing Room, tomorrow is the official kickoff for Book Camp 02 (2026). It is an intense six-week workshop designed to inspire us to set achievable, measurable goals for our works-in-progress, with small group meetups to help hold us accountable.

I invite you to give a lot of thought to it today. What do you want to accomplish over the next six weeks? A specific number of words written? Or a number of pages written? Or a number of hours spent each week immersed in your writing practice?

It’s up to you, it’s up to each of us, to decide and refine that goal.

Then calmly, with determination and focus, get to work to achieve it.

You can absolutely do it. If I can, trust me, you can!

“Do it every day for a while…do it as you would do scales on the piano. Do it by prearrangement with yourself. Do it as a debt of honor. And make a commitment to finishing things.” ~ Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

Legitimate law enforcement would never handle a situation in that manner. They would never conceal their identity unless working undercover. They would wear badges, carry identification, have name patches on uniforms that matched those of their brothers and sisters in their department. Nor would they shoot someone in the back, after that person’s weapon had been removed – a weapon that was never brandished or unholstered, and certainly, after there was no longer a threat. Legitimate law enforcement would have immediately rendered aid.

That is not who committed the most recent atrocity in Minneapolis, the killing of Alex Pretti, an ICU nurse who cared for our American Veterans.

After many hours of shock and horror, my mind turned to upcoming events. Specifically, to the Silent Writing session I was booked to host in A Writing Room the following Monday morning.

How would I, how could I possibly, help my cohort, my colleagues, my friends as we all processed and grieved another unnecessary, 100% preventable loss of life?

How could we quiet our minds and emotions enough to be able to settle into our creativity, our writing?

The emotions and questions of my heart were a rerun.

The previous Monday, the world was grieving the murder of Renee Good, a poet, wife and mother, in Minneapolis. We all saw that video too: shocked and horrified. The administration then set about in a flurry of lies in an effort to change the narrative, to gaslight the world into thinking that we could not believe what we had seen with our own eyes.

The energy in the Zoom room reflected the distress and sadness and rage that we were, and are, feeling.

How did we pivot from despair to being able to write?

We acknowledged the reality of what we were feeling and the events that occurred. We reminded each other that writing is our way of pouring hope into the world.

Writing and sharing our work is a crucial way that we can help.

We took a few deep breaths, to shift from Flight-Fight or Freeze states into a calmer, more embodied, Ventral Vagal state of being.

Then we wrote together, in silence, in Community, for the next hour.

As we spent that time together, our nervous systems gradually regulated. Not everyone wrote. Some edited their works-in-progress, some did research, some brainstormed, some may have walked their dog, washed the dishes, folded the laundry, or simply rested. The important thing is that we were together.

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By being together, we all rested and reset.

The emotions that were stuck, down deep, in our bodies, were freed up to receive healing. Our creative energy swirled together like fresh water from a river flows into the salt water of the sea: cloudy, murky, unbalanced at first. But soon, blended and harmonious. A trickle at first. But building, swirling, growing into a gorgeous powerful creative crescendo.

It felt like the hour passed faster than possible, because we were deeply immersed in being together in healing Community. The timer sounded. The energy of the room felt lighter. It was also visible on each face – the hour in safety and solace was the balm we needed on those two mornings.

It wasn’t me. It was the nourishing power of creative Community. It was the willingness of each writer to lay their burdens to the side to connect and support each other through a rough time, to do what we can.

It is the exponential creative power that builds every time we gather. It is more than each of us, and all of us combined.

I signed off that day with immense gratitude for each writer and for A Writing Room. That is one way we are getting through this difficult time in history.

I pray we never have to face another Monday so full of anguish. However, if the need arises, I know that creative Community will rise to the occasion, open hearts, and reach out across the world to hold each other tight in our virtual arms.

We will keep writing, sharing, and using our voices to bring deep healing to ourselves, and to each other.

As our chair yoga instructor Bobbi asks often: “Where will love lead us today?

Love is the source of creativity and healing. Community multiplies that love and makes it possible for us to share it with our world.

Where will love lead us today?

What will we write today?

What will we share today, and with whom?

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The days pass by in a fog: brain fog.

Plans for big goals have fallen by the wayside out of necessity. Multiple Sclerosis, Type II Diabetes, and Reynaud’s are demanding my attention. I prefer to focus on fun stuff, but the fun has to wait. I have to be patient. I have to recover. I am still learning to pace myself, which is a huge challenge for me.

Before this season of recalibration, I was already exhausted. That is my baseline. I operate from there every day. Neurological fatigue is a beast. It is overwhelming. It does not resemble being tired. It is debilitating. A good night’s sleep seldom means that I will wake up feeling rested. Each morning is a battle to gain any mental clarity, any energy or enthusiasm, at all.

I can tell when it is neurological fatigue ramping up to drag me down because I stop doing things that I love and that are meaningful to me: Morning Pages, reading, cooking, walking, yoga, writing, and even reaching out to loved ones. Every single thing I must do each day feels monumental and impossible.

It isn’t easy to explain. When it first hit me like a train in 2003, my goals, our goals, were quickly derailed. I could no longer work. I became disabled.

Before: After an hour-long commute, I worked out at the gym for an hour each day, worked a 60-hour week, still had energy to cook, clean, and play hard when I got back home.

After: No more gym. No more work, after several weeks of having to sleep on my office floor for hours just to be able to commute back home. No work accomplished between my arrival and departure. I tried so hard.

If it had not happened to me, I would not have been able to understand what it might be like for someone else. I get it when people don’t understand it.

I have been healing and recovering my creativity the past couple of years. Part of that process, for me, has been becoming better at observing, of noting the beautiful, difficult, large and tiny occurrences that compose a creative life.

Despite all of the health challenges of the past several weeks, I noticed that it is still possible to be creative, to accomplish goals, to carry positive momentum forward. I had to adjust my goals, and my activities, to match my severe lack of energy. Many days felt like I was trying to think through quicksand-like cognition. Many days I accomplished absolutely nothing.

But…I still finished formatting my 1^st book and readied it for publication. I recovered from the injuries of two falls. I advocated for myself with my medical team to try new treatment in the form of Vestibular Therapy, and I made it to those appointments. I hunted down a 3T MRI machine for 2 upcoming scans, and fought to be sure I get my imaging done in the machine that my neurology team wants for best results. I returned to leading Silent Writing sessions at A Writing Room. And I walked the dogs in sunshine today, remaining vertical the whole way.

Each day, I love. I laugh. And today, finally, I am writing here again: scrambled, clunky, hesitant. But mission accomplished.

Baby steps equal momentum. All is not lost.

Baby steps are all I have been able to do, and some of those steps have landed me flat on my face on the sidewalk. There are more health challenges ahead. But, with the support of my hubby, I am able to get back up, laugh it off, take whatever actions are within our control, and take more baby steps forward.

Persistence pays off. If I can slog through, I’m convinced that you can too. You conquer your fears and challenges every day, just like I do.

The good news is that we aren’t in it alone. We have each other.

What is the next baby step you will take to further your dreams and goals?

It said it was International Wombat Day! Cool. New fun fact.

What do I know about wombats? Nothing, except their hilarious name. Say it three times in a row without laughing, I dare you. I double-wombat dare you.

I clicked to learn more.

Writers, you know how easy it is to “squirrel,” to get distracted from the planned task at hand? Turns out, wombats can have the same effect. I found myself down the rabbit hole of research.

The research made me laugh. My distracted mind started to make correlations between us, Writers, and wombats.

Here’s what I found.

They are sort of egg shaped with short legs. I can relate to both, but especially the short legs. There are chairs that make it impossible for my feet to reach the floor. If a wombat sat in a chair, she would have the same problem.

This made me think about our powers of observation and description. Are we short-legged, I mean, short-sighted, in our observations at times? I’m sure I am. In my day-to-day life, I can get tunnel vision and miss out on so much around me. Situational awareness is a vital skill that we all need to continue to work on. Tunnel vision works great for wombats, not so much for Writers.

Yes, I know, I hear you saying, “Hey, Jacque, the word Writers shouldn’t be capitalized there.”

True. But I wrote awhile back about how important it is for us to claim our identities as Writers in Community With a Capital "C". A friend suggested that we capitalize it and claim it. I agree. I also capitalize the word Community, because of the importance of it for Writers.

I’ve gone rogue and feral with the capitalization of those two words. No regrets. No apologies. And no edits. As my niece said recently about how often she cleans and conditions her lovely leather couches, “I do what I want.” 😁 Her words made me smile. I am so proud of her for so many reasons. When it comes to capitalizing Writers, and Community, I do what I want.

Wombats have staying power. All mammals mark their territory in some way. Wombats have taken it to a stellar level. Their droppings are cube shaped so that they don’t roll away. When a wombat claims space for themselves, it sticks. They are tenacious and determined.

Writers, we can learn from that. We can be bold and resilient in claiming our space too: in our Communities, in our words, and on the page. When we set a goal for ourselves, we can remain determined to keep that firmly in place, top of mind, and be unwavering in our knowing we will have a successful result.

Wombats have teeth that grow continually. To keep their teeth healthy, they have to chew on tough stuff like roots and bark.

We grow continually too. Our endless curiosity and longing for adventure keep us learning, changing and honing our minds, hearts, and writing chops.

It’s important that we keep chewing on the things that make us wonder, things that challenge us, and work to toughen us up in the areas that will make us more resilient.

We need to gnaw on the knowledge and practices that make it possible for us to objectively consider feedback and critique, which are vital for us to become even better Writers.

Wombats are super fast! They can run up to 25 miles per hour to escape, or charge at, predators.

Writers need to be speedy too. We need to be able to pivot when a sentence or scene is not working. We need to be able to formulate ideas on the fly as we are writing. And we need to be fierce in protecting our boundaries and in making our inner critic back off.

Wombats have a backward-facing pouch. Creation is a wonder for me. I am continually in awe when it comes to nature. This pouch seems ridiculous until you consider its purpose. It is designed to keep dirt out when wombats are burrowing. The pouch keeps the joey safe, and clean, while their mom goes about her important business.

What if we turned our imaginary pouches around, made them backward-facing, to keep out the dirt of negativity, procrastination, the voice of the inner critic (the inner bully that has NO business talking to us), or any off-the-mark feedback we receive? What if we kept our inner joey safe and happy by adopting a mindset of treating ourselves with lovingkindness? I am up to the challenge! Will you please join me?

Wombats have a super power, it is their rear end. That’s right. Their booty. It is designed with extra tough cartilage, skin and fur. To protect themselves, they dive headfirst into their burrow and block the entrance with their tough rump. They’ll even swing it around to hit an attacker while they rush to their burrow.

This fun fact had me howling with laughter because an image came to mind of us Writers, flinging our resilient rumps around, bouncing negativity, procrastination, the inner bully, and unwanted feedback off of us left and right. Can you imagine? 😅

We can develop a toughness like the super strong cartilage in the rump of a wombat, while keeping our hearts and minds tender. We can develop the resilience to overcome anything, or anyone, who tries to distract or deter us. Anyone, including ourselves. 🎯

We must develop that resilience.

Our words, our stories are too important to allow anything, or anyone, to get in the way. The world needs our words - desperately.

Writers have a superpower. It is our ability to feel, to care, and to formulate, curate, and translate those feelings and ideas into words on the page that touch the hearts and minds of our readers.

Our readers are waiting.

YOUR readers are waiting.

It’s time to write, share, and repeat, repeat, repeat.

• Take a heaping cup of Community (with a capital “C”), your creative Community, full of nourishment and shared courageousness.

• Optional: Add up to 1/16 teaspoon of current events - maximum. No one’s soul can stand more than that.

• Mix and marinate useful information in your mind - ideas, thoughts, words of hope and healing.

• Strain out all damaging drivel.

• Read vastly and voraciously - immerse yourself in learning about your craft.

• Inhale hope in large quantities. Inhale hope again. And again. And again.

• Write voraciously. Keep your hand moving across the page, you are writing history. Your story matters. Your words matter. You matter.

• Exhale negativity and toxins. You are not a vessel created to hold damning and damaging falsehoods.

• Rest

• Rise.

• Write again. And again. And again. And again.

The goal felt doable. It is something I’ve wanted to accomplish for a long while.

How hard can it be? The pieces are already written, edited, and published. Easy-peasy. Right?! 😁😅

In A Writing Room, the writing community where I am a member and a volunteer (aka My Happy Home Away From Happy Home), we just finished up Editing Camp, an intense weeks-long workshop where we learned to give feedback, and learned to receive feedback. We had the opportunity to be paired up with an editing partner (I won the lottery - my partner is wonderful).

I quickly learned that to write well, edit well, and be read with understanding, I have to throw assumptions aside. I cannot assume what the reader knows.

It is my job to communicate what I’d like the reader to know when reading my work.

Refer a friend

My editing partner helped me learn this by asking questions about each piece. She illuminated places where I’d assumed that the reader would have the same knowledge that I have.

For the book project, it became clear that I have more writing to do, to fill in the places where I have not communicated my knowledge effectively, and in a way that answers the question:

What do I want the reader to know?

This is a question I learned to ask during Editing Camp. It is powerful. It is now part of my writing practice.

I clearly have more writing to do to fill in the information that will make the pieces more clear for readers. With more writing will come more editing.

It will take more time. I may not reach my goal of publishing my book by the end of the year.

In AWritingRoom.com, we are now enjoying Pub Club, a step-by-step multi-week workshop where author Jennifer Newcomb is teaching us how to create a book cover, format pages, and do each task needed to self-publish our books by the end of the year.

I could still compile everything as-is, and hit that goal. Or I can adjust my timeline, and create the book I really want to publish. Abandoning my book is not an option.

It’s more likely that I will publish this book next year. And I am happy about that.

I am grateful that I get to write, to be in community with wonderful writers, and to have the option to self-publish.

It is a wonderful time to be a writer!

What about this year? My adjusted goal is to publish a couple of the standalone pieces as booklets that I can share with animal shelters and rescue organizations. I consider that a win.

What do you do when you hit a bump in the writing/publishing road? How do you handle the emotions that come with realizing a shift needs to be made? What does your self-talk sound like?

Let’s have a conversation about pivoting and adjusting when needed, without traumatizing ourselves with negative emotions and self-talk.

I’ll meet you in the comments. Thank you for reading and interacting. Let’s enjoy this writing life!

I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 2004. The disabling symptoms hit me like a train in the fall of 2003. Once able to hit the gym (an hour’s commute away) at 5:00 a.m., workout hard, get ready for work, arrive at the office by 7:30 for our mindset meeting to kickoff the workday, put in 8-12 hours, commute home, fix dinner, clean up afterward and prepare for the next one…I suddenly could not.

First, I skipped the gym. That gave me an extra two hours to sleep. Next, I skipped the meeting, which removed the structure from my work day, but gave me a little more time.

I arrived at the office whenever I could get there. Many hours later than normal.

I would walk in, so exhausted I couldn’t think straight, head for my office, close the blinds and the door and collapse into deep sleep on the floor. Hours passed before I could wake up and face the commute home. No work accomplished. Just an uncomfortable, and unavoidable, nap on the cold floor.

People started asking if I was okay. I was definitely not okay.

Doctor after doctor did not have answers for me. One jackass went so far as to say I was fat, therefore, of course I was exhausted. I knew he was dead wrong. But in my desperation, I tried to follow his recommendations to exercise more. By that point, it was futile. I could barely get dressed and going for the day. A shower often left me unconscious and in bed for hours afterward. Showers still do sometimes.

I was a Realtor with an Associate Broker’s license. I was committed to my clients and my career. Once a full-time, energetic pursuit, my career was now on life support, in full death rattle mode.

One day, I met friends and clients at a house. It was summertime-hot outside. The house was vacant. The air conditioner was off. The heat in the house was sweltering. It was dangerous for me, and, I realized that day, deadly for my career. All of the years, education and experience were no match.

I became terribly ill going from my air conditioned car into the hot air outside and into the even hotter interior of the house. I was quickly overcome by the heat and started losing my ability to think, to speak, to command my legs and body to function properly.

I rushed out of the house and back into my car, with the air conditioner turned up on high. Thankfully, my clients were understanding. I still feel like I let them down that day. Maybe that is because there was such finality and fear involved.

Would I ever be able to work again?

No.

My body no longer regulates temperature, and temperature changes, properly - a common symptom.

I’d made an appointment with the top neurologist locally. It was months away. I’d called and cancelled it in a moment of despair.

I saw another neurologist closer to home. He ordered MRIs of my brain and spine. He’d performed two spinal taps. He suspected Multiple Sclerosis. The MRIs showed a large lesion in the front part of my brain, on the left side.

The last time I saw him is vivid in my memory. We stood in the hallway of his office, his Nurse Practitioner near. “So what do I do now?” I implored, after he told me I had one big lesion, but offered no diagnosis or treatment. I was SO desperate for help.

He shrugged his shoulders. That’s all.

My career was over, my health was in shambles, and all he could offer was a shoulder shrug? I was furious! And too tired to express how I felt, or do anything about it.

I noticed a look of disdain on the face of the Nurse Practitioner. She knew something she couldn’t tell me. That was unsettling, and somehow hopeful.

A few days later, the other neurologist’s office called to remind me about my appointment.

“What appointment?”

Call it a miracle, call it God tending to my needs after hearing my cries, call it a human error, call it whatever you’d like. But when I cancelled the appointment, it did not get removed from the schedule.

Within days, I was being evaluated by the top expert in treating people with Multiple Sclerosis. The only thing I had energy for was gratitude. I felt God’s loving care for me. I am not religious, but I am spiritual. My heart is full of thanks.

Right there, in the first appointment, he diagnosed me with Multiple Sclerosis.

“The other neurologist said I couldn’t have MS, because I only have one lesion.”

He looked gravely concerned. He asked who that was again, as he searched my chart for the name.

When I told him, the color drained from his face. “I just hired him to work in the neurology department at the hospital.”

“Don’t let him anywhere near your MS patients,” I warned.

“No worries. I will be sure of that. And I’ll be sure to have a pointed discussion with him. You may not get all of your function back because you have not been treated in all of this time. We will infuse you today with a mega dose of steroids and see if we can stop this exacerbation. You have Multiple Sclerosis. The old diagnostic guidelines required the presence of more than one lesion to be diagnosed with MS. That is no longer the case.”

“You mean I could have been feeling better all these months, nearly a year?” I was incredulous. But too exhausted to really think about it.

“Yes. I’m so sorry you’ve been suffering.”

While we waited for an infusion chair to open up, he sent us to lunch. As I walked out of his office, I saw the Nurse Practitioner from the previous neurologist’s office, the one who eyed him with disdain when he shrugged me off. She had just joined the MS Clinic. I was so happy to see her. I later asked her about that day.

“It was so obvious that you have MS. I was so upset that he left you hanging. I was powerless to override him and I feel terrible about that,” she explained.

I don’t know if I responded. But she has seen me as a patient several time since and I am thankful for her care for me. She is well-educated and committed to making the lives of patients better.

At lunch that day, I remember being too weak to cut my food. My husband had to do that for me. A first. He also had to take some deep breaths at the news that forever altered our lives.

My reaction to the news of the diagnosis was relief. Knowing the diagnosis meant treatment was possible.

My heart hurts for those MS Warriors who went before me, during the time when no disease-modifying treatments were available. Their suffering does not escape me.

We returned from lunch. I was given a massive dose of Solu-medrol via IV.

My MS journey, post-diagnosis, began.

It has been over 20 years since that day. I have been on 3 different disease modifying drugs. The first two, seldom prescribed now, came with side-effects that made me feel worse. It is hard to give yourself an injection each week that makes you feel like you have the flu for several days. The short-term effects were miserable, but I did it anyway, to stave off the long-term slide into potentially worse disability. For the last 140+ months, I have been on a DMT that doesn’t give me the “flu.” Such an improvement. Since starting it, my disease progression has slowed.

I feel tremendous gratitude than I am still able to walk and drive. I am still exhausted every single day. Neurologic fatigue is relentless. I can sleep all night and wake up feeling as though I haven’t slept in days. Sleep is no longer restorative.

But I have a rich, interesting life, full of love and laughter in spite of it all.

I am still full of gratitude.

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How do I do what I do? That is a great question and I’m not sure I have the answer. I have become stronger mentally. I know that I have to decide to do something in order to work up the energy to do it. The love and support of my husband is paramount. He keeps me laughing and living with joy. I couldn’t do it without him. He is my biggest support and cheer section. The love of God, and my family, sustains me.

My cohort in A Writing Room keeps me encouraged, inspired, and writing.

Each day, or most days, I decide to write…ANYWAY.

No matter what the day brings. When I fail. I try again. I fail forward. A practice I learned from author Jennifer Newcomb.

We all have distractions, challenges, and various issues that could derail our writing. But only if we ALLOW them to.

We are in charge, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

The world needs our words. Our readers are waiting. Please honor your creativity and join me.

Let’s WRITE ANYWAY.

I attended the 2023 Fall Retreat of A Writing Room. It was a life-changing experience. Then I joined the Collective and my writing life took off like a rocket. I now have a large group of friends to learn with, to write with, to learn from and to encourage.

Come to the Fall Craft Intensive in San Francisco, or attend virtually with me and many friends from all over the world. It is a vibrant, interactive, online experience.

The Community at A Writing Room is SO different from anything I have experienced. Writers who have belonged to other groups tell me all the time that there is no place comparable by a long shot.

I want the same thing for you that we have received: encouraging Community, valuable learning opportunities, uplifting and honest feedback on our writing, and opportunities to connect with and serve other writers.

Ready to learn from ANNE LAMOTT, Erin Roberts, Claire Giovino and Jack Ashman? Check out the details here A Writing Room Fall Craft Intensive.

Your writing, your heart, and your readers will be grateful that you did.

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Scene: Me, at the library, checking in 2 huge bags of books, and checking most of them out again:

Me: I have been immersed in writing and editing this summer, I couldn’t get them all read. Yet.

Librarian: (face lights up) Oh, you’re a published author?

Me: Yes!

Librarian: What genre?

Me: Creative non-fiction mostly, sprinkled with fiction here and there.

Librarian: What is your book title?

Me: Writing Companions. It will be out this December, along with several books from my writing friends in A Writing Room. It’s been an amazing year for us!

Librarian: Wow! Let me know when they’re released.

Me: You can count on it!

Writers, day by day, Bird by Bird, Silent Writing Session by Silent Writing Session in A Writing Room, we’ve become authors! Not based on whether we’ve published or not, but by the act of writing.

How does it feel to claim your identity as a Writer and Author??

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The encouragement of my editor at The Animal Companion Magazine has kept the dream alive. I am glad she is patient, because it has taken me years to reach this point.

I would have remained stuck if I hadn’t joined A Writing Room. The education, experience, beta readers, feedback, and inspiration from my cohort, the leadership team, workshop instructors, and my writing partner, Karen Loucks Rinedollar, have been instrumental in getting me this far.

We are finishing up this year’s Editing Camp. I took a brave leap and signed up for the (optional) Beta Reading Partner.

And that has made a tremendous difference.

Paula Lee has carefully, and conscientiously, read my manuscript multiple times, made suggestions and shows me places for improvement each time we meet virtually. She even prayed about how to best help me with my writing. I’m deeply touched that she cares to that degree. I am returning the favor.

I am learning so much that I would have never learned otherwise. Each time I read chapters from her wonderful novel, I learn ways to improve my own work.

We both agree that we were missing out on an incredibly helpful experience, by not handing our work over to others to critique.

In our first meetup, we were both nervous. Neither of us had been a beta reader before, or helped to edit someone else’s manuscript. We weren’t sure of the best way to help each other.

We have the main skill though. We care. Our hearts are all in.

We both want to help the other make their story the best it can be. And we want to help each other convey the heart and soul, the meaning, of our stories to readers.

I was nervous about highlighting any areas in her manuscript that I felt could possibly use work. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She had similar reservations.

We both want to improve our manuscripts, though. And that common goal has helped us grow in courage.

I cautiously presented a few items I’d noticed that she may want to consider revising. She was grateful for the feedback - enthusiastic, even.

Then she gave me a GIFT. She offered to read the first chapter of my book to me.

If you have never heard someone read your words to you, it is a deeply moving, powerful experience. It is affirming and helpful.

We hear often how important it is to read your work out loud. You may hear things during the reading that could be completely missed while reading silently.

This new practice will be one of my most important editing passes going forward. I am so grateful to Paula for showing me the power of hearing my work out loud.

In a few weeks, A Writing Room is offering an exciting workshop - The Pub Club. Our cohort will fully prepare our manuscripts for publication. We will self-publish our books before the end of this year! I am excited to participate. Our AWR bookshelves are growing.

Today’s Takeaway:

• Allow others to read and critique your work. You will learn things that you may never notice otherwise. It is to YOUR benefit! Your writing will improve.

• Read your work aloud. Even better, allow someone to read your work aloud to you. You will hear things in your writing that you will never see while reading silently.

• Take a chance: get a writing partner, get a beta reading partner, sign up for membership in a collective (you know by now which one I love 🥰✍🏼🥰. Hint, it is A Writing Room), take a workshop, GIFT yourself whatever you need right now to move your writing career forward. You deserve that investment in your creativity. YOU matter!

What Is Your Takeaway?

• What gift will you give yourself to move your writing life forward?

• How will you immerse yourself in learning a new skill?

• How will you invest (time, practice or financially) in your writing, in yourself, this week?

  Please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Thank you for reading and supporting!

  Thanks for reading Adventures In Curiosity! It would mean the world to me for you to share it with others. Thank you!

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Two wives saw their husbands off to work on a Sunday in rural Utah. They received their bodies back the next day in flag-draped caskets, delivered by a procession of hundreds of law enforcement officers and first responders on highways and streets lined with citizens holding flags and signs of support. Fire engines, with flags held on raised ladders honored these heroes from each overpass along the more than one-hundred-mile route.

There were no dry eyes. Every heart was broken.

Every heart is broken.

It is a grief that will never heal.

They were dispatched to an area to locate the source of several 911 hangups. Someone was in urgent need of their assistance. The need so desperate that the caller could not safely speak on the phone to dispatchers.

She must have been terrified.

She had good reason to be.

The shooter had violently assaulted his wife – again – in front of their children.

As the first officer on the scene was leaving, the shooter shot and killed him, using a high-powered rifle.

The second officer arrived on the scene, saw his coworker down on the ground and rushed to him to try to save his life.

The shooter killed him before he reached his brother-in-blue.

A third officer and his K9 arrived. The shooter shot them too. Miraculously, they both survived.

It takes a monster – a coward – to shoot and kill someone who is there to help a woman and her children – the shooter’s children. It takes unbelievable cruelty and a lack of all morality to shoot a human who is rushing to the side of his friend who has been shot – to kill a man running, not toward the gunman, but running toward an injured man on the ground. It takes someone with zero conscience, kindness, or empathy to shoot into a car containing an officer and a K9 as they arrive – before they even have a chance to get out of the car.

It makes my physically ill every time I think about what those moments must have been like for the heroes who were trying to help, for the woman who had been assaulted numerous times over the past few months, and the children who were forced to witness all of it. Every time.

My heart breaks thinking about the wives and children who saw their husbands, fathers, off to work and shortly thereafter received the crushing, disturbing, horrific news. Their lives are forever changed.

As the news of these senseless, cruel, crimes settled into my psyche, I wondered, where has empathy gone?!

Our society is seriously lacking in empathy from the highest levels of government – where cruelty abounds – to a guy in a rural community with a gun.

Could empathy have changed the outcome?

What if the shooter had empathy for his wife and his children? Perhaps he would not have violently abused his wife. Maybe he would have thought about the impact on her and on the kids.

What if the shooter had empathy for the officers trying to help his family? Perhaps he would not have gunned them down in cold blood when they arrived – before they even had a chance to determine what was going on, or speak to him or his abused family. What if he had thought about them, how they were doing their job, how they have hearts for the people they serve and protect, how they woke up that morning planning to help people out, and return to their own families at the end of their shifts?

What if the killer had empathy for the wives and children of those officers? What if he had considered how they looked forward to the husbands, and daddies, return that night. What if he had wondered what plans they might have together the next day or the upcoming weekend? What if he had given even the briefest thought about how his actions would destroy those families for years to come?

What if that murderer had given a single care about anyone besides himself?

Empathy Changes Everything.

If one human has empathy toward another human, another sentient being, it is impossible to purposely do them harm. Empathy changes hearts. Empathy would change our world. Change begins by caring for others and considering the effect our individual actions have on each other.

The Killer Cried

He cried for himself because he went to jail; a one-way trip.

He is charged with aggravated murder on multiple counts, capital offenses, as well as “…18 other charges, including four counts of attempted aggravated murder, a first-degree felony; endangering a police service dog, a third-degree felony; three counts of possessing an explosive, a second-degree felony; two counts of possession of a dangerous weapon with criminal intent, three counts of assault, unlawful detention and threatening violence, class A misdemeanors; and three counts of domestic violence in the presence of a child, a class B misdemeanor,” according to KSL News.

Prosecutors are seeking the death penalty.

I admit it – I have zero empathy for that murderer. That goes against my raising in which I was taught to love others, to consider forgiveness, to take the high road. Whatever the high road means. Choices have consequences and his choices were so egregious and destructive. I don’t care that he will sit in a jail cell for the rest of his life. He chose that. I don’t care that he cries when he has an audience.

Does that make me less of a human somehow? Perhaps. I will sort that out with my Creator one day.

Maybe empathy could have saved those officers from receiving the instant death penalty that the killer doled out.

The monster cried like a baby and rocked back and forth in his first of many court appearances. He feels very sorry for himself.

What if he had felt anything for the men and the K9 who rushed to the aid of his terrorized wife and children?

What if he had an ounce of empathy?

What if we all had more empathy?

Would there be less violence? Less selfishness? Would there be no starving children on Earth? Would politicians consider the greater good when creating policy? Would genocide cease to exist? Would humanity stop torturing humanity (and animals)?

I believe so.

I pray so.

Sometimes empathy is painful. It can hurt to place ourselves in the shoes of another – to feel what they are feeling. But that connection is better than no connection, no heart, no compassion for others.

It is time. Time to flood our existence with empathy and compassion. Our world is broken. We are brokenhearted.

Let’s rise up with empathy. Change begins in each of our hearts.

* * *

Have you experienced situations where empathy has played a role? Tell me about it. Let’s get this important conversation going. Thank you for reading – and responding. Your voice matters!

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My hope is that by being an open book about my life experience, you may find something in my journey that may bring increased health, hope and joy to your life too. If our physical bodies are healthier and more vibrant, I believe our writing will be more energetic and profound.

Wednesday, our chair yoga instructor, Bobbi, asked how we were feeling.

“Great! My left hip still hurts, but I’m good,” I replied.

She’s heard about my left hip during every class.

It doesn’t hurt like the bone has an issue. And it doesn’t exactly hurt like sore muscles either. But maybe like a cluster of deep spasms in the smaller muscles that are closer to the bone. It is tight. It wakes me up at night if I lay on that side too long.

I am an optimist because, for me personally, to be a pessimist would destroy me. I choose to hold on to hope, even in the face of the opposite.

Despite the ache, I believe it will get better with time, stretching, strengthening, and deep breathing.

Bobbi decided to slow down the pace of the poses and transitions a bit, so that we could focus on getting the poses right and getting deep stretches and oxygenated blood into my hip.

Does that mean we slacked off on our workout? Or that we left the gym less sweaty than in former sessions? Absolutely not!

Circulating oxygenated blood throughout our bodies, deeper than when we are not working out, gets us sweating and healing.

Fun fact, I can spend 20-minutes on one of those arc trainer contraptions in utter misery, and not sweat as much as in this gentle, powerful, chair yoga class. And it shows! I have to tighten my belt up one more notch already, and the weight is trending downward. I don’t care what a scale says. I care how I feel.

I am stronger. I am healthier. I have better balance and I am more flexible than I was a month ago. This practice is paying off in the metrics that truly matter to me.

Each time class begins, I wonder if I will be able to keep going for the entire time. And each time we arrive at the part where Bobbi has us sit down, stretch out our hips some more, begin to cool down, and prepare for the Brain Candy (meditation/visualization) part of the class, I wonder how the time vanished so quickly.

My husband and I look at each other, somewhat astonished, because we made it to – and through – class again! HURRAY!

Wednesday, as we began to stretch out our hips, I yawned. I didn’t think anything of it. But then I yawned again. I took a big double breath, inhaling deeply, then a bit more to top it off before exhaling. I took another. I have learned that method of breathing is wonderful if I have not been breathing deeply or feel myself getting sleepy.

Then I yawned again and again and again. I wasn’t sleepy or bored.

I also felt my left hip release a bit. Then a little more. And a little more.

As a Writer, I love to go down a research rabbit hole! I learned that yawning during yoga can be a sign of the nervous system regulating itself. Hallelujah! My nervous system could use that!

Yawning also helps to cool the brain. Wonderful! One of the most difficult symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis, for me, is extreme heat intolerance. The tiniest increase in core body temperature can worsen neurological, physical and/or cognitive function. Even ¼ of one degree increase sends my body reeling. I always appreciate cooler temperatures.

If you know me, you know my daily “uniform” consists of some version of shorts and a tank top. Long-sleeved shirts for me, are those that almost reach my elbows and have a V-neck.

My “M.S. Uniform” is greatly distressing to many quite elderly ladies who encounter me in public and who I have never met. They readily point and exclaim, “Aren’t you COLD?!”

Sigh.

I learned long ago to refrain from responding because even once I assure them that I am capable of dressing myself, according to my needs, they still leave in horror and disbelief. I hope they do not approach people who happen to utilize medical equipment like a service dog, cane, walker or wheelchair with the same disdain or doubt about that person’s sanity or capabilities as a functioning adult who is just trying to run their errands or buy their groceries.

I know, from the perspective of a service dog handler, that isn’t the case. But I digress. I’ll write about my blessed life with a service dog at my side another time and all of the incredible, and shocking, experiences we’ve had.

Yawning helps to increase oxygenated blood flow. I am a big fan of that idea.

Yawning can help to activate the parasympathetic nervous system, switching our bodies from “fight or flight” to “rest and digest.”

Deep down the research rabbit hole, I found the answer that rings true for me.

Yawning can signal the release of emotional tension, physical tightness and even trauma-related stress. As the body starts to relax, to find more space opening up, the yawning reflex may also kick in. This is known as pandiculation. It is a natural way that our bodies reboot the nerves that control muscle contraction. Pandiculation eases tension that is accumulated during inactivity.

Dogs and cats are experts at this! And we always respond with, “Wow! That’s a biggggg stretch!”

Yawning during yoga released another tamped down tight traumatic memory from my body.

Two days later, I am a little less sore and a lot less tense overall. I feel that marvelous space opening up in me. It is space that I will fill with health and hope and creativity.

What is your body trying to tell you? Where do you hold tension, trauma, and memory in your body?

Be still.

Let go.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Go deeper. Allow yourself to open up, to heal, to allow your health and creativity to flourish.

Thank you for reading. I would love to continue our conversation in the comments below!

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Even worse - it takes place in public. Worse yet - in a gym full of the young and the able. That sounds like the title to a soap opera of certain generations.

All juggling aside, we have been trying quite a few new things lately in an effort to live not just longer - but better - healthier.

A local gym moved into town like a tough new sheriff, beckoning us to shape up, or else. We knew we needed to dust off our sneakers and take a look-see. Affordability could not be our excuse; our Medicare advantage plans contribute to the monthly fee. Distance could not be our excuse; we can walk there in about 20-minutes in good weather or drive there in under 5-minutes in any weather. If we had no car, but fast horses, or a fast golf cart, we would still have zero excuses.

The gym has an app that allows us to select multi-week programs. We chose the 8-Week Aging Well Program. It sounded like a good enough place to begin. All we had to do is open the app, tap the day's workout and our exercise list for the 4-day a week program appeared.

We soon found out the really hard part; getting ourselves out of the house. The comforts, and welcome distractions, of home had a strong grip on us. Still do. But once we were in the car, it got a whole lot easier. By the time we'd covered the first 2.5-minute's downhill drive (that’s right, it’s downhill, it doesn’t even cost us much in fuel - there goes another possible excuse), we worked up some confidence that we would complete the day's adventure as planned.

And we did for many weeks, until I had a minor medical procedure. The healing process took far longer than expected. I take full responsibility for temporarily derailing our fitness journey.

The gym left us alone - gave us time to sort ourselves out. No one with a badge, or even a coach's whistle, came knocking at our door to demand our return. Thank goodness.

While I recuperated (translation: held down the couch, interrupted only by necessary dog walks, and snacks) my husband started a new challenge for himself: to walk 10,000 steps per day.

It is not an easy task for him. But he has shown his true grit and determination - qualities of his that I deeply admire. He has now completed 90-days straight of meeting his goal! WOOT! I am so happy for him. And I am deeply grateful too. Despite my derailment, we are working on healthier living together.

One morning, he mentioned that the gym had a new class - chair yoga - and that he wanted to try it. He asked if I'd like to go with him. I was ready to say, "Yes!"

On the first day that I was able to join him, and once I finally got dressed and ready, I noticed that we made it to the car a little easier than we used to. I had less resistance.

A very bubbly, kind, woman was in the classroom when we got there. She was another student, it was her 2nd time to class, and we enjoyed a little chat with her before the instructor arrived.

It was startling, this people-ing out in public! I have spent vast amounts of energy in my adult life trying to avoid that very thing. Even more surprising - I was enjoying myself and it seemed that my hubby was too. Worse yet, I was dressed in yoga pants and a tank top. Yoga. Pants. 😅

Our instructor put us right to work with a combination of yoga, stretching, breathing and other strength-building exercises. It took no time to work up a gentle-ish sweat. Well…perhaps I misspoke. Our instructor, Bobbi, makes us rain with sweat. Thank you, Bobbi!

While “normal” people may have normal mantras, we repeat, “Thank you, Bobbi!” after class, each time we feel the ache from our bodies growing, changing and healing. Our words are dripping with sarcasm - and deep gratitude. This work is adding life to our days and years.

Time flew, class was nearly over, when our instructor turned on a soothing light in the corner and turned off the bright overhead lights. She invited us to sit on the edge of our chairs with our hands on our knees - palms up - as she led us through a mindfulness meditation.

We were asked to try box-breathing: inhale for four counts, hold for four counts, exhale for four counts, and hold for four counts. On the inhale, she invited us to focus on the words, "Be still." And on the exhale, "Let go."

Be still.

Let go.

With every breath, the busy-ness of my mind evaporated. Calm was created in those few moments. My brain felt nourished, rested and restored. My brain had received a highly prized treat. It felt like a sugar rush without the fast-approaching, miserable crash. Brain Candy.

A new craving. A healthy craving.

We were invited to take that healing practice home with us, to use anytime we needed to quiet our minds. I've started using it at night as I am falling asleep.

Be still.

Let go.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Rest for the mind, candy for the brain.

We all deserve nourishment and rewarding self-care.

How will you nourish - and reward - yourself this week?

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I realized then that I had a calling to not hoard my words.

I have a duty to write them.

I have a duty to share them.

I have a duty to treat my body, my brain, and my mindset with lovingkindness, so I am able to write.

This is my debt of honor.

Words hoarded in my body block channels of healing.

Words hoarded in my body can never help someone else.

Writing springs up from the depths of my soul.

Ink lands on the page.

And I am grateful.

I have words due.

YOU have words due.

Our readers are waiting, longing for our words.

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In my favorite Community for Writers, A Writing Room, Emily provides two continuing (non-yoga) series of workshops: Ask A Therapist, and Writers Wellness, in which she covers a host of topics specifically geared to the self-care and wellness of Writers. I cannot overstate how beneficial, and healing, these powerful workshops are.

This yoga session was extra-special. There were three of us in attendance: Emily, Karen Loucks Rinedollar and me.

In A Writing Room, we have many opportunities for collaboration: writing partners, small groups, beta readers, etc. To my GREAT fortune, I was paired with Karen Loucks Rinedollar Her positivity and enthusiasm, along with her writing and storytelling talent, make my life all-the-richer. I’m so grateful!

We began with 5-minutes of stream of consciousness journaling. Emily said to keep the pen moving across the page, jotting down anything that crossed our minds. My memory instantly delivered me into the back yard of our former home, where I first discovered this writing practice from reading Natalie Goldberg’s book Writing Down the Bones. That was the first time I learned that I could be truly free on the page. I could write anything that I wanted to. I learned that my thoughts mattered, that my writing mattered, because I matter (YOU matter too!). Those writing sessions were bliss as I relaxed in my lawn chair with notebook & pen in hand and two beloved Rottweilers at my side, relishing the cool grass beneath their bellies.

The dog “situation” is a bit different these days. My Pitti, and service dog, Ripple, believes with his whole heart that yoga, and writing in my notebook while laying on the floor, is an invitation to wrestle. 😅He has to, reluctantly, wait near me on the other side of a temporary gate. With Ripple secured (and disappointed, unfortunately), my mind returned to focus on Emily teaching us how to move energy through our bodies, using a variety of yoga poses with focus on the breath. She then asked us to write about the experience.

As an affirmation, I wrote, “Moving energy through my body releases stored emotions.”

The yogis say we store emotion in our bodies, even in our ankles. The hips store feelings, especially how we feel about safety and security.

My hip flexors are always tight. So is my hypervigilance and ability to overthink something to pieces. I now know that comes from the grief of losing my beloved Grandpa unexpectedly at age ten. I can remember everything about that day. I have been hypervigilant and an overthinker since – always trying to see around the next corner, worrying about what might go wrong, and focusing on how I might prevent bad things from happening. It is exhausting. I’m grateful that I understand it now. I am healing and learning new, healthier, ways of being. It is time to release the trauma of that day from my hips. Grandpa would want me to feel better by letting it go.

Continuing, I wrote, “My left hip, my sit-bone, has less feeling in it, a sort of numbness, a partial numbness. I’m curious about that. I can’t feel the mat as readily on that side.” No judgement. No needing to know the perfectly correct answer right that second. Just noticing, observing, and wondering.

Yoga and meditation are opening up space in my mind – room to notice and observe without judging or racing ahead to the next thing. I’ve noticed that I pause a bit longer before responding to things, instead of quickly reacting. It is becoming easier to be calm. My stress levels are dropping. My “smart” watch says so. 😁

As we breathe, we move energy through the places where we store emotion. We inhale new vitality. We exhale past pain; emotional and physical. Watch out, Hips! You’ll be feeling much better soon.

Letting go and surrendering is helpful to our writing. And our writing is helpful to others. What emotion or memory is stored in your body – and where? How would it feel to allow that discomfort or pain to ease up, even if only a tiny bit?

My second yoga session with Emily awakened me to a new way of thinking about the relationship I have with my body, how I take care of it, and how that determines much of my success or struggle with my writing life.

Emily asked us to journal in response to this question:

“How do I feel about my body at this time? What is my relationship with my body like?”

She caught me off-guard with that second question.

I wrote, “I feel that my body is a miracle in its ability to move, especially after twenty-one years with Multiple Sclerosis. I am so grateful. What a blessing to be walking, hiking a bit (even if unsteadily at times), driving, gardening, and having the gift of being able to walk with dogs.”

It also struck me that I keep poisoning my body - my one precious body - with an overload of sugar - this same body that fights SO hard each day to keep getting out of bed, moving, learning, writing, and living the best life possible.

Emily’s question opened my eyes. WIDE open. I had never thought of the way that I tend to my body as being a relationship.

That is a game-changer for me.

In my marriage relationship, I am 100% faithful. It comes to me easily and naturally, there is no gray area. We are happy together. We trust each other. We enjoy our life full of love and laughter together.

How faithful have I been in the relationship with my body, however? Ouch. Facing the truth of that answer is painful.

I would never be as unkind, disloyal, and downright toxic in any other relationship. So, why this one?

For me, it is beyond time to create a far better relationship with my physical body, one that honors all that she does for me; a relationship in which I give back at least as much I am given.

A new determination has set in, deep down, to faithfully nurture my body with all that she needs.

This new yoga and journaling practice is magnificent. I feel myself returning to a whole, healthy human being. It is incredible to notice and feel what is happening physically in my body - rather than trudging along, living mostly above-the-neck, stuffing down thoughts and emotions, to my great detriment.

As a Writer, I am grateful for these awakenings. My life, and my writing, are sure to benefit.

Have you considered how you take care of your body as a relationship? What does that look like and feel like? Or what would you like it to look like and feel like?

Feel free to share in the comments.

Thank you for reading, considering, commenting and sharing.

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I did my best with it Thursday. It wasn't my usual best because I was not feeling well at all. I gave myself a pep talk, I persisted. I submitted it Friday. It was the best that I could do that day, for the state of health I was in. Multiple Sclerosis deals out days of neurological fatigue and brain fog that feel insurmountable. Writing from the depths of those days feels like thinking through mud. WebMD: MS & Brain Fog Symptoms

I trusted my editor to help pull the "actual" best out of me and onto the page. Often, she only has to do very light editing of the pieces I submit. Sometimes a little more. This piece came back with heavy editing. She kindly texted me to let me know to expect that. Here's the weird thing. I was not filled with dread. I was not embarrassed. I didn't want to crawl in a hole and hide (or my She-attic, for those who have heard that story😂).

No, I felt grateful. And excited to see the edits she recommended. I know that I can trust her - because WE HAVE THE SAME GOAL - to publish a piece that resonates with readers, and hopefully helps companion animals receive the best care possible. We are not at odds with each other. We are colleagues and collaborators.

This is so important to keep in mind when we ask others to read our work. Choose those who you feel are trustworthy. Build good relationships. Be a good friend and writing colleague in order to receive that back in return.

We finished up the piece with five or six edits. That might seem like a lot of edits for a short piece. But it is an important piece - we wanted it to be done well. We are both happy with it. She already plans to run it again next summer because the information is valuable and needed. Together we have collaborated to make it the best version of itself for today.

My point? Write. Share. Collaborate. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

What will you write, edit, and SHARE next?

If you are enjoying my newsletter and would like to support the publication through a one-time donation, you can now use the “Buy A Cuppa Appreciation” button below.

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Above all, thank you for reading, for liking, for restacking and sharing, for commenting and interacting. I appreciate your support in any and all forms.

Thank you! 🥰

BIG NEWS! You’re invited to come to Summer School with Anne Lamott and Maggie Smith this Wednesday! Click here to register at A Writing Room.

In Emily’s newsletter, she announced that she was offering free yoga classes, once per week, through this month, for writers. I signed up right away. I expected a nourishing, rich experience.

My expectations were immediately surpassed. Emily’s yoga classes have helped me in the most unexpected ways.

At times, my mind is so scattered that if I don’t put everything in my calendar, there’s a good chance I won’t show up. The first week of her yoga class, I had diligently put it on my calendar, received notifications, and still did not show up. I could not believe I did that! Talk about embarrassing.

The second week, I was more intentional about preparing for the class the day before, which helped increase the likelihood that I would not blow it again the next day. Thankfully, I arrived at the virtual class at the right time on the right day.

At the end of the first session, in which we did gentle movements - adaptive poses, as needed - she asked us what we noticed about how we felt or what we noticed our thoughts doing, as we were bringing ourselves back to full consciousness from corpse pose.

As I rolled to my side, curled up like a child, and slowly began to sit up, I was stunned with an experience I have never had before. It was as though I was watching myself on a screen, going through the physical motions, as I had this very visceral and vivid sense and view of tiny bits and chunks of me flying back toward me - and gently returning into my body - from every direction.

Visually, it resembled electronic images of bits and bytes, flowing in all directions.

However, these bits and bites, were flying back TO me, to rejoin my body, to literally pull ME back together. To reassemble me.

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For a few years now, I have expressed that I feel so scattered, like I am running from one thing to the next thing to the next, with no time or opportunity to slow down, to digest anything that is happening, to finish a thought, an idea, or a piece of writing. I have felt like all of the different needs pulling me apart are external (though I know better) - the needs of other people, the pups, the other activities I try to do, with zero time to truly accomplish what I need, and want, to do. It has been a sensation of constant movement, but never completing anything - just bouncing from one to the next.

It is an exaggerated feeling, I am sure. It feels like anxiety. Breathlessness. It feels like continually rushing, like I have too much to do and no time to do it. It feels like I am letting everyone down - constantly. I recognize that the expectations are self-imposed and that perfectionism’s ugly little head is reared up and attacking.

I often remind myself of the wise and helpful words of Anne Lamott, “Perfectionism is the voice of the Enemy.” That is an absolute truth.

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Even though I have been joyfully immersed in my writing life, and I have amazing support from my husband, family and friends - I still have felt pulled to shreds - like I am trotting and stumbling and scrambling from one task, one expectation, one need, one distraction, one email, one more to-do, to the next. And I recognize how damaging that is. I have been searching for answers, for skills, to stop or manage those troubling feelings.

That first yoga session started to pull my pieces back to my body, back to my heart, back to my mind, back to my creativity, where they can be healed…where space can then open up for my life, and for my writing.

When Emily asked if anyone wanted to share anything about the session, or their experience, I had not planned to say anything. But the “reassembling” experience was too important to keep to myself. I care deeply for my fellow writers and friends.

Is this an advertisement for yoga?

No.

It is an invitation to slow down for even a moment, breathe deeply, reconnect your mind and spirit with your body.

It is easy to become disembodied in this day and age when we spend so much time on screens, for work, or for entertainment. Our attention can become disconnected from our bodies, where our thoughts, emotions and memories live.

As you breathe, I hope that all of the parts of you that may feel distracted - feel like you’re just going through the motions, or constantly scrambling to keep up with your calendar and expectations - will return to you.

Your body knows what you need. Take a breath. Listen to your heart. Feel connected to yourself again. Allow your healing to begin.

What helps you to reconnect with your entire self?

Thanks for reading. I’m looking forward to the discussion.

Some days, writing is hilarious. Maybe the content is funny. Maybe not. Sometimes the humor is found in the writing process itself.

The creative energy and momentum that builds by writing in Community is profound.

I love it so much that I volunteer to host Silent Writing sessions at A Writing Room. We meet in a Zoom room and write silently, in Community, for 60-minutes, then we have an afterparty for about 30-mintes. We talk about all things writing and the writing life. We ask & answer questions. We support and encourage each other.

Recently, while hosting a session, I needed to keep my facilitation notes in view, so I began writing a new piece at the bottom of the same document.

As the timer ticked down, I copied the newly written 296-words onto the clipboard then pasted them into a new document to work on later.

The other Writers in the Zoom room probably thought I’d lost my mind as I flung my head back in a full-bodied laugh inside my little Zoom box on the screen. What could be so funny?

The only words that made it to the new document were, “blah, blah, blah.”

How apt!

Anne Lamott tells us to write those shitty first drafts! You can edit a page, but you can’t edit a blank page. The next time I have an opportunity to ask Anne a question, I’ll have to ask, “What about a blah, blah, blah page?”

With fewer than two-minutes left, I managed to copy the other 293 words and paste them onto the new document.

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One of my favorite things about writing is the element of surprise. When our minds connect to our arms to our hands to our pens and keyboards – surprise – is the result. We may have no idea what we are going to write about. We may think we have nothing to write about.

But we do. The writing is there for us. Trust it. Always.

Connect your mind and emotions to the page. Write. Write. Write. Even if you end up with blah, blah, blah, and a gut-busting laugh or two.

Thanks for reading. Now - go write! Your words matter!

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