Tag Archives: the nature of art

“Birth Ritual” | Field notes from the Pacific coast

When Chris Cornell died it was the same as with Johnny Cash. I woke to my 6 AM radio program and they were playing a Soundgarden song, then a second one (which was strange), and by the third one I … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

The fear to really be | what scares us most, about art

It had been many months since I went around the corner from our house to the new development. Why would I?—turning left instead of right, I could go down to the lake. Turning right, and right again, they’d taken out … Continue reading

Posted in writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 26 Comments

Thinking about writing, talking about writing, and writing

I learned there was an artist in our neighborhood who wrote gothic fantasy stories and illustrated them and his name was Brom. It gave me hope there were other freaks in the suburbs like me. His house seemed normal enough … Continue reading

Posted in writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 24 Comments

Interview with Western Slope Poet Laureate | Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Today I get to share one of the writers who’s inspired me most over the past year, through her commitment to a daily writing practice, and living an artful life. Enjoy this interview with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, and follow her … Continue reading

Posted in writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

Just like the landscape

In the way other people’s minds probably do, mine moved along a band of topics in the middle of the night like radio stations or a wheel at the fair, a big arrow that stops and settles. That’s how it … Continue reading

Posted in musings, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Birth rights

Perhaps it was on that day I was very small, I decided what I wanted to be. There was a small satisfaction in that, a place to sit and fit. And we all need that. I remember they were happy … Continue reading

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | 70 Comments

A matter of degrees

Lily’s crying upstairs now but it’s not the cries of a child, it’s the depths of horror, of hormones. She doesn’t seem interested (in an emotional way) in the bedtime ritual, it’s more transactional now—like anything, it doesn’t happen overnight, … Continue reading

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments