If We Don't Write, Nothing Gets Written

IMG DESCR: Kwan Angel Goddess clay sculpture with Raku firing

I started this post a few weeks ago, when the skies were orange and the West Coast was literally on fire. I sketched a draft but didn't send it out because, people couldn't breathe. Some were losing their homes. Others were still reeling due to COVID-19 fallout. The timing didn't feel right.

I sat on it.

I pulled up my draft last Friday. But then, with the passing of the Notorious RBG, how could I send out a chummy newsletter without addressing her memory and what it meant for me then, now, and possibly in the future?

I waited. But the news kept coming. Breonna Taylor. Voter suppression. The pandemic still rages.

My writing does not overtly address the political or current events. It's more subtle, rooted in dance, motherhood, the seemingly mundane. My core story is: how do we come into our own? How do we own our voice, our story? Who is aching to belong? Who is being denied the sense of belonging?

But if I don't write it down, if I don't share my words, all I will remember from this time will be the ashes.

Sit. Write. Revise. Or Not. Do it again the next day.

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