And now we begin...

Snow, Hawks, Circuses and yes, we are all creatives.

It is snowing sideways, heavy and thick, but then slows to fall straight-the magical silent sort that makes it feel like living inside a snow globe. No, really, I haven’t left the house in days, there are a couple of doors I am pretty sure are unopenable, and icy fingers of frost are edging windows in intricate designs. When the wind blows, snow swirls in air born tidal patterns defying gravity until dying down again into vintage, ideal Currier and Ives Christmas design. It’s the shake and settle pattern of a snow globe in the hands of a capricious child.

Today was supposed to be a writing day, but instead it is a snow day and I have four very energetic grand kids singing at the top of their lungs a pick up song of their own concocting. Each is singing a different version and it is a cacophony chorus that comes together every few stanzas for a unison “ Let’s pick UUUUUUUUUUP!!”. Did I mention it is loud? This missive is an ad hoc plan B to get the ball rolling for The Writist, to welcome you into the occasionally topsy turvy creative journey that will happen here, to share a brand new poem in its messy, shiny newness, and to open the doors to you in the most hospitable way I can…

Since this is the beginning, I’ll introduce myself, though some of you know me already. I’ll share a little about why/how The Writist came to be, and some of what you can expect. If you have questions, or would like to me to focus on anything specific in an upcoming post, leave a comment or just hit reply when you get this via email-I love questions and suggestions. As we go forward together I will add pages to organize any topics that begin to take shape.

I am an artist. Always have been, always will be. There have been different iterations along the way from the deeply focused child-quiet, introspective, the type when assigned a task like ‘lets make a tree out of playdough’ would construct a textured sequoia replete with treehouse and an extensive history-to this person who writes poetry, makes art, and longs to encourage others to tap into their own creative energies and potential, to give themselves the permission to just try.

In my forties I attained an MFA in painting, one of the best and worst things I’ve ever done. I waited a long time to reach that goal, to reach what would be on the other side and while much of it was wonderful-there was enough of what wasn’t that it changed everything about how I went forward afterwards. Interestingly enough every single part of it was a God thing. I firmly believe sometimes we are allowed what we believe our dreams to be in order to discover the bigger dream he has for our lives. Now, I find myself writing poetry-which hadn’t been on my radar since sixth grade-ahem, I was published in the local paper, in the Valentines edition no less. Inexplicably (God Thing) it rushed back into my life and I have begun the process of pulling together my third book of poetry. The Writist is a part of that process, and a way to invite others along for the creative journey-one of experimenting, learning, exploring, and building.

My life at large is one of Mim, which is what my grandkids call me. Yesterday, I heard my youngest grandchild say ‘Mim’ for the first time-there is no higher level of joy than to hear a tiny voice, rimmed with a smile, silvered with joy, bubble out that one syllabled word. Life. Complete…everything else is icing. I have been married forever, have three grown kiddos, seven grands, one ornery old white cat, and live tucked away in the woods of western Michigan.

I have invited you into The Writist to openly talk about creating new work- beginning with a thin, small idea, then breathing life and breadth into it. I firmly believe we are all creative, that somewhere along the way we came to believe a different story of what that looks like. For my end of it, my third book of poetry will be born here, as will an artistic project I have wanted to try for a long time-the creation of ten, handmade art/poetry books. Each will contain pieces from the larger book project and be made available as they are completed.

I will be sharing new writings fresh off the journal page, pieces that have been around awhile but lack that necessary something and try to work that out. The process is the project, I guess you could say. From beginning to end, first words to self publishing-I’m inviting you in. You’ll have a front row seat…no, you’ll be in the ring with me seeing the highs and lows of what it looks like to-and I really want to say unleash the creative circus, but I don’t want to scare anyone off so I will say sit at the table and make something new.

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A little housekeeping-The Writist is subscriber supported. Each post will have a paywall at some point where I will share work that is both in process, and protected because it is part of a project that is not yet public. On the other side of the paywall you won't find anything scary, well maybe-new work can be a little rough, or anything scandalous, salacious, or gossip worthy. I am not spilling the beans on any big secrets, sorry. What I am sharing is my creative life, the scary-ness of vulnerability, the sometimes ugly truth of words, or new artworks struggling to make sense, the messy undone-ness of beginnings, and the sticky in-between-ness of process. There is nothing glamorous hidden behind the paywall either. It will be sweatpants and old sweaters, cold coffee and unmade beds. It's there for the serious ones, ones who want more than surface and safe-ness, who want to talk about real things and want to enter into the conversation, not just observe it.

Let’s begin, shall we?

I am going to dive right in and share a new poem that began during a conversation with a dear friend. The experience was distracting enough to …