Tag Archives: Writing Therapy

“Heartstrings” A Woman’s Workshop

To write from a safe place, to nurture and to listen are the greatest lessons I can share. Storytelling starts with an idea, a perspective, a memory, an observation, an opinion and a healthy dose of imagination. Writing, good writing begins with the most honest, painful, sincere, sensual, scary and absurd memories. Stellar writing must start …

"To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time." 'funny girl'

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it …

I hate the word #BiPolar. It’s ugly, an overused throwaway word.‬ #I’mAWhatever

I couldn’t resist responding to the lovely Carol Adriana Estrella‘s post on Facebook this morning. “Doing a small survey: What are your first thoughts when you hear the word “bipolar”. Being that is an illness, I see it used around A LOT as an adjective or a subject.” Visit the very hip and informative blog Is Ok Not To …

for the love of a dog

Wouldn’t it be lovely if kindness, loyalty and showers of affection were our biggest faults? Wouldn’t it though? It would be awfully, awfully nice. It is lovely in the company of my shadow. The spirit animal who teaches me patiently and without judgement the crazy curious inexplicable mystery that is uncomplicated love. For one glorious moment I forget, all the exhausting complicated …

Stuck on a Song

Jawbreaking, aching, stunning poetry set to music. Do you get stuck on a song? I do, and I love it. “My lover’s got humour She’s the giggle at a funeral Knows everybody’s disapproval I should’ve worshipped her sooner If the heavens ever did speak She’s the last true mouthpiece Every Sunday’s getting more bleak A …

Thread the Needle

Authenticity. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the word, gargling, swishing it around in my mouth and spitting it out. If I only show you the photoshopped, concealed, makeup pretty me you’ll never understand the underbelly. The crunchy grit, rawness hidden beneath. The really good stuff, the honest kind that matters. Most days I can only …