I use the word “magic” often when talking about writing, especially generative writing. And I’ll keep using it. The magic is palpable in generative writing communities. The words that emerge are generative in themselves. They generate a gentle path toward healing and compassion. This practice is a generative clay that generates community.
I’ll write to celebrate the joy I find under a bush or wedged deep inside a pocket. I’ll also voice the heartache. Not to bellyache my way through an annoyance of everyday life, but because I’m not the only one who experiences dark turns and moments bereft of light. Sharing my story lets others know they’re not alone.
Some of the special bits of this marathon will escape the page, but this jumbled stream of marathon memory is enough. My inner writer is rubbing her word belly and already poking at my 2026 calendar: “Save those dates! We’re going back.”
Some might think I waited too long to take deep creative dive. But even winter can’t stop me writing.
I write fire.
I fire words.
Words fire me.
When I read these words about today months, even years, from now, I’ll remember the places I turned and the spots of shade as I mowed, the flood of unsettling and grounding memories of Mom mowing these yards, and the tissues of my heart fraying and knitting at once knowing how quickly things slowly change. How lucky am I, capturing life’s moments with words?
Recent Comments