Tag Archives: Dancing With Words

In Praise of the Sun

*Jean Foster Akin*   This is wonderful, this 65 degree breeze, this burning sun. My face feels like it’s crisping. My hair is hot. Flashes of color swim across my closed eyelids. Late February, New England. Melting snow drawing dark … Continue reading

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so much depends upon a red wheelbarrow…

    so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens [The Red Wheelbarrow, by William Carlos Williams] I love this. I absolutely love this. I’ve loved it from the first moment I … Continue reading

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The Joy of Writing In The New Year

**by Jean Foster Akin** Did you sit down to write as much as you’d have liked this last year? I know: I haven’t either. I wasted a lot of time. When I felt “stuck” with my writing, or was overwhelmed with … Continue reading

Posted in Encouragement, Problems Faced by the Serious Writer, Skin and Breath and Hair, The Journey Towards Publication | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

One Place on Earth You May Find a Heaven to Write In…or About

*by Jean Foster Akin* If Heaven exists, and many people hope it does, there will have to be soft white sand underfoot, salty air in the nostrils, the cry of seagulls on the ear, and the sight and sound of … Continue reading

Posted in Letting Go, Skin and Breath and Hair, The Mechanics of Writing, Writer's Block | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

One Great Way To Make Your Muse Start Talking Again

*by Jean Foster Akin* We’ve all been there: staring at a blank page on the laptop, our brains doing that clenched fist thing, and none of the words it squeezes out are just right. You have no idea where the … Continue reading

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What Does It Sound Like?

Last night it rained. Tap, tap, tap on my roof. I listened while I lay there, trying to sleep. I thought about sounds. The sound of the water, falling from such an amazing height, slapping on my roof…snap, snap snap! … Continue reading

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A Solitary Pursuit

Walked into the woods yesterday. Dry leaves and fallen branches and little brown acorns still donning their hats crunched underfoot. Cool brilliant leaves, still soft with some residual life, nothing but the rhythmic slish-slish-slish of my boots over pretty dead … Continue reading

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