Writer

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Photography: Women Are…

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are”—E. E. Cummings 

Last week I escaped to my favorite place at Dillon Beach with a few good friends. The weather was warmer than usual and the tide extremely high. However, on the very last morning, a bit after sunrise, the fog rolled in, the tide rolled out, and I took these photos of my dear friend and July model, Heidi.

I met Heidi about seven years ago in an online support group for surrogates who were pumping milk. Odd, I know! Turned out not only did she live near me, but she also was a writer. She invited me to her writing group, and after a few years of dragging my feet, we finally met.

Thank goodness! Heidi’s now one of my favorite people. She cares not only about her friends, but about the world. She’s smart, ambitious, kind, devoted to her children, an incredible middle school teacher, a talented writer, and she makes damn good guacamole. I’ve witnessed her incredible strength as she’s navigated some really hard things, and she impresses me with her dedication to growth and healing.

These photos are some of the first I took with my new 25mm f/1.8 lens, and it really was dreamy. Unlike most of my sessions, I barely edited these. Heidi fully trusted me and we worked together with such joy and ease that I think it really translated to these images.

Let me know if you have a favorite and give Heidi some love.

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What makes you proud?
I’m most proud that I had the courage to dismantle every belief system that taught me to abandon myself in pursuit of acceptance. I’m proud that I’ve been brave enough to walk away from people and places committed to shrinking me, or unwilling to truly see or respect me. And I’m incredibly proud that I’ve chosen authenticity over belonging again and again, even when that authenticity and honesty have cost me security, community, and every version of myself I thought I would become.

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What makes you feel brave?
My children make me feel brave because they remind me everyday that every time I choose courage, or step out of hiding and fully into my truth, I’m handing them a permission slip to do the same. To stand in the face of their fears and declare: “You don’t get to tell my story. I do.” 

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What gives you hope?
Nature gives me the most hope because in her I see the truth that everything is energy. Nothing is ever truly lost, merely transformed. Being in nature has shown me that we are not separate from her; we are her. When I can be still and return to Earth’s natural rhythms, she returns me to mine. In her, I am reminded that life knows how to adapt, regenerate, and begin again. She reminds me that transformation is always possible. And if Mother Earth can do it, so can I.

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Here’s here’s a few bonus shots I wanted to add. A dog we met on the beach named Nova thought reminded me of the dog in Peter Pan. A few shots in black and white, deer prints in the sand, a seagull eating a crab, and a crazy bug that was close to Heidi’s face in the cave.

These were taken with my Olympus E-M1 MarkII, using several different lenses and edited with Lightroom Classic. Let me know what you think, and check out the others in this series if you missed them.

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Photography: Women Are…

“A winner is a loser who tried one more time.
Not the smartest.
Not the fastest.
Just the one who didn’t stop.”
—George M. Moore Jr.

For the month of March, my model was my dear friend Penny. I met her in 2013 at the table read for the Listen to Your Mother stage show. We locked eyes across the table, and instantly connected. She possesses a warmth and kindness that allows her to make people feel profoundly seen, a rare gift. She’s a singer, writer, storyteller, caregiver, and one of my favorite people on the planet.

We met last week at the beautiful St. Ignatius Loyola Catholic Church, where she sings as cantor. The space was gorgeous, and she was a natural at posing. We only had an hour to spend together because of our schedules, but we made the most of it. She trusted me fully, and I think it shows in the way she’s looking at the camera/me.

Penny normally doesn’t like her photo taken, but she said it was fun with me. And she loved the photos! That’s the whole point: helping my friend see her own beauty. Each time I do another shoot, my confidence grows and I’m learning more and more. I’m so grateful for this growth! Please, give her some love in the comments below and tell me what you think of this shoot. Do you have a favorite? Do you see improvement in the quality of these photos?

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What makes you proud?
For most of my life I have been able to do what I loved, what I was good at and things that made a difference on the planet. The fact that I usually also got paid was icing on the cake.

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What makes you feel brave?
I’ve been a family caregiver for over 30 years. If that didn’t break me, nothing will.

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What gives you hope?
Children. They are the future. The fact that God keeps sending them is a sign that He hasn’t given up on us yet. 

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Thank you to everyone who is cheering me on with my photography. I’ve been very focused on it lately, but I’m still writing. I’ll be sharing some words soon. Promise!

  • These were taken with my Olympus E-M1 MarkII, using a 14-150mm lens and edited with Lightroom Classic.
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Poetry: Am I Cool Enough to Play in the Poet’s Sandbox?

Poetry has wriggled itself inside me, leaving me pondering words and feelings for hours. I wish I’d not stopped writing so I’d be further along and far more skilled at expressing myself and seeing metaphors and abstractions. My poetry class has been a rough back and forth. Sometimes I feel excited and joyful, and other times I’m filled with crippling self-doubt.

I have a lot of work to do.

This week we did our own version of two poems, which play off of each other.

The first is “We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks. We were to write a version of this poem as a writer at Comic-Con. I’m fairly certain I’m the only person in my class who has never been, but I imagined myself there. The first thing that came to mind was feeling like I don’t belong—a sense I’m not creative or real enough. I followed the exact format of the poem and found when others shared their interpretations they were far less rigid in their thinking—something for me to ponder moving forward.

For our second poem, we looked at “The Golden Shovel” by Terrance Hayes. He uses all the words of “We Real Cool” to create two more poems with different meanings. I found this exercise the most fun I’ve had so far. I loved breaking the words up and playing with how they sounded reading them out loud. This was also the most personal for me, exploring my feelings of being not worthy of being part of the creative world.

I hope you enjoy this third week of poetry. As always, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Wordy Ones
Lost at Comic-Con

Too much I see
This bunch. See

The fake. See
Me take. See

Words real. See
Me feel. See

It all. See
Me fall.

Lost in Wordy World

Part I

Audaciously ungraciously stumbling too
drunk with unresolved dreams much
too much to be with, play with, cool kids. I
pretend, extend, and reach with all to see

if real me is enough. Naive and candied, honeyed this
world of wordy geniuses, the authentic bunch
eludes timeworn plain-Jane me, blinking un see

n. Hidden within shadows, turning, twisting off the
path traveled, into deep waters where fabulous fake
ery lives within the pulsing, pushing. Arms paddle to see/

sea creatures within writhing, writing to unearth a me.
Screeching too late, too late, haunted—take
deeper voyage under, over, pen on paper to see

k truths with excavated shoveled sand. Words uncover wily words
writhing words, piled upward and upright toward some real
ness. Will I, won’t I, the dance of solitary solidarity see

ing where words take, two pigeon-toed left feet, lead/lean on me.
Bounded, tethered by urgent hoping, desperation—finally feel
and reel and real, to uncover the sea and seethe and see.

Kindness, ambition married with martyr me, it
wars, bloodied knives out, within my curving all-rounded
frame. It’s mothering outward me versus internal me see

ing vast emptiness hidden in wordy distant worlds. The me
to be, to stumble, slipping on words with care, for I may fatally fall.

Part II

Writers write words too
big inside to ignore, much
ruckus, boisterous blabbering. But I
hear the calling whippoorwills, see

the creaking willows in this
hollow by the sea. I fond a bunch
of cryptic messages, bottles see

n bobbing up and down the
waves to me, for me. Not fake
pain, no, far too real. See

the version, vision of me
you see, isn’t to take,
no, it isn’t for you to see

at all. With my words/
weapons I become more real
ly me. Each breath, see

words flow, float from me
—pen on paper, the feel
of all or nothing, see

me give and give, it
feels like not enough. All
I am and all I see—

collections of words in me.
Don’t look away or I’ll fall.