Two nights ago, I dreamt I was at a middle school concert—it seemed like it was never going to end, and fortunately I’d brought a pillow, so I wedged it against my friend and fell asleep. When I awoke within the dream, the concert was just wrapping up—the next day. My friend insisted we’d gone home and come back but I had no memory of that, and suspicious I was in a dream, urged myself to wake up.

I awoke in my childhood bedroom, into a new dream (has this happened to you?). I took a moment, thankful (foolish dream brain) that I had found my way back to waking reality. I looked out the window, into the night, on the familiar old yard and saw the combines and tractors by the shed, under the lamp light. Two white men walked among them, as if scouting something out. Then they leapt onto the shed and scouted from there. I oozed out of bed, slinking along the floor so they couldn’t see me through the window to start figuring out my escape. Then, a text from my dad—the police are at the house.

By the time I left my bedroom, they were on the farmhouse stairs, already inside the house, guns raised. They were there to give me a fine for not paying a ticket for failing to yield at a yield sign. The fine was for $2159—the original ticket, $235 (why these exact numbers, who knows). I was furious. Another officer was there, a woman, and I complained to her about these fines and that these men had come into the house without knocking and she agreed, this wasn’t a fair situation. I woke up (at last, for real) feeling outraged and violated.

What does it mean?

Women Who Run with The Wolves

I’ve been reading Clarissa Pinkhola Estés’s Women Who Run with The Wolves, after several people suggested it to me in quick succession—okay, universe, I’m listening. In it, she analyzes a variety of folklore/myth-based stories through a Jungian/psychological lens—how can we see these parts of story as parts of ourselves? And, while her thesis is to use these stories to help women access their inner “wild woman” (a woman who is free, empowered, engaged with her intuition), I think these concepts apply to anyone, regardless of gender (I do find her essentialist view on gender problematic—more on that in a moment).

In it, she claims that

“there is a universal initiatory dream among women, one so common that it is remarkable if a woman has reached age twenty-five without having had such a dream…This is the pattern of the dream: The dreamer is alone, often in her own home. There are one or more prowler-types outside in the dark. Frightened, she dials the emergency phone number for help. Suddenly, she realizes the prowler is inside the house with her…the dreamer awakens instantly, breathing gutturally, heart like a crazy drum.” (p. 67)

When I read this, I felt an immediate recognition. I’ve had too many of these dreams of “prowler types” and have been awakened by my own screams for help. I’m curious if you’ve had a version of this dream as well.

Estés posits that this dream is a harbinger that the dreamer is gaining awareness of “the innate psychic predator,” the part(s) of ourselves that want to tamp down our wild ways, our intuition. The parts that are literally there to police us when we refuse to yield.

I’d already read this section when I had this dream, so recognized the motif instantly on waking—what inner predator am I resisting?

I’m still nesting on that question.

On Interpretation

This weekend, I took a class with the brilliant Jessica Dore called Tarot: Theories & Practices Toward Unusual Knowledge, during which she drew on Deconstruction Theory and practices to invite us into new ways of interpreting the cards. While some of this brought me back to my English major days (in a wonderful way), I appreciated the review on strategies of reading “reproductively” (to reproduce the meaning of text) and “productively” (to produce new meaning from engaging with the text). In the class she invited us to see conflict as an “opening,” a way into new knowledge.

This conflict might reside in a query—the question we ask the cards—or in interpreting the cards themselves. The class synchronized nicely with my experience reading Estés as I wrestled with her discussion of gender as biologically rather than socially constructed.

A friend is also engaging with Estés right now and shared her critique of the stories shared, almost all of which feature violence against women. My friend felt some resistance around seeing these stories as teachings on one’s inner psychological terrain and not just tales reinforcing patriarchal culture’s violence against women.

We agreed that instead of letting these issues take us away from the text, to see these conflicts as “openings”—what happens when we let the text be contradictory, problematic at parts? What deeper knowledge can we gain through these access points?

So What?

Great question. Here’s my takeaways:

• When I dream about violent and/or upsetting things, I am going to try to get curious about these elements as part of a roiling, subconscious terrain and not simply as ominous ephemera.

• I’m going to (try to) remember that conflict is an opening—in relationship and in a text. To see it as a door to walk through rather than away from.

• In tarot readings, I’m going to spend more time with clients on their queries. I really loved learning how Jessica Dore conducts her readings in a way that feels collaborative, insightful, and therapeutic and I’m curious to give my version of that a go.

Summer Offerings

I’m teaching two of my favorite writing classes in July and hope you decide to join me for one of them:

• Cross-pollinating Nonfiction with Poetry, July 7 – July 28, Tuesdays, 10am-12pm CT: Nonfiction and poetry writing often share similar qualities and many hybrid forms abound: the lyrical essay and prose poem are two such examples. But what if we more intentionally apply poetic forms to our prose? What happens then? In this class, we’ll write into that question. We’ll spend the first two weeks discussing examples of cross-pollinated forms (essays that make use of poetic forms) and doing some generative writing and sharing together. In the last two weeks, participants will share more finished pieces in a constructive and caring workshop format.

• Relook, Rethink, Renew: Rewilding Nature Poems July 5 – August 1, asynchronous: In conservation, “rewilding” is the work of restoring ecosystems through repairing connections among the many plant, animal, and fungi species sharing a place. In this class, we will use the concept of “rewilding” to rethink how we approach nature poems, examining both critical texts and poems to explore alternate ways to engage with nonhuman life in our creative work. This will be the LAST time I offer this class before it moves to independent study format. Please join me!

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Recently, I dreamt of someone I’ll never see again in this life. It’s not the first time, nor, I suspect, the last. In the dreams, all the hurt and harm between us is mended, or at least faded. Over the years since we parted ways, we’ve had a rich dream life together. I often wonder if this person, whom I once knew so well, ever dreams me.

What I’m wondering is how different is it, really—to dream of someone you never speak to and to follow a celebrity on socials? Both scenarios are parasocial in their own ways—both fabrications, illusions of intimacy.1

A Definition

For those of you not regularly thinking about parasocial relationships (you lucky ducks), Merriam Webster offers the following definition:

relating to or involving a one-sided emotional connection with someone (especially a celebrity or fictional character) whom one does not know personally

I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with parasocial relationships and, in fact, I think this kind of emotional connection is why writers write and readers read. As a child, I felt deeply connected to characters like Anne of Green Gables, Meg from the Wrinkle in Time trilogy, and (albeit with some reluctance) Mary Ann in the Babysitter’s Club series (so nerdy and responsible; why couldn’t I have been artsy free-spirited Claudia2?).

As an adult, I read CJ Hauser’s The Crane Wife and felt certain CJ and I could be best friends. Same with Melissa Faliveno’s Tomboyland (a feeling wildly amplified when I saw her read from her new novel Hemlock).

And, as a writer, nothing moves me more than to hear someone was moved by something I wrote, including this newsletter—arguably its main purpose is for me to feel like I’m cultivating an emotional connection with you, dear audience, some of whom I certainly know personally while others I don’t.

But, like…it’s still weird right? That we, as humans, are so wired to connect, we’ll project rich connections on to people who are fictional/strangers.

Putting the “Para” in Social Media

Of course, where parasocial relationships have flourished, and arguably, become more problematic, is in the social media sphere. Fans have piled on complaints and threats to celebrities because their parasocial expectations aren’t being met. They forget that these celebrities do not know them or owe them anything, that their presence is in a lot of ways cultivated marketing.

It’s tricky, though, isn’t it, when the brand being cultivated is authenticity?

On Fandom

I have always resisted being a fan—those swooning women at Beatles concerts? Fools. It seemed like a weakness to be devoted to someone you didn’t know.

And, even though I joined a Radiohead chatroom—and was arguably one of its most loyal devotees in the 1990s—to this day I couldn’t name all the members of the band (Thom, Johnny, Phil…another Phil??).

This shifted for me, in a surprising way—at this age!—when a sweetie introduced me to the Handsome podcast and I became a smitten kitten for the (famously) multi-hyphenate talent Mae Martin; even though I’d encountered their work before, the podcast—which features them, Tig Notaro, and Fortune Feimster shooting the shit and talking about their lives and interests—hooked me in a different way.

On the podcast Mae shares their interest in dreams, in possible romantic encounters with centaurs, in creating silly games, and cringing over their old livejournal; how could I not feel smitten with someone who seems so authentic and bashful, confident and playful, who seems not like a pre-packaged “star” but a talented, hard-working person who just happened to make it big?

So, when the opportunity arose to see them perform live—and to splurge on the Meet & Greet afterwards—I couldn’t resist. I felt like a teenager gearing up to faint at a Beatles concert.

Mae Day

Mae’s show was brilliant: a bit of stand-up, a bit of improv, then they they sang three moving songs to close the show out. Afterwards, the venue staff filed all of us eager VIP beavers onto the stage, to stand in an orderly line awaiting our brief hug and photo-op with Mae. The show over, at the end of a long tour, it was clear they were exhausted—still, they were warm and gracious. It was a surreal two minutes of time. I felt like a starry-eyed pilgrim, visiting a holy site (I just happened to pay a lot of money for).

And what is it we seek from pilgrimage? Connection to the divine. To, I suspect, be seen by that which we value—for the one-way street of affection to be, briefly two-way.

I don’t know if I felt seen by Mae (though I bashfully gave them a copy of Nest of Matches, so, who knows, maybe?!), but I do feel like I saw a little past the performance, to their exhausted, giving heart.

So what?

Kudos to those of you hanging in on this long ramble. I think what makes me curious about parasocial connections is when we mistake the illusion of intimacy for actual intimacy. A friend and I talked this weekend about the rise of AI romantic entanglements and wondered if they were programmed to start arguments or if it was an escape from the rough waters of actual human connection and friction.

If you know me, you know I don’t condone marrying an AI. But, I think it’s wonderful to feel affinities for artists, musicians, fictional characters, celebrities—this is partially why we make and crave art! I think the problem is that we are bombarded with social media that preys on our desire for such affinities so that we get lost in the “deep” fake of it—that we think we are as well-known to these celebs as they are (seem to be) to us.

There’s a line in the Apple series “Margo’s Got Money Troubles,” where Margo (Elle Fanning) is told that her professor isn’t sleeping with her to make her fall in love with him, but to make her fall in love with herself. I think when we are crushing on a celebrity or obsessed with a new song, we are, a little bit, falling in love with ourselves—with the part of us that needs beauty and resonance.

And this is just a reminder—to me as well as to you—that we can do this for ourselves any old time. Make a collage. Sing a little song to your pet. Bake a pie. These little acts of creation will nurture a real intimacy with yourself—and, I think, with others (someone’s gotta eat that pie with you, right?).

Last night, I dreamt I was soaking in a large rock-rimmed lake. I had found a rock-ledge to sit on and lean into, and while it wasn’t a hot spring—it was an enormous lake, full of swimming life—I was warm. I even fell asleep. I sat there for hours. Eventually, some humans came along, splashing and swimming about. I’ll admit, I was annoyed that the peace was shattered—but also thankful for how long it lasted.

Thankful for the gifts the lake provided—solitude, buoyancy, rest. I hope I get to go back in a future dream.

On Crossplay Or The Art of Losing, Part 2A

Recently, a sweetie invited me to play Crossplay, which is an addictive online version of Scrabble. The addictive features are: almost any nonsense counts as a word (EH, AH, UGH, FA, ER!) and a glowing green outline forms when you’ve created a word out of your pile of nonsense, letting you know how many points you may wrack up (math is my least favorite part of Scrabble so I do love this feature).

As someone whose entire life has been devoted to words, I thought I’d provide stiff competition. I recruited other people to play with me. I got better at accepting that “wame” is a word (it means belly), as well as “ed” (NASPA word list for ‘education’) but quo and vita are not words.

Reader, please note my record below.

To be fair, three of those wins came in the last two days, so my losing streak has ended (UPDATE: Back to losing after those wins). But up until then, my competitive genetics (my competitive mom won’t play Monopoly with my competitive dad) were making me twitchy—why couldn’t I win a game based solely on WORDS?!

My record shows I’m not terrible at coming up with great words, and yet, I lose and lose again. Why?

I am impatient

Playing the “let’s fit a bunch of letters together to make a word that means relatively nothing” is (at times) tedious for me. Why not just play PLAZA or VISAGE for ten points? What wonderful words! But I could play AH by lying the “A” and “H” next to other already played letters and use a double-the-points spot and get 30 points, so I play that. The game is both about and not about the of words, and patience is rewarded, even though, like most of us with tech-addled brains, I love a quick fix.

I am not naturally strategic

Back when I played chess occasionally, I dumbfounded an opponent who couldn’t understand my moves. At the end, when he finally (unsurprisingly) won he asked what my strategy was and I said: not to lose (if this doesn’t reveal everything about me you need to know, I don’t know what will). It never occurred to me to play to win.

I find this same mindset creeping into Crossplay/everything—how can I avoid losing? How can I cut my losses?

Why don’t I ever ask: how do I aim for exactly what I want?

Fortunately, this is a newsletter and not a therapy session, so I can leave that question hovering there as instruction and invitation, for you and me: what does it mean to aim for our desires?

The Art of Losing, Part 2B

Six months ago I wrote a newsletter about being laid off from my job at Eastern Illinois University teaching creative writing. Many of you were wonderfully supportive in helping me consider creative possibilities for my next steps.

I’ve spent the last six months in a state of unrest and uncertainty that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, though underneath it all, I knew that I’d find a way to keep myself housed and fed, that my long, random/multifaceted job history would land me somewhere.

Guess where I landed?

Exactly where I began.

EIU responded favorably to my grievance case and reinstated me.

I’ll admit my initial reaction to the two sentence notification of this reversal wasn’t exactly bliss. It felt a bit like someone who had broken up with you half-heartedly agreeing to try dating you again. So I took some time to decide if I truly wanted to go back.

I met with my therapist who asked me if I thought everything happened for a reason. I don’t think it does. But I do, generally, think there’s something to learn from life’s hardships. I don’t quite know what I’ve learned (aside from that I have wonderful friends and family and beloveds who again and again rally around me when times get tough—but then, I knew that), but I did see that I truly love teaching. That I am still excited by the challenges in the classroom. That even when I wasn’t sure if I’d get my job back, I was thinking about curricular changes I’d make if I did.

This still feels like the place, to paraphrase my dear mentor in my MAT program, Gregory Smith, where I can be of the most help and get the most help. I’m happy to be going back in the fall.

Wonders from the Poetry Penpal Club

I am so, so, SO tickled by the reading artifacts the poetic unicorns are making in response to our first read for the Poetry Penpal Club, The New Economy by Gabrielle Calvocoressi. Below are a few that some unicorns were willing to share!

Final Ephemera

1. Happy to have a poem in the latest Baltimore Review; you can read “The Starling and the Callery” here (or listen to the audio).

2. Join the HeartSprout waitlist! Not that I want anyone to drop out (we have some amazing folks gathering for this retreat), but statistically, it seems likely. Join the waitlist and maybe a spot will open up for you!

A memory instead of a dream (my sleep’s been poor and the dreams hard to recall): in middle school, I competed in the solo and ensemble competition for choir and sang “My Favorite Things,” that gem of a song by Rodgers and Hammerstein from The Sound of Music1. Like other things I memorized at that time of my life—the opening stanzas of “Paul Revere’s Ride,2” the Preamble to the Constitution—much of it has stuck with me and when the proverbial dog bites sometimes the song comes back, with its glistening geese and brown paper packages. Everything in that song is truly delightful.3

So, here are some recent favorite things for your enjoyment.

1. Noticing Three Things

I’ve taken to starting my morning journal entry with three things I noticed (off screen! that’s key) the day before—a habit that various writers have suggested in various iterations (I remember Kim Addonizio having a similar prompt in Ordinary Genius. And, wow, does it make me feel more attentive to my surroundings, more grounded. And as with anything, the more I notice—the more I notice.

2. Fiona Apple’s Fetch the Boltcutters

It’s a gray morning here, damp and green—the green of late May, not mid-April, which is upsetting but nonetheless green and thus beautiful. I returned to a ritual I’d started in the pandemic: making myself pancakes while listening to Fiona Apple’s Fetch the Boltcutters, which was so necessary to my early pandemic sanity. I haven’t listened to it in a few years and it took me back, not in a bad way. While the pandemic was irrefutably traumatic and terrible, I was privileged enough for it also to be a time of rich solitude, long walks, and stillness.

3. Recent Reads

These books are some of my favorites from 2026 so far:

• Hemlock by Melissa Faliveno

• The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

• She Made Herself a Monster by Anna Kovatcheva

• The New Economy by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

4. Peanut butter on a date.

No explanation needed.

5. Bob Trevino Likes It

I got to attend the last (!) Ebertfest and saw Bob Trevino Likes It last night, which was wonderfully performed and so moving. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry. You need to see it (it’s streaming on Hulu).

No News is Good News

No upcoming events at the moment, which actually feels quite luxurious. HeartSprout, my retreat, is officially SOLD OUT, which is thrilling.

There’s a few things in the works that I’ll be sharing soon.

For now, be well, take care of yourselves, and please, share your favorite things in the comments!

In my drafts file is a post with the working title of “Cookie Monster Dolly Parton,” and while the title still makes me laugh and I know it came from a dream of—yep—Cookie Monster with a Dolly Parton wig and costume on—I can’t for the life of me remember where I was going to go with that musing.

Maybe something on the magic of strange juxtapositions.

Maybe it’s a writing prompt: make a list of children’s characters and a list of pop culture icons; what happens when their powers combine? Where might you take this hybrid character? What kind of poem wants to be written featuring said hybrid (or both characters)?

• Rainbow Bright Chappell Roan

• Snuffleupagus Jerry Seinfeld

• Powerpuff Cyndi Lauper

Anyway. It’s pleasantly contradictory that I’m sharing a prompt with you when I haven’t felt prompted to write lately (she writes, which begs the question: what do we mean by writing?).

What Counts as Writing

What does a writer mean when they say they’ve been “writing”? Some possibilities:

• They’re writing on a regular schedule (whatever that means for them)

• The writing feels productive, a project is moving forward

• They’re actively submitting and publishing work

• They’re editing or revising work

• They’re researching (broadly defined)

• They’re reading adjacent work

Even if a writer is doing all of the above (and kudos to you if that’s you!), there’s a fair chance a part of their mind is telling them: yeah, but you’re not doing enough.

What Doesn’t Count as Writing?

If everything on the above list counts as “writing,” what does it mean to say one isn’t writing? If I am (and I am)

• journalling every morning,

• creating a newsletter instead of a poem or essay

• poking into projects infrequently, changing a word or two here or there

• taking walks and thinking about manuscripts

• reading broadly, for pleasure

am I writing? If those things count, then sure. I’m maintaining an active writing practice.

What’s the Catch?

I don’t feel like I’m actively writing because my writing schedule isn’t what it used to be. I used to write 2-3 mornings a week (sometimes more), for 2-3 hours at a time (sometimes more). I often felt captured by the projects at hand, easily swung into that magic state of flow.

I marveled at the shape of manuscripts on the horizon. I felt connected, inspired, fluid, immersed.

I don’t often feel that way these days. Some of the reasons are global (it can be hard to prioritize one’s creative practice when bombarded with atrocities), some of the reasons local (other creative, personal, and professional tasks pull me away). And sometimes, other activities—yoga, a walk in nature, designing a class—bring me that same sweet sense of connected inspiration, of fluid thought.

Hot Take: Does it Matter?

Maybe I’m letting myself off easy, but I’m over feeling guilty about not writing. I think often of a quote I read in The Sun years and years ago, which I think was originally from Natalie Goldberg about worry being like “riding a horse on top of a horse.” To me, that’s what fretting about whether one is writing (enough) is like: stacking a horse on top of another one and trying to ride.

It doesn’t work.

Over the years, I’ve read (and given) a lot of advice about writing and it usually comes down to: time in the seat. As two colleagues and I used to say to each other, you’ve gotta do the thing to do the thing.

You’ve gotta write to write. Period. End of story.

And people will pile on the ways to make it happen: write at your kids’ soccer games, write before bed or the moment you get up, write on your notes app, in a journal you carry everywhere, set yourself a writing date, get a writing buddy.

I think that’s all well and good and it’s important to find the strategies that serve you best. But I am here to say: it’s okay not to write—and not to have a “good” reason to not do it.

You can read countless hot takes on the importance of pushing back against productivity culture and the necessity of rest and the power of incubating ideas and cultivating slowness and, like the advice for writing, I think this is all well and good.

But my point is that getting caught up in the questions of am I writing enough, should I be writing, should I feel okay about not writing, or even how is not writing in ultimate service to writing—all these woulds and coulds and shoulds—in the end they are all distractions from the core question Mary Oliver put to us so beautifully: What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

What will you do?

If changing (or pausing) your writing practice calls to you, try to do it with intention. I suggest starting by getting into more frequent conversation with your intuition. I find that when I do set aside time to write or create, if I do what most calls to me, I have a better go of it. Working against my own inclinations has never served me well (even if it is sometimes necessary).

And be nice to yourself. When I was at the Vermont Studio Center in 2011, one of the directors said something to us on the first day along the lines of: no one cares what you do here. Harsh, maybe not entirely true, but also freeing—what will you do when no one is looking?

I’ll add: if no one cares what you create, you might as well relish the process—which might look like pleasure some days, basking in the flow of imagination. It might look like grit, powering through your own resistance and distraction to get words on the page. You can also relish the nap taken over the poem written (without guilt!). I know I do.1

And my favorite adage: Take the work seriously but not yourself.

Dynamic Duo Special for HeartSprout - Now through 4/15!

With only two rooms left for HeartSprout: A Retreat for the Creative Spirit, we are running a special deal for folks signing up with (or willing to be paired with) a roommate! Sign up for a shared room by April 15, and you’ll get an extra $25 off the early bird price. Save your (and your pal’s) spot here today!

In-Person Opportunities on the Horizon:

• Writing with the Wheel of the Year: Thursday, April 16 | 6:30-7:30pm | $32 | at The Literary (Champaign, IL) In this generative and exploratory class, we’ll create our own wheels of the year and discuss how to connect with nature by being more attentive to seasonal shifts. From there we’ll draw on memory, natural materials, and nature-themed oracle cards to use writing as a way to reconnect with the wild within as well as the wild without. Bring a journal and a favorite writing utensil. There will be a little drawing, but no artistic skill required.

• Ritual & Release: Channeling Eco-Grief, April 19, 1-3pm, Busey Woods, Urbana, IL: I’m partnering with Julie Shubach of Ripples Expressive Arts to offer this opportunity to express our eco-grief in community, transmuting it into connection and action. This event is free, though there’s a suggested donation of $10; profits will be donated to the Urbana Parks District.

I thought this week’s missive was going to be a piece on not writing, but…I didn’t feel like writing it (ba dum, ching!). So, I decided to lean into what I wanted to do, which was spend yesterday exploring New Harmony, Indiana, where my retreat for the creative spirit, HeartSprout, will be taking place September 25-27.

I tried to reach back through time to high school Amie, who schlepped around an old film camera, handed down from my aunt, making the backyard my studio with my little brother and our pets as semi-willing models. I’d spend careful moments trying to frame a shot, trying to get the light just right.

It wasn’t quite the same with my old iPhone, but I felt like I reconnected with that past self a little bit and captured some of the magic that is New Harmony. I can’t wait to share this special place with more people.

Last Call for Poetry PenPal Club!

We’ve got 30 poetic unicorns signed up to participate in the Poetry Penpal Club! I’m so excited to kick off five months of slowly reading poems and creating delicious reading artifacts. Register here (it’s free!) by March 27 to join the fun!

I’m also looking for some “pinch hitters” - a couple folks who can’t quite commit to the five months but might be willing to sub in and keep the penpal numbers good (aka, even). If this sounds more your speed, send me a note!

Stay Tuned…

Lots of updates coming up, including:

• a special deal for HeartSprout attendees who sign-up with a roommate

• in-person events to honor spring and Earth Day

First, a welcome to new subscribers! I appreciate your willingness to let my missives take up some of your inbox real estate! You’ll find that I usually begin these missives with a dream report and then segue into a little essay of sorts, followed by announcements of upcoming offerings.

For this week’s dream, I’ll share a smattering of moments from my dreams this week, in which I

• rescued a baby raccoon from my cats

• rescued my cats from various precarious situations while transporting them hither and yon

• rescued a little mouse (also from my cats)

• watched over my cousins, who were all little again

Apparently my subconscious is in care-taking mode, which leads to the intriguing question of what it is my subconscious thinks I’m neglecting? Actual creatures or some tender part of myself?

How do you interpret your dreams of rescue and care?

Lifestyles of the Witch and Famous….

About a year ago, I received a substack with a similar title from Janisse Ray; I clicked eagerly—I didn’t know until I saw it, but I did indeed want to be witch and famous. Plus, I love a good pun. Witch & Famous is a marketing course designed by Captolia Eaton, the Digital Witch. After reading what Janisse had to say about her experience in the program, I still equivocated; I wasn’t sure if it was the right moment to make the investment of time and money this digital marketing class required. She kindly offered to talk with me on the phone when I reached out with some questions. After our talk and a bit more soul-searching, I decided to go for it. I’m glad I did. And here’s why.

What is Witch & Famous?

Captolia is a witchy guide for spiritual entrepreneurs who helps them amplify their voice and take up more space (to get a feel for her offerings and vibe, follow her on instagram @captolia.online) . She offers a “Witch & Famous” cohort most springs. In this 12 week class, you’ll get

• 13+ zooms on marketing tips, from developing your website and social media presence, to connecting with people in real life

• Access to these materials FOREVER. I’ll admit, I couldn’t keep up with the live calls, so appreciated being able to access the recordings when I was free and love that I can go back to them perpetually.

• A sense of community—you’ll meet some people doing very interesting work. I had never heard of quantum healing before a “speed-dating” networking zoom as part of W&F! I met so many lovely people and follow many of them now.

• Inspiration: sometimes I would leave a call early to do the work right then. Before this class, social media and my website felt like a chore, but now my online platforms feel like an extension of my creative practice.

And yes…it works.

But, like most magic, not in a straightforward, linear way. What you’re embarking on is as much an internal journey as an external one. You need to get clear on what it is you’re doing, shake off the urge to compare yourself to others, and truly take up space. You can’t, to use the words Jeffrey Davis recently said to me on a coaching call, “hoard your medicine.” Your offering matters and you must believe that (at least, most of the time).

What is your medicine? What is your vibe? WHO ARE YOU? I’d recommend taking Captolia’s archetype quiz to start exploring possible answers.

Since being part of W&F, I’ve

• gotten more one-on-one writing clients than I typically do

• been offered more opportunities to teach, in-person and online

• redesigned my website to make it feel more like me (my archetypes are the Innocent, the Creator, and the Magician)

• refined my online presence and feel more confident showing up

• grew into my confidence not only as a writing guide but also as a tarot reader

• launched a retreat (I truly don’t think I would have had the vision & confidence to launch Heartsprout without this experience)

Some Caveats

I am so thankful I joined Witch & Famous, but it wasn’t a flawless experience. Here’s some things I struggled with:

• There’s a discord channel where a lot of people connect. I cannot handle discord, so I missed out on some of the community building that happens in that space.

• I had a hard time sitting through some of the live zooms—sometimes they were in the evenings, when I was already tired. Doing the recordings allowed me to watch at 1.25 speed (which I prefer), but also meant I had to schedule them on my own time, which can be tricky. There are offerings I haven’t watched yet, but I’m glad I can when I want to.

• It is pricey. It’s $1111. That’s not nothing (the payment plan definitely helped). I wouldn’t suggest you do it unless you feel truly called to grow your side hustle into a fuller part of your income.

Convinced?

If so, use this link and discount code AMIE for 11% off your registration. The deadline to apply is March 15. If you’re on the fence and want to talk about it, please feel free to reach out!

Upcoming Offerings

I’ve launched a Poetry Penpal Club!1

As part of the club, you’ll read five poetry books over five months, and at the end of each month, send a reading artifact to your penpal. Your reading artifact can be whatever you like—a poem, a review, a collage, a painting….whatever feels nourishing to you. We’ll go from April (national poetry month!) to August (Sealey challenge!) and read these five books this year:

• “The New Economy” by Gabrielle Calvocressi (April)

• “Blue Opening: Poems” by Chet’la Sebree (May)

• “I Do Know Some Things” by Richard Siken (June)

• “Lazarus Species: Poems” by Devon Walker-Figueroa (July)

• “A Magnificent Loneliness” by Allison Benis White (August)

Register here by March 27 and I’ll email you your penpal’s information on April 1. Limited to 50 participants and we already have 23! More info and FAQ on my website.

Bright Luck Moon

is what I’m naming today’s full moon, inspired by both the reception and anticipation of some bright luck on the horizon. What will you name this moon?

The other night, I dreamt I was on a beach, which is common enough. I was watching the waves, when an enormous one (multi-stories tall, just a wall of water), rose up and was heading toward me—also a common occurrence in my dreams. What was uncommon was that, as I watched the wall of water approach I thought to myself, Oh, this is just like in my dreams. I was unfazed—I’d been here before. I knew to wait and watch and hold my breath, ride it out.

Perhaps dreams are a training ground.

How have your dreams taught you to ride a wave, or surrender to it?

I’d love to know.

A Valentine as Mini-Essay

1. I can’t remember exactly how I felt before Valentine’s Day in grade school, but I do remember the pleasure of sorting through the piles of cards, picking out favorites, seeing if classmates had written something besides their names on the back. I appreciated the reassurance that everyone was giving a card to everyone else—no favorites (aside, from, maybe, a drawing or note on the back, just for you).
   

2. In high school, “candy canes” replaced class-wide valentines. Candy Canes were messages you could send to friends or crushes for a $1 each, delivered to you during homeroom. These missives were sent before winter break, perhaps to take the pressure off of receiving a valentine. Reader, I still have mine.

   

3. My first boyfriend came over to my house on Valentine’s Day to celebrate. An artist, he’d built a box out of pink construction paper and filled it with tiny paper hearts—100 of them—with reasons he loved me written on each1. I was 15. I knew I should have been floored, and certainly I blushed. But it felt unbearable to look through the 100 reasons, which felt both false and overwhelming. I couldn’t think of 100 reasons to love myself.
   
   What did I give him? Oh, if I could remember, would I even want to? I didn’t love him, though I said I did, though I cared. I think I made a card. Hopefully.
   

4. My grandmothers always sent Valentine cards, sometimes with five dollars slipped inside. Perhaps this is how I learned the value of sending valentines to anyone you love, not just your romantic partner(s).
   

5. Not a Valentine, but one evening, after taking photos for yearbook (see photo above) of a volleyball game, I found a note tucked into the windshield wiper of my parents’ mint-green minivan they let me drive to my various nerdy activities in high school.
   
   My heart flared with anticipation—it was a note from a secret admirer. If you had asked me what I secretly wanted as a secretly romantic teen, I’d have said, this. I’d have had a complex vision of who this admirer would have been—dashing, creative, witty, tender, fun, understanding. And, importantly, it was someone I didn’t even know (back then, this didn’t seem creepy to me, but magical).

   
   As soon as I opened the note, I knew who it was from. It wasn't much of a secret: someone with whom I often, playfully, butted heads in yearbook meetings, who always made me laugh; whom I really should have "like-liked", but didn't.
   
   My anticipation turned to anxiety: what to do with this note?
   

6. In college, my friend A. and I, both hungry for life to happen, for something urgent and feathery and enticing and exquisite to tug us into it, both somewhat shy and somewhat lonely and lonesome, living in different countries, having had only one breathtaking day together on the shores of Lake Erie (another story, another time), we decided we’d write each other L-O-V-E letters, playing on the letters themselves. I remember sending her a starving letter O. She sent me an L, full of luck and leprechauns. They are still tucked safely in the envelope I once taped to my college bedroom wall to gather them:

   

7. What if every letter is a love letter?
   

8. All the bruised, aching letters I never sent, saved on thumb drives and journals, to exes, to people I desired but never pursued, to future lovers who never manifested—the love letter, the valentine, is as much for the sender as the receiver. The transmission, even if it’s never received, carries the traces of love.
   

9. I used to write love letters between imaginary characters and leave them in library books for patrons to find. Now, when a librarian flicks through the book they’re about to hand me, I worry that no one ever saw these letters, that they were tossed like old bookmarks.
   

10. The first time I hung out with my current girlfriend was on Valentine’s Day two years ago. I brought her Thai food after her shoulder surgery. We drank the last of the champagne her girlfriend had brought over earlier, for brunch. I accidentally called her “babe,” though she claims no memory of this; partially because I had a crush, but largely because I felt at ease—something familiar inside her called out to me.
    

11. I don’t think I responded to that secret admirer. Maybe he bashfully shrugged it off when I tried to bring it up, knowing me well enough to know my response.
    

12. —what of love gone bad? The love that was never love at all? For those cases, I offer a cleansing ritual: make an erasure of that love poem, that love letter. Transform it. Take back that part of yourself you gave away too quickly and love it.
    

13. I recently read that the more often you practice metta, the lovingkindness meditation, the more empathy you feel for others2. Consider it a valentine you can send anytime, to yourself, to other humans, to other lifeforms, to the universe itself.
    

14. Each Valentine’s Day, my parents send me and my siblings heart-shaped Chicago style pizzas, packed in dry ice. A lesson: let love nourish you. Let yourself thaw.

The other night I dreamt I was constructing the word SYMBOL (all in caps) out of found objects—feathers, ribbons, twigs and leaves. I woke up, amused. Dreams can be so adamant, sometimes, like poets.

Happy Full Moon, Happy Imbolc

We are officially half-way through winter today. Imbolc (or St. Brigid’s Day) marks the midway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. It is a historically Gaelic tradition, though if you head over to that wiki link I dropped, you’ll learn more about its past and present.

It’s also the February Full Moon, an auspicious alignment, if you ask me. It seems like a lovely day to do a little ritual for yourself.

Over the last few years, I’ve woven more rituals into my life and have found them nourishing. So many rituals in the United States have been monetized by capitalism, so it’s a gift to yourself (and others with whom you may weave ritual) to create one’s personal rituals, outside of consumerism.

For the full moon:

I offer you a reading of “Hunger Moon,” my poem written on February’s full moon in 2020, as part of my moon sequence in Nest of Matches. It’s also available on Insight Timer if you prefer to listen there.

I’m working my way through Janisse Ray’s beautiful Journey in Place, and in Week 4 of the year-long journey, she invites readers to name their own full moons. What a brilliant idea! Perhaps that can be your ritual for this full moon. Mine is called “Song in the Snow Moon” as I heard someone singing before dawn as they walked through our recent heavy snows. It felt both mournful and hopeful.

For Imbolc:

If, like me, you follow too many online witches on social media, you know there’s a wealth of ritual options, from complex to simple out there. Here’s a few ways to simply mark this turn toward spring:

• Eat an orange (mindfully and deliberately) as if it were sunlight

• Light a candle and set it in a window

• Make yourself something warm to eat or drink—a cup of tea, a hardy curry, a warm dessert

• Donate to support mutual aid in Minnesota. Melt some ICE.

See you soon, Indianapolis!

Looking forward to reading with Shannon K Winston, Mary Lou Buschi, and Samantha Fain at Typeshop Bookshop in Indianapolis, Saturday 2/7, 1pm. If you’re in Indy, please come on thru!

Heartsprout Gratitude!

Thank you so much for the warm reception to Heartsprout: A Retreat for the Creative Spirit, September 25-27, New Harmony, Indiana. We already have six people signed up, which feels like a wonderful start! Early bird rates will be available through May 1.

Last September, I dreamt I was traveling down a narrow, dark, wooded path. It wasn’t scary or ominous, but I wasn’t sure where it was going or where I was headed. The next day, my girlfriend and I left for Yoga Camp in New Harmony, Indiana, hosted by the talented and delightful Ahna Hoke. On the first evening, we had some time to wander around the trails near the Barn Abbey where we were staying.

As dusklight threaded its way through the trees, I felt transported back to my dream. I described it to my partner and she asked what I thought it meant: follow the path, I said. The dream seemed to be insisting I follow the path I’d been envisioning both before and after the news of losing my job—a path where wellness and creativity are centered in my professional life. A path I can’t fully control or comprehend, only trust.

As the magical weekend unfolded and I saw more of New Harmony, I knew it was the spot I wanted to host my first retreat, which I had been dreaming about for much of 2025. After a little soul-searching, collaboration, and a big ol’ leap of faith, I’m happy to introduce you to heartsprout: a retreat for the creative spirit, September 25-27, 2026 in New Harmony, Indiana.

Why Heartsprout?

The simple answer is that it felt nearly impossible to shed the idea once it made a home inside me. Turning away felt like denying a sacred call.

The more complicated answer is I have organized many writing conferences, workshops, and classes and I wanted to try something a little different. While I am deeply committed to literary excellence and growth, over the years I’ve gotten more curious about the spark that undergirds the craft—call it muse, call it inspiration, call it wellspring. I wanted to create a space that helped people access their creative essence, their intuition, the place from which art and connection emerge.

I also, like many of you, feel the heaviness of this moment in history. I often feel helpless. I have to do the good I can with the power I have and one of my superpowers is organizing events. I also believe that attendees will leave more nourished to fight the good fight on their home turfs. As Anodea Judith writes in Eastern Body, Western Mind,

“creativity combines will and consciousness and moves us forward into the future […]Creativity is a pure expression of the spirit within us. It allows the Self to give back to the world.”

This is my way of giving back to the world.

The Details

At heartsprout, you can expect yoga, delicious food, creative activities, guided time in nature, and a chance to rest, dream, and explore the quaint, artsy village of New Harmony, Indiana. I’m thankful for my brilliant team members’ commitment to making this a meaningful and fun experience. We’ll reveal more details as the date approaches.

Register here and score your spot at the early bird rate by May 1.

I have a dream to share with you, but first, let’s address the egg of light in the room. In Michelle Tea’s Modern Magic (which I highly recommend), Tea writes about being on tour with author Laurie Weeks who would shout “‘Egg of light! Egg of light!’ whenever she perceived herself, or our tour as a whole, to be in a precarious circumstance” (226). Whenever Weeks would shout this, the entire tour group would imagine themselves “ensconced in a warm and protective egg of light” (Tea 226).

I love this gentle protective practice and have already envisioned my egg of light to be opalescent, pearly, in tones of pink and yellow and white. But what I love most of all is how protection is a collective action in this anecdote. Everyone needs to envision it for the egg to work its protective power.

As many of you know, for most of 2023 and a significant amount of 2024, I was dealing with a terrible break-up from an emotionally abusive ex. After the turmoil of the break-up, this person stalked and harassed me online as well as harassed friends and family1. This person is the reason subscribing this substack takes my approval and why all of my social media is friends only. In 2026, I will be expanding my creative offerings and have been contemplating what it means to be protected: what is the line between a fear-based decision and a rational one?

When my therapist and I go over this question, which we have gone over much too often, she asks if I feel physically at risk. My answer is somewhere between no and probably not. So, then the question is one of emotional safety. What do I fear will happen if they access me online?

• they’ll leave upsetting comments

• they’ll attend one of my events

Behind all these fears is the fear of vulnerability and what I have to remind myself is that I am not alone and I have power. I can delete comments. I can (and have) worked with event organizers to deal with their potential attendance.

And if I start shouting “Egg of Light! Egg of Light!” I feel pretty confident you, dear initial subscribers, will envision with me a pearly protective egg. In other words, I am beginning to wonder if I am, in a weird way, more protected by being open about experiences that are hard to talk about. That maybe I’m ready to move into a different phase, at last, of dealing with the echoes of this trauma.

And if you need an egg of light? I’m your girl.

Now for that dream: in the past, my nightmares about this ex would all be about defending myself physically and verbally, sometimes shouting in my sleep until Minnow would paw onto my chest to calm me. But recently, I had a dream that this person and I were at the same event, working to make it happen. We were able to do the work we needed to do without engaging with each other. I woke up and felt in a deeper way, their humanity: they have made choices that have hurt me, but they aren’t evil. For so long, my boundaries have been built of thorns and fury; perhaps I can keep them just as firm without the barbs.

2026: Offerings & Updates

Please consider building poetic community with me through one of the following options:

• 10-month Poetry/Hybrid Manuscript Program with Pioneer Valley Writers (Zoom meetings on First Thursdays, March-December); applications open throughout January until the class fills!

• 6-month Poetry Cohort with The Porch (Zoom meetings on last Mondays, January-June); now through January 4, you can save 10% on your deposit! This class is filling up, so act now! No code needed.

And stay tuned for:

• A new, exciting (dare I say thrilling) offering, I’ll announce at the end of the month

• Details on forthcoming classes with Poetry Barn

• Upcoming in-person events

Thank you for reading

Truly, it means so much to me that, despite the barricades to accessing this Substack, I’ve doubled my readers in less than a year. I appreciate you all and wish you the best in 2026.

Happy Yule! Happy Solstice! Welcome, winter, welcome light. A dear friend of mine recently talked me into sharing this yoga nidra on Insight Timer (you can find it there at the link), but I also wanted to share it with you here. May you find comfort in the long nights and warmth in the waxing light.

The other night, I dreamt a group of French women were cooing over my cat, Minnow, using of course, the small stock of French I actually know: le chat est tres bien1. I asked them if they had a song that children used to learn their numbers or alphabet, and they started singing a song to count to ten, but kept accidentally slipping Spanish in—un, deux, tres, no, trois! So amusing, how my brain shored up its nuggets of the two languages to make a song.

Do you dream in other languages, even if you’re not fluent in them? How does that go for you?

For this missive, I want to highlight two multi-month writing opportunities I’m offering in 2026:

• 10-month Poetry/Hybrid Manuscript Program with Pioneer Valley Writers (deadline December 20) (Zoom meetings on First Thursdays, March-December)

• 6-month Poetry Cohort with The Porch (Zoom meetings on last Mondays, January-June)

Both of these programs are valuable to writers for offering community; the Pioneer Valley option is better if you have a book you want to build next year; the Porch option is better if you’re simply looking for a bit more accountability and exploration of craft.

Why Community Matters

As an undergraduate and graduate-level creative writing instructor, one of the most common concerns I hear from students on graduating is, how will I keep writing? Without deadlines? Without classes? Without—what they’re really saying is—community?

They are right. It is harder without all those supports in place. So, what makes writing community so powerful? Writing communities help you

• Get out of your own way: Offload some of the time management, inspiration, and accountability struggles onto the class dynamic.

• New perspectives: There’s nothing like a group of supportive, smart readers to help you see something new.

• Escape your comfort zone: We’re here with the nurturing nudge.

• Laugh: Did you know laughter happens most often when in the company of other humans? Laughter literally opens you up. When you’re open, you’re learning. When you’re learning, you’re growing.

• Get out of your own way: Our problems can seem so burdensome in isolation, be they based in our writing lives or our waking lives. Being with others helps us remember it’s not all about us! And we’re not alone with whatever is heavy.

How to Gather Your Community

What my graduating students don’t understand, yet, is there are myriad ways to build community through

• local libraries & bookshops: many host writing groups of all stripes

• open mics: once you find your local open mic, you’ll likely find folks who want to write with you

• colleagues: even if you’re not teaching creative writing, you’re quite likely working with a secretly creative person(s) who also craves accountability and connection.

• online: there are a plethora of online writing opportunities; my offerings are just glitter in the vast sparkling potpourri of options. If my offerings don’t feel like a fit for you, I’d recommend working with Janisse Ray if you’re working on memoir or place-based/nature writing, or trying out the other cohort and class options at Pioneer Valley and The Porch. Poets Joan Kwon Glass and Tresha Faye Haefner (of The Poetry Salon) also offer a variety of ways for poets to connect with each other.

Make 2026 Your Year of Community

In writing, in life, however, wherever you are: the antidote to despair, to fascism, to writing block, is, at the basic level, community. Community is the rhizome that reaches out to shared nutrients, to shared being and belonging. I hope you’ll build community with me next year.

The Not-so-dull Knife, Part 3

Never would I have thought I’d spend this much time talking about a knife, but for those of you who have followed along with Part 1 and Part 2, here’s part 3:

In slicing oranges to dehydrate for a craft night with some friends (said dried orange pictured above), I sliced a divot into my left ring finger—two weeks ago. It’s nearly healed, but only yesterday did I start typing again without a little cushion wrapped around my finger. The new knife is sharp. Sharpness requires

• paying attention

• deliberation

• knowing your limits

• respecting what’s sharper than you

So many lessons from my little knife! With that, may your solstices be warmed with citrus and cinnamon as we welcome the longest night.

Last week, I told you about my 25-year-old dull knife and my relentless inability to remember to take it to the knife sharpener at the food co-op on a Saturday morning.

Well, I’ve got an update.

I remembered. I was almost giddy last Saturday morning, as if fulfilling a prophecy. I, again, wrapped the knife in a towel. I grabbed my grocery bags and headed to the co-op, just fifteen minutes before Mr. Knife was going to close up shop.

What I learned:

• What I should have realized before: This isn’t a free service. But it is wildly inexpensive. Seven bucks got me a good-as-new knife.

• Everyone wraps their knives, gently, in old towels, to transport them. Mr. Knife put painting tape on each new blade, yet everyone still swaddled their renewed knives to carry them home.

• You can get scissors sharpened and gardening shears. Who knew? (Probably a lot of y’all, but I didn’t!)

• It was meditative to watch Mr. Knife hold the knife against three spinning wheels: grinding, honing, and polishing.

• After he finished mine, he held up a glossy page of newsprint and sliced it clean across. I had goosebumps. I wish I had a video.

• That night I chopped onions, sweet potatoes, garlic and thought to myself, why did I wait so long?

What I capital-L Learned:

• Don’t put off what will improve your life.

• Nonetheless, give yourself grace for being slow at the above.

• Telling a bunch of people on a substack you’re going to do a thing, might make you actually do the thing.

Exciting Ways to Work with me in 2026!

I’m thrilled to share with you two opportunities to work closely with me on poetry or hybrid work! These are both new ventures for me, so it would be great to see some familiar faces in these zoom rooms (and to see what you’re creating!). Both classes are limited to 10 participants, ensuring an intimate and cohesive group experience.

1. 10-month Poetry/Hybrid Manuscript Program with Pioneer Valley Writers’ Workshop, which entails

   1. Zoom meetings on the first Thursday of each month, March through December, 5-8pm CT for workshop & discussion

   2. Asynchronous materials and draft-sharing space

   3. One-on-one zooms with me

   4. Accountability buddies & other support through Pioneer Valley

   5. Expectation to complete or develop a chapbook or full-length poetry or hybrid manuscript

   6. Deadline to apply is December 20!
      

2. 6-month Poetry Cohort with The Porch, which entails

   1. Zoom meetings on the last Monday of each month (mostly), January through June, 6-8pm CT for workshop & discussion

   2. Asynchronous materials and draft-sharing space

   3. One-on-one zooms with me

   4. Perfect for the writer without a manuscript, who is looking for inspiration, craft, and accountability

   5. First class meets January 26, but grab those early bird rates today!

A Glint of Light in Solstice Season

I’m offering short tarot readings now through the end of the year, on a donation basis. Donate to a social or environmental cause close to your heart, send me the screenshot, and we can set up a time. Donate whatever feels right to you—no amount is too small! Here are some of my favorite causes, but feel free to choose your own:

• ACLU

• Indivisible

• International Rescue Committee: Support for Gaza (donations will currently be matched)

• Literacy Volunteers of Charlottesville/Albemarle

• Planned Parenthood

• Prairie Rivers Network

You can visit my Calendly page to schedule a time (this will also cue you to email me a donation screenshot).

Once upon a time, I came to own a knife.

If you know me, you know it arrived second-hand or hand-me-down. My best hunch is hand-me-down and that this knife—a chef’s knife—yes I had to look up the names of kitchen knives—belonged to my grandparents. Many of my kitchen items came from the year I lived in their house, after they’d died.

So, it’s a 25+ year old knife. It’s traveled from IL to WI to VA to TN back to IL.

It’s not been sharpened—I mean really sharpened—once in that time. A partner with a whetstone did tune it up a few years ago. Every lover, friend, and family member who has used it has commented on its lack. Of an edge. This is dangerously dull, one (or many) of them have said.

But I am accustomed to its dullness. Plus I have a serrated 15-year-old Cutco (a gift from my ex-mother-in-law) that can sub in anytime. Yes, I know the history of all four of my knives, including the steak knife I’m teased for treating as a kitchen knife (yes, it was my grandparents’ as well. No, I’m not sure why I have only one).

For, oh, almost a year, I’ve been meaning to take the dull knife to the local food co-op on a Saturday morning, when a gentle-looking man stands behind a beast of a device waiting to sharpen knives. For free.

Last week, I wrapped the knife in a kitchen towel (a gift) and slung it into my purse, but was too spent after a morning of teaching and taking hot yoga.

My plan is to try again this weekend1.

Why is this so hard?

The Dull Knife as Resistance to Change

Perhaps I am afraid of sharpness. Perhaps I enjoy the comfort of my loved ones hating on my dull knife. Perhaps I feel a little protective of it—it still cuts! It’s doing the best it can!

The Self as Dull Knife

Have I over-identified with the knife? Do I think others find me “dangerously dull”?

The Dull Knife as Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

As long as the knife stays dull, no one can blame it for not doing a better job. It’s not doing a good job, so of course it must be dull.

The Dull Knife as Make-Do

Who am I to require sharp knives?

The Dull Knife as Imposter Syndrome

I was never that sharp to begin with.

The Dull Knife as Attachment Theory

I’m avoiding a better relationship to food prep by accepting its dullness. I’m anxiously attached to the past by accepting its dullness. I’m securely attached to what it can offer, its gifts and limitations, by accepting its dullness.

The Dull Knife as Writing Prompt

You think because you’re being meta you can avoid the dull knife?

The Dull Knife as (Write it!) Life

Over-extended, exhausted, bouncing between an “it will all work out” nonchalance about the job search and a capitalistic despair, I haven’t felt particularly sharp lately. I’ve barely written anything besides these missives, which I thought were going to be about poetry but have really come to be about so much else.

The Dull Knife as Life Questions

• What sharpens you?

• What keeps you dull?

• What brightens your glint?

• What work are you doing as well as you can?

• What work could you be doing with more support?

• What chore are you avoiding? Could you turn it into a metaphor?

A Glint of Light in Solstice Season

I will say that studying and sharing my appreciation of tarot has been a bright spot in this season. With that said, I’m going to offer short tarot readings now through the end of the year, on a donation basis. Donate to a social or environmental cause close to your heart, send me the screenshot, and we can set up a time. Donate whatever feels right to you—no amount is too small! Here are some of my favorite causes, but feel free to choose your own:

• ACLU

• Indivisible

• International Rescue Committee: Support for Gaza (donations will currently be matched)

• Literacy Volunteers of Charlottesville/Albemarle

• Planned Parenthood

• Prairie Rivers Network

You can visit my Calendly page to schedule a time (this will also cue you to email me a donation screenshot).

Wow. Thank you for the abundance of support regarding my last post about losing my job. I can’t tell you how buoyed I feel, knowing so many good humans are cheering for me as I figure out this next step. Thank you.

For those of you new to the newsletter, welcome! What you’ll find here is summed up in one of my first posts, but here’s the cliff notes version1

• musings on matters related to peace through discussions of books, rituals, tarot, yoga, and honestly, whatever strikes my fancy

• insights into poetry (admittedly, I’ve been low on this lately)

• a smattering of dream-talk

• updates on upcoming classes, readings, and other events

So, welcome. I hope you stick around, but I understand if not—we can only subscribe to so many newsletters!

Finding Your Spot: Literally

As I processed the news about my job, I craved a spot to be immersed in nature, alone. Not a trail or park bench, something that felt—well, like home. As an angsty teen, I’d take myself out to our pasture when the doldrums hit and lean my back against my favorite oak. It’s been almost three decades since I felt my spine against that tree’s bark and still I yearn for it. I’ve had to scout for substitutes:

• In college, the cemetery was the best I could do, and though it provided the requisite solitude, it never felt quite right

• In Wisconsin, near the train tracks behind my apartment complex, was a place where the grass grew tall and I could, in a pinch, sit among it, unseen and comforted.

• In Tennessee, I found a large stone slab at the edge of Maney’s spring. During the pandemic, I sat there often, watching crayfish, watching birds. I was always annoyed when someone else was in my spot.

This recent loss pushed me to find a spot here, in Illinois, that no one would walk by, where I could feel alone and connected. I had a hunch about where to go (I am, it would seem, always scouting for a spot) and it did the trick. I could lay down in the grass, amid a thick ring of trees. No one happened by.

I hope you have a spot. I encourage you to find one. The key ingredients seem to be:

• Easily accessible. If it can be on your property, lucky you! If not, try the nearest park.

• If you can’t get yourself to a greenspace easily, perhaps there’s an indoor spot that can serve. I’d hide out near Anaïs Nin’s diaries in the library at UW-Parkside when my work day was dragging too slowly or life felt too heavy.

• Honestly, a bathroom will do in a pinch. It helps if you can lock the door. It’s great when you can lie on the floor.

  

Finding Your Spot: Figuratively

Of course, the task before me is to find my next work spot, which has gotten me to think about my relationship to work. Which has gotten me to realize I’ve spent much of my life thinking about my relationship to work. As, I suspect we all do, since we spend too many hours at our jobs, often for too little pay. Late capitalism isn’t really interested in abundance or thriving—but that’s a different newsletter.

Instead, I’ll share the best job-seeking advice I’ve gotten here (and welcome you to add your own in the comments):

• From my professor in my MAT program, Greg Smith: Go where you can be of the most help and receive the most help. I love the focus on reciprocity and growth in this statement!

• Make a list of elements of work you like. Find the commonalities. This is how I discovered I love teaching and waiting tables because both are people centered, invite flow states, and when you’re done, you’re done—there’s no counting the minutes at the end of the day (just counting tips or papers to grade).

• Trust your intuition: how does your gut react when you read a job description? How does it feel to imagine yourself in X place? What is it you hope will be different from your current circumstances (sometimes this helps us see how to change the current circumstance without changing jobs)?

I find an intuitive practice, like tarot, so helpful in tuning into your gut. I’ll be offering some donation-based tarot readings later this year—keep an eye for details soon.

Up Next: Writing Queer Joy, November 8, 2-4 CT

For just $40 you can come read and write your queer joy with me, via zoom, through the Midwest Writing Center on Saturday, November 8, 2-4pm CT. Save your seat here! Open to poets and writers of all experience levels! Beginner friendly. Come even if you’re not feeling joyful. We’ll create some joy together.

Yesterday morning I pulled the Six of Air from the Lineages of Change tarot deck; it’s a card marking transitions and letting go. I lingered over it as it felt out of sync with my preoccupations at the moment. I carried on with my day, drove to work, where an odd email from my Dean awaited me, asking me to fill out an urgent doodle poll for a mandatory meeting. After checking I wasn’t being phished, I signed up for a slot, mildly worried. Thirty minutes later, the university President sent out a campus wide email indicating 23 annually contracted faculty members would not be renewed next year (and many staff members also cut)—suddenly, I had a pretty good hunch what my meeting was going to be about.

As of May 15 next year, I won’t be an instructor of creative writing at Eastern Illinois University anymore.

Now what?

After the election last fall, I was already nervous about the security of my position and had started to take tiny steps toward creating an exit plan. Problem is my plan was working (based on some false assurances) on a 3-5 year horizon. Not an eight-month horizon.

I’m thankful for any runway and know so many people who have lost jobs due to this Administration (yes, my job was cut due to a cut in federal funding) with a lot less notice. I’m heartbroken to leave behind colleagues and students I’ve grown to love. To leave a place where I felt both needed and like I belonged.

In the past, I would have probably wrestled with this problem in seclusion, talking it out with my closest friends and loved ones. While I will still do that, I also want to be more creative than I might have been in the past. Perhaps, a bit bolder. Maybe this is an opportunity to craft something beautiful and not settle for something that isn’t a good fit.

Hackberry I hung out with on my 45th birthday three days ago. Talk about midlife crisis.

What I know:

• I don’t want to move. I have finally found my way home after so long away. In her recent Substack, Janisse Ray shares her 7 strange ideas about place, and this was one of my favorites:

“We urge restlessness in our children—if they are to be successful, they should leave the place where they were born and reared, and they should stay away permanently. Paul Gruchow wrote about this in Grass Roots: The Universe of Home. He says in the essay “What We Teach Rural Children,” “We raise our most capable rural children from the beginning to expect that as soon as possible they will leave and that if they are at all successful, they will never return. We impose upon them, in effect, a kind of homelessness.” (Recognizing, of course, that sometimes our places become uninhabitable, for all kinds of reasons.)”

While I’m not back in my hometown, I am back in my home state, in a town I love. I don’t want to go back to that homesickness I lived with for much of the last 20 years.

• I want to think outside the box, even if I end up back in the box eventually. I’ve never been above taking whatever job(s) I can get to make ends meet, but since I do have some time, I want to use that time wisely to plan, to dream.

What I’d Love to Hear from You:

• If you’re doing your own independent, freelance creative lifestyle thing, what advice do you have?

• Similarly, are folks happy with Affordable Care Act coverage? Anything I should be aware of there?

• Let’s talk creative collaborations and networking: Can we build something together? Do you have an opportunity in mind for a seasoned creative writing instructor, yoga teacher, event planning weirdo?

On the Near Horizon: Two Classes Coming Up!

• Join me for Tarot for Creativity & Clarity on Saturday, October 25, 10am-noon CST, via zoom, through The Porch! I’m so excited for this class, which is great for tarot newbies and folks who already have a tarot practice.

• Join me for Writing Queer Joy with the Midwest Writing Center, also via zoom on Saturday, November 8, 2-4pm CST

Stay tuned for some new, exciting opportunities to work with me in 2026!

The song “Swamp Witch” by She Returns from War flits into my my mind regularly, as it did, recently, while I was walking up my stairs, and each time it delights me. The way Hunter Park’s husky tenor in this mid-tempo1 song uncurls, unfurls, a swampy tune that dredges up dreams and melancholy and magic. I love this song and feel so lucky I saw She Returns from War live last year thanks to a pal’s invitation. Highly recommend if you want some queer folky-country vibes!

While humming to “Swamp Witch,” the phrase Boss Bitch came into my brain and I thought, that’s a substack title! But I wasn’t sure why until today. To make sure I knew what Boss Bitch meant, I consulted Urban Dictionary like the true geriatric millennial/xennial/gen-Xer that I am, and discovered it means what I thought: a femme with plenty of power (though, apparently, she could be “stunting,” which I looked up, which means “fronting,” so perhaps she also has a shimmer of imposter syndrome, as most of the most bad ass people I know seem to carry with them like loose change).

On reflection, I feel like my life has been a series of crossroads where this question came up in a variety of ways: Be a Boss Bitch or a Swamp Witch?

When I’m a Boss Bitch, I’ve chosen to organize a gazillion arts events, invent a potpourri of creative writing classes, take on extra tasks at work for the good of students, nudgedmy friends into applying for X, Y, and Z opportunity, or talk them into spending more time on their art (you know who you are). Basically when I’m bossing people around, presumably to help them out.

When I’m a Swamp Witch, I’m the one applying for arts residencies, or refusing to grade papers in order to write essays and poems (or, as with today, write a substack), when I’m exchanging work with a trusted reader, or reading beautiful literature for the joy of it. It’s when I’m making Valentine centos, trying out clay-for-a-day, taking a walk or a nap. When I’m not overscheduling my life but instead letting creativity in.

Reader, I’ve been at this crossroads so many times (I imagine you have also) and have mixed feelings when I admit: I often choose Boss Bitch over Swamp Witch.

It might be my Eldest Daughter Syndrome at work. It’s certainly a bit of capitalism, nudging me toward the financial benefits of BB-ing. The rewards of Swamp Witching are more internal, quiet, and slow, often complicated, always mysterious. They definitely pay less.

I feel like there’s a lot of pressure to idealize the Art Monster, who refuses to BB, who chooses their swampy creativity again and again and again, their dedication awe-inspiring:

“My plan was to never get married. I was going to be an art monster instead. Women almost never become art monsters because art monsters only concern themselves with art, never mundane things. Nabokov didn't even fold his own umbrella. Vera licked his stamps for him.”

― Jenny Offill, Dept. of Speculation

Today, though, I feel tired of this dichotomy. I know, for a variety of reasons, I’ll never be an Art Monster. I’m going to try to own being a Boss Witch or a Swamp Boss (both of these titles are great, aren’t they?). Maybe you want to take up the title too if you

• Find both creating and supporting others’ creativity inspiring

• See the value in organizing the mess

• See the value in messiness

• Appreciate the way your creativity manifests in abundant ways, be it in paid work, unpaid work, in spreadsheets or sentences

• Refuse perfectionism

• Honor dedication and play

• Know you can say no

• Know when to say yes

How will you channel your inner Swamp Boss? Or Boss Witch?

See you at Poets in Pajamas?

Excited to read with Kate Pyontek as Part of Poets in Pajamas this Sunday, September 21, 7-8pm EST. Zoom info at the link!

Hello! It’s a busy season for this dreamer, so these letters will likely be fewer and farther between this fall. That said, I so appreciate your interest and support in these missives!

Last night, I had two celebrity sightings in my dreams and started mentally drafting this post in the wee hours. First, the unfortunate: I dreamt Tr*mp was on the lamb, running from everything. I used my—ugh—sexual wiles (SEE WHAT I WILL DO FOR DEMOCRACY) to convince him to stay hidden, do nothing, to basically just slow fade away. Reader, I nibbled his ear. Fortunately, it didn’t get more graphic than that and my art of persuasion seemed to work. Let’s hope that sacrifice in the dream world translates to a tiny shift in the waking world.

My brain, thankfully, offered me some counterbalance in the next dream in which Jason Bateman and I were having a delightful romance. We were in that delicious phase of dating when the initial physical sizzle is slowing to a simmer and a growing sense of comfort and intimacy is weaving in. That part of the relationship that feels like these September days—the days are warm and the nights are cozy. We cuddled on my couch and talked about his recent trip to New Jersey and I found out he has two middle names: Stacey Eric, named after his two grandfathers (“they were trouble,” he informed me). Anyhow, thanks Jason, for the fun times!

Whenever I dream of celebrities, I think how wild it is that these people who already lead somewhat surreal lives are then also leading surreal dream lives, popping into all sorts of people’s sleeping minds. In my dreams I’ve met Barack Obama (I tried so hard to charm him; he was kind but skeptical); Neko Case (several times!); Taylor Swift (twice, even though I can name only two of her songs); Queen Latifah (she was watching out for me during a difficult time); and so on. What celebrities have shown up in your dreams?

Fall Events:

• Tuesday 9/16, 5:30pm CT: Putting the Wit in Witness: Bringing Levity to Heavy Topics with Jung Hae Chae as part of the Tell It Slant Festival! (FREE!)
  

• Sunday, 9/21, 6pm CT: Poets in Pajamas with Kate Pyontek (FREE!)
  

• Saturday, 10/11, 7pm CT: Monsters of Poetry, Madison WI (more details soon)!
  

• Saturday, 10/25, 10am-12pm CT: Tarot for Creativity & Clarity through the Porch. Register by 9/10 to get that sweet early bird rate. Class will be held on zoom!

How are your dreams lately? I feel a renewed kinship with mine now that I’ve paired my HRT with acupuncture and my hot flashes have stopped: I don’t wake up 3-5 times a night, sweaty, my brain ticking through its anxieties. In the morning, rested, I’m able to turn my dreams over like tarot cards before the day begins—or the screams of the cats get too hard to ignore, as the case may be.

I’ve been wanting to devote a post to yoga here for awhile, and at first thought I’d call it the Top 5 Things I wish I knew When I started Yoga. But could I have really known them without the journey? Oh, the wish to learn things faster and earlier! It’s so rarely how being human works.

Still, in case this is your chance to get the right lesson at the right time, here’s the first three. I’ll share more in a future post!

1. Someday May Never Come

I have had many teachers say “someday you’ll be able to….put your leg behind your shoulder / stand on your head / float in crow” and the truth is, that day may never come. I understand why teachers say this—to help students focus on progress and process rather than end result. And there are poses I can do now that I thought were impossible (we’ll get to that in a moment).

But for many poses, for many people, for many reasons, you may not be able to do.

The good news is: that’s okay. The better news is: keep practicing. Release all attachment to product. As noted in the Bhagavad Gita1, “Abandoning the fruits of one’s acts (tyaga), is better than meditation. Why? Because peace immediately follows the giving up of expectations.”

Try for those beautiful, challenging poses. Let go of “someday.”

2. That said…

There is a thrill when you achieve a pose you never thought possible. Recently I was showing some yoga to children, who showed me their moves back, which inspired me to try the splits—hanumanasana, Monkey Pose—and I got deeper into it than I anticipated. I never practice the full splits, but I regularly do half-splits and other poses that support the flexibility and strength this pose requires—in other words, by not doing, I was doing. This is also a lesson Arjuna learns in the Gita: all is action: the choice to do, the choice not to do.

I will say I believe such progress is only possible by practicing yoga outside of a class. In your home, on your own2. I know this is hard—I struggled with it in yoga teacher training and still don’t practice at home as much as I feel I should. I like to be told what to do in this rare instance. But what you learn and can try on your own is richer, and deeper and yet also complementary to what you learn in a guided class.

Start simple. You’ll be surprised how much you’ve internalized if you attend classes regularly.

3. Attend to what you bring to and take from the mat

So often I hear teachers urge students to leave on the mat anything that doesn’t serve them. I think this is good advice. I’m sure I’ve said it to my students or some variation.

But what I have become increasingly aware of is what we take with us from the mat. In so many American studios, the heavy emphasis on the asanas (just one of the eight limbs of yoga) overlooks the spiritual gifts of the practice. Still, best to work with what’s available. So what can we learn from the asana practice that will serve us off the mat?

• Do one thing at a time, with intention. We can’t actually multitask.

• Breathe.

• Notice when the mind wanders. Invite it back, again, and again, to the matter at hand.

• Breathe: deliberately, with awareness.

More tidibits in a future post. I’d love to hear about the gifts you’ve received from yoga, or similar practices.

I’m slowly dreaming about hosting a yoga/creativity retreat. Would you come? Have you gone to one that worked for you? Tell me about it!