writing
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Every writer has an origin story. Some people think it starts with the first book — the one with a spine and a cover and an ISBN number. But for me, the beginning is here. On this website. In these early posts. In the quiet decision to finally show up for the dream I’ve carried…
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For a long time, my life was built around survival. Not in a dramatic sense, but in the everyday way that mothers know too well — the kind of survival that requires you to keep moving even when you’re exhausted, to keep showing up even when you’re stretched thin, to keep choosing your children even…
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I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. Before I knew what craft was, before I understood genre or structure or audience, I knew how to take a feeling and turn it into words. I knew how to pick up a pencil and make sense of the world by shaping it into sentences.…
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On the first morning of every month, I stand at my front door with a pinch of cinnamon in my hand. I pause, breathe, whisper a quiet prayer, and blow it across the threshold. It’s a simple act — soft, almost invisible — but it carries a weight that feels familiar. People might see it…
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There are moments in life that don’t look like much from the outside — a breath taken on a balcony, a hand resting on a railing, a pause before speaking — but something in them feels holy. Not in a ceremonial way. Not in a way that needs candles or rituals or perfect words. Just……
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She noticed it before he did — the distance. Not the kind measured in feet or rooms, but the kind that settles quietly between two people who used to move in rhythm without thinking. It wasn’t a fight or a moment or a single sharp word. It was smaller than that. Softer. The kind of…
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ADHD for a child is like having a storm inside your body while everyone else expects sunshine. The meltdown starts the way it always does — suddenly, and then all at once. Her son’s body jerks in sharp, frantic movements, as if his emotions are too big for his small frame to hold. His arms…
Leigh C. Mitchell 