Interview with Jordan Nasser, author of This Fire Inside

jordan

Jordan was on my podcast, Writer Groupie, not too long ago, and when his third book came out, he contacted me to do another one. (there is an excerpt and synopsis at the bottom of this post) As some of you know, I am on a hiatus at the moment, and so I decided to do a special promo blog post for him. If you haven’t picked up the first two books in his “Fire” series, you totally should and can in this post by clicking on my links.

Jordan Nasser, writer extraordinaire, answered a few questions for me…

Share about yourself

Jordan’s website at Jordan Nasser dot com

My family is originally from California, but I was raised in Tennessee. I studied theatre and French at the University of TN before moving to New York City in my mid twenties. My career in marketing brought me to Stockholm, Sweden, where I settled in 2008.

Share about your work

I was lucky enough to have some free time between jobs, but I didn’t want to just have a great tan and some fun experiences as memories, so I decided to try my hand at writing. I wanted to create something that I could hold in my hand, as most of my work in marketing was simply digital. I knew I wanted to write a fiction story that centered on a same gender relationship, but I didn’t want the novel to fall so easily into the romance category. I was looking for fun, general fiction. In using bits and pieces of my own experiences growing up in the South, I worked to create a story of love and friendships that included a whole array of quirky characters.

Tell us about your writing style

I prefer to write in first person narrative that is very conversational. It helps me to really get into the mindset of my main character. People tell me that I have an easy, storytelling nature to my words, and I appreciate that.

What do you find challenging about the writing life?

Very few writers make a living writing, and that is indeed a challenge. Eventually I had to go back to the office life, and my challenge now is to continue writing in my free time. I’m also not fond of all the self-marketing. There’s a fine line between promoting your art and begging others to help fund your creativity. I believe in my writing, and I hope that it will take off on a grander scale, but the odds are definitely against independent authors.

If you could write from any place on earth, where would you choose to write from?

I get distracted easily, so I prefer to be alone when I write. The bulk of my three books were written while on vacation at the beach where I have no access to internet or wi-fi, so that is perfect for me. I get some sun and recharge during the day, then sip some wine while writing on the balcony in the early evening.

When asked to set goals, what do you see for yourself or current WIP in five years with your writing?

Having just released the third book in my Home is a Fire series, right now my goal is to try my hardest to make sure the work is seen! I have a personal goal to start a new work this year, but at the moment, I need a bit of a break. Writing “This Fire Inside” took a lot out of me. In the future I would love to combine these three books with a new forward and perhaps a short story as an addendum.

What are you reading right now?

I just finished reading The Magicians trilogy by Lev Grossman. My personal tastes veer towards light fantasy and YA lit. This one is an odd mix between an adult Hogwarts with a bit of Narnia, and I liked the collision of worlds and the allusions to past works.

Who is your favorite author?

I am a huge fan of Armistead Maupin. My Home is a Fire series owes a great deal to his Tales of the City, a sprawling series of books depicting a colorful set of characters who inhabited a shared boarding house in San Francisco in the 1970s.

Give a bit of advice for an aspiring author

Writing is fun and terrifying and fulfilling, but until I started to think of it as a job, rather than a hobby, I was unable to get very far. Commit to writing every day, for either a set time or a set number of words, or both. I prefer to start the day by editing what I wrote the day before, then starting on something new, for at least 1500 words. Then back to editing the next day. Get a few beta readers to check your work, but ask them to check for specific things (typos, character development, plot), otherwise you will get generic “I liked it!” feedback. Make the tough edits! Your work will be all the better for it.

Links to buy his books (click covers to go to Amazon)

Book one-Home is a Fire

Book two-The Fire Went Wild

And book three is now available!

THIS FIRE INSIDE synopsis

Home is a Fire, Book 3 by Jordan Nasser

Derek and Luke thought revealing their romance to their small Tennessee community meant they had overcome their biggest obstacle…until they visit New York and bump into someone from Luke’s past.

Everything was going great for Derek and Luke. Until it wasn’t. It took courage for the couple when their hidden relationship was revealed in their small hometown in Tennessee. Now that the noise has begun to die down, the two escape to New York City for a well-deserved break.

But the excitement of the big city quickly goes off the tracks when they bump into an unexpected face from Luke’s past. This man’s personal chaos places a wedge between them, creating fresh wounds, igniting old desires, and revealing hidden regrets.

Will Derek and Luke be able to weather the tumultuous emotional storm that engulfs them? Can Luke find the light beyond the shadows from his past?

This Fire Inside is the delightfully entertaining third installment of the Home Is a Fire series, welcoming readers back into the heartfelt world of Derek, Luke, and the quirky residents of Parkville, Tennessee.

Excerpt!

THIS FIRE INSIDE excerpt

Home is a Fire, Book 3 by Jordan Nasser
 
School was out and so were we. Literally. Somehow my super-closeted football coach boyfriend had decided to take the leap and publicly declare his love for me, his fellow Parkville High School staff member. The reaction from the community was swift, and decidedly unfriendly. Even worse, his sister Lana, along with his former high school sweetheart Amber and her son Jett, had been at the forefront of an intense reactionary campaign against us. Thankfully our other family members and friends rallied to our defense, but it took a few backroom deals and surprise revelations to tie up all the loose ends. Ultimately we were able to keep our jobs, but was that what we really wanted? I was pretty sure I didn’t, after the way we had been treated.

Luke and had I talked to each other about leaving the school, and we decided to look for other options. My Uncle Barry’s friend, Lloyd Barton, had let it slip that he was considering selling his catering company, Lloyd’s. He was tired of the hard work and he wanted to spend his twilight years playing around, like his pals in the Bears’ Club. He asked Uncle Barry if he wanted to buy the whole thing as a turnkey business, but Barry was enjoying his own retirement, so he passed. Lloyd then suggested that Luke and I might like to try our hands at something new. It was an easy decision for me to quit teaching, but it was harder for Luke to walk away from coaching. Instead of saying yes or no right away, we decided to splurge on a summer trip to New York to clear our minds and get back to the question at hand when we returned. We went ahead and set up a meeting with Lloyd in two weeks. It wouldn’t hurt to get all the details before we said no, right?

Luke’s place…I mean, our place…was located near the university campus. A hidden gem in a sea of run-down Victorians, it had somehow escaped the wrecking ball that had turned so many colorful dollhouses into concrete parking structures and mini marts. It was home for now, and we were both working hard to make it a place that felt just as comfortable to me as it did to him.

To a Southerner, home is everything. When I came back to Parkville from my decade-long adventure in New York, I moved back in with my mom, Audrey, and her brother, my Uncle Barry. When my long-lost dad, Johnny, reappeared and swept her off her feet again, she moved in with him, and we all hoped their relationship would last this time. My uncle didn’t react well at first, but now that Mom has fully settled in at Casa de Johnny, Barry has taken the opportunity to turn Mom’s old place into the gay bachelor palace of his dreams. Did I mention that he finally came out after 60?

I pulled my old junker into Barry’s driveway and took a look at the chaos. Lovingly nicknamed Willie Nelson thanks to the “Honk if you love Willie Nelson” sticker Mom had placed on its bumper years ago, my car was the least out of place thing here. The men from the local construction crew milled about with Styrofoam coffee cups in hand, walking between well-ordered stacks of lumber and bricks. There was even a small bulldozer parked in the yard. Barry, this isn’t a teardown. What are you doing?

I stepped out of the car and walked up the small, wobbling wooden gangplank that led into the house, using my hands to part the thick sheets of plastic in front of me. My friend Tommy, clipboard in hand, gave me a quick nod as he directed a small group of men. I’m glad he was here to act as the foreman of this circus and to keep Barry on track. They were definitely in the mid-demolition phase.

“Barry?” I called out. “Where are you?”

“Over here, Dolly!” he answered. I was rarely “Derek” to my Uncle Barry. He preferred “Dolly” or “nephew” or even “kid.” I took this as a sign of love; especially coming from a man who called himself “Beret” while he was lip-syncing show tunes in sparkly drag gowns at the Bears’ Club downtown.

“Watch your step, kid. They’re taking this wall down today.” He walked over and gave me a hug, and then handed me a plastic construction helmet to wear. His headgear was bedazzled of course, but this simple yellow plastic one would just have to do for me. “This house has never seen so much action. Just wait till we’re done! Ha! Come on. Let’s take a walk out to the front. It’s pretty safe out there.”

We stepped gingerly over a few two-by-fours and walked out onto the front porch. He pulled the glass door tight to silence the noise from inside, and the screen door shut itself, squeaking softly along the way.

“I thought you were just putting in a hot tub?” I said, staring amazed at the chaos.

“Oh, you know me, Dolly. Diamonds and sequins on feathers. Once I started I couldn’t stop. When your mom moved out I realized that I finally had the chance to make something of my own. I feel invigorated. The bitch is back!”

I had to laugh. Barry’s coming out wasn’t a major surprise, but he was embracing it with full gusto after he had seen Luke and me survive the town pitchforks. His generation may have led the way historically, but now he had some catching up to do, and he was tackling it with all the glitter he could find.

“So,” he started, excitedly, “first I was just going to put in a hot tub, but then I sat down with Tommy, and things just kind of escalated. We’re taking down the dining room wall and making more of an open plan layout here on the first floor. The kitchen will flow into the living room and eating area. Better for entertaining, you know? This happy gal plans on throwing a few parties! Then Tommy suggested opening up the room a bit more by putting in a double sliding glass door to the terrace. Great idea, right?! The hot tub will go over to the left on an extended deck. We’re putting in a line of tall shrubs to create a little privacy hedge, if you catch my drift. We’ll have a fire pit, grilling station, the whole enchilada. I’m so excited!”

“Do you have the money for this?” I asked.

“Well, your Aunt Janey and I always were good with our finances. We saved up a healthy nest egg for our retirement. After she passed, I had enough saved for two, and well, now there’s just me. I’m pretty sure she’d like me to have some fun.” He didn’t speak with an air of sadness. It was honest, and he was right. Janey would be pleased with the new Barry.

“It sounds great and I can’t wait to see it,” I said, reassuring him. “Listen, I came over to ask a favor. Is it all right if I borrow that designer duffel bag I brought you from Chinatown? Luke just has gym bags and they won’t let me back into New York City with one of those. I’m afraid they may even have velvet ropes at the airport now.”

“Even if they did they’d still let you in, kid. You’ve got that look on your face that says step aside. I know what I’m doing. You always have. And I have no idea where you got that,” he said, winking. “Come on. The duffel is in my old room.”

We made our way back through the maze of plastic tarps and sheetrock and up the stairs into Barry’s former bedroom. He dramatically flung open the double doors to his closet while I removed my construction hat and sat on his bed, watching the show. This was a free ticket, and no matter how many times I had seen it, I loved it, every time.

“Now, let’s see,” he said, pushing his way through a sea of sequined gowns, “I just used that bag the other day. Oh, yes! Here we go.” He opened the faux leather duffel, emptied it of a few brassieres and a pair of shiny red patent heels, and then handed it over. “Good as new! And I expect that back, by the way. Actually, I could use a new tote bag, too, if you happen to see one.” He grinned.

“No problem,” I said, smiling. “If I can still find my sources. I’ve heard Chinatown isn’t the same since I left. I’m afraid a lot of New York won’t be the same.”

“Do your best, nephew. No worries. Oh, you’re gonna have a blast,” he assured me. He sat next to me on the bed and carefully placed his sparkly helmet beside him. “And Luke will love it. Help him come out of his shell, a bit. I think you’ll be surprised.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. Luke had spent his whole life here in Parkville. He was the local football hero turned coach, with a secret that he couldn’t share, until I showed up and turned his head. He had a lot of amazing qualities, but I like to think that I brought out his best side.

“Yeah, that’s true. Luke’s knowledge of gay bars includes Bottom’s Up, and that’s it. We haven’t even trekked down to Atlanta for a weekend. He’s barely been exposed to anything.”

“Well, watch out for him, then,” he counseled me. “That country hunk of yours is bound to attract some attention, wanted or not.”

“Oh, we’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’m taking him to some of my favorite old haunts. If they’re still there, that is. It seems each consecutive mayor of New York decides to ‘revitalize’ more and more of the seedier parts of town that I loved so much. CBGB is now a designer clothing store and Mars Bar is a bank. Punk is dead, long live punk.” I flipped my middle finger into the air in a mock salute and stuck out my tongue.

“Who are you trying to kid, kid? You were never punk. Spunky, sure, but punk?”

“Hey, gimme a break! I saw some things,” I said, defensively. “Maybe I didn’t do as much as I wanted to, but I definitely observed.”

“That’ll make a great headstone.”

“Well, at least I left Parkville for a few years.” I knew he was just teasing me, but sometimes I did feel a bit defeated, considering I eventually left the city of my dreams to return to the scene of my fumbling youth. “I’m so happy I lived in New York. I needed that time away, you know?”

“Of course you did, Dolly. And I’m proud of you. I wish I’d had the courage to move up there for a few years. My situation was a bit different of course, with Janey.” He grew quiet for a moment as he collected his thoughts, and I could feel his emotions shift. “I’m really glad you stopped by today, actually. Now that I’ve granted you a favor, your fairy god-uncle needs to ask one of his own. You up for it?”

“Sure,” I said, cautiously. You never knew what to expect with Barry.

“I made a few solo trips of my own up to New York back in the ‘80s, you know. I had a buddy there I used to visit. Just a friend, nothing more, so don’t give me those eyes. But we did have some crazy nights together. He did drag, of course. I guess you could say he was my inspiration.” He paused, and then launched directly to his request. “I was wondering if you could look him up for me? We lost touch years ago. We were friends before e-mail and cell phones and all that social media hoopla that you’re into. Back then, we actually met people. In person. And if you said you’d be there, well you actually showed up. Crazy, I know. Anyway, it was one of those interminably hot summer months. Janey and Mabel were going to spend a week in Florida so I decided to take a bus up to New York for a few days, on my own. Some me time, you know? It took forever. I think we stopped in every podunk town along the way. When the bus pulled into Port Authority I could just feel the electricity in the air. It was early in the morning but the city was just buzzing with life. I got my bearings and walked down a few blocks and over a few avenues and checked myself right into the Hotel Chelsea. I had seen Lance Loud on that American Family documentary on PBS and I was kind of hoping I would run into him, if you want to know the truth. I never did, though. Can you imagine?! Ha! I could have had a totally different life.”

He shifted his body on the bed and used the palms of his hands to smooth his trousers. Uncle Barry had lived through some amazing times. My respect for him grew every day of every year, and definitely with every new story.

“I spent the day exploring the town, and then came home to clean up for my nighttime adventures. I was alone in the city, after all. Far from home, with no prying eyes from Parkville. I was free to be me and to have some fun, with Janey’s approval, of course. AIDS was ravaging New York City at the time, but I was informed enough to make smart decisions. At least, the best decisions I could with the limited information that we had then. Those were scary times. Anyway, I had freshened up and I was just stepping out of my room at the Chelsea to go dancing when I bumped into Charlie in the hallway. He smiled. I smiled. And, well, you know how it goes, Dolly. We theatre folk just seem to find one another. He asked if I was alone and I said yes, and before I knew it, we were running down the stairs to catch a cab to the Village. He took me everywhere. Places I’d never seen and things I could never have imagined even existed. Midtown, downtown, discos, the bathhouses! It was a different scene then. Trust me. We stayed out until five in the morning, only coming home to nap for a few hours and then we went out and started all over again. You know how it goes. Charlie performed in drag on the weekends so I tagged along to see his shows. He had real star power. Such a following! Young boys just threw themselves at him. Ha! His female illusion was just tops. The best. He had gowns and sparkles and heels. And the wigs! Oh! His room at the Chelsea was just chock-full of fantasy. He was really living his life to the fullest. Charlie took advantage of everything that city had to offer, and he loved every minute of it. Even better, kid, he was out. Out and proud, out. I have to admit, I was so jealous of him, and I couldn’t help but wish that I could do the same. But some things just weren’t meant be, at least not in the same timeline. My moment came later, of course. Hell, I didn’t even come out officially until this year. But here’s the thing. That queen showed me what I could be. Who I could be. He was my goal and my inspiration…and then I lost him. I just know he went on to do great things. I do.”

He turned to look at me, very seriously. “So you think you can find him for me, Dolly? I can’t even imagine the exciting life he is leading now, after all these years. I just need to know what he has done with his amazing gifts.”

“Absolutely, Uncle Barry. I’d be honored. Charlie, right?” I made a mental note. “Do you have any other info on him? His last name? He can’t still be living at the Chelsea?”

“Oh, sorry, nephew. I don’t know why I did that. Old habits. I met him as Barry, not Beret, so my pronouns are all messed up. I don’t think you can find him. But you’ll definitely find her. He never went by Charlie. She was fabulous, after all. I’m sure you’ll be able to find her. Just go to the best clubs and ask around for me? There must be someone who knows the amazing Chinois Zarée.”

Welcome to the continuing saga of Anne and her whiteboard. In the first two segments she has been exacting revenge on the writer who has mysteriously begun writing on her board by returning commentary.

You can find part one and part two at these links:

Part one

Part two

The Whiteboard Part Three by Kim Smith ©2017

SAGA

The next day was Wednesday, and Anne always stopped for a cafe coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel. This little mid-week excursion put her in her office later than usual. She hoped her mystery writer had been paying attention and thought they could enter her office later to do the writing, incognito. She had begun to suspect this invisible visitor was a part of the maintenance team, however, and likely did their mischief at night.

The board bandit–whomever it turned out to be–was no dummy. He or she knew how to get in and get out.

Even though it was closer to eight a.m. it was still very early by office standards. To her dismay, the board was wiped clean, It was so clean she ran a finger over it to see if it held any residue. It didn’t.

“What is really going on?” she asked aloud to the empty room. “Guess you didn’t care for my reply, eh?”

It was time to get to work. She’d been lollygagging long enough. She pulled open her spreadsheet and played with the numbers waiting to be inputted. After a successful morning, whereby she solved many problems and felt quite satisfied with herself, she trotted down to the office kitchen to make her lunch.

She never believed that the board writer would strike in the middle of the day. But when she returned, picking broccoli out of her teeth, and contemplating another attack on numbers, the whiteboard’s content was illustrated in tiny black birds flying all over it.

The words, (so familiar to her), were lyrics to the song, Blackbird, performed by the Beatles. They crawled down the board toward the bottom. The writer apparently had too much time on hand, had been given too much opportunity to use Anne’s office to indulge in crafting quite a spectacle.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night…”

This was absurd and had gone on long enough! She wanted to stamp her foot in anger. Instead, she strode angrily to her desk to sit down hard, her chest heaving. She would have to start locking her door each and every time she left the room from this moment on.

She took deep breaths and resisted the urge to wipe the board clean. No need to be hasty. She tried to understand the art, the writing, the song, and find some meaning. Nothing came to mind immediately, so she set to her work, and as she completed a task that afternoon, she stared again at the tiny black vees representing black birds.

“…take these broken wings and learn to fly…”

Who is this person, this writer? What did they hope to accomplish by assaulting her board every day? Was this simply a prank? And why these words? What did it all mean?

“…All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise…”

Disgusted, she rose, went to the board and cleaned it off. Then, she stomped down the hall to her nearest neighbor, Beatrice, to see if she had noticed anyone come into her office during lunch. Beatrice was such a kind soul. If she’d seen anything, she’d be sure to let her know.

~@~

Thanks for reading this excerpt this week, everyone. It’s fun, isn’t it? And free! haha. Please join me in a few days when I will post up more of this story, this saga of Anne’s. And if you like a saga, then please be sure to (click here>>> visit my Amazon page and read more of my work. 

 

The Whiteboard – Part Two

Welcome to the second installment of my ongoing short story, The Whiteboard. Last time we met Anne, a mousy little office worker who found the whiteboard in her office had been utilized mysteriously after she left the office one night.

You can read part one here

whiteboard

The Whiteboard (part two) by Kim Smith © 2017

As the day progressed, Anne began to think of responses to the saying that had been written on the board. She wrote one of her own on the way out that evening.

“Today’s experience was one of such horror, it would make a good movie.”

She chuckled as she admired her work before turning out the light, closing the door, and making her way to the elevator. The memory of the day was not as bad as she’d reported, but sometimes things that went on inside her workplace would make a good movie.

~@~

The next day, Anne entered her office in the same way as she usually did, only to find the mystery writer had struck again, regaling her with words of wisdom.

But this time, it was much more … personal. And potentially, darker.

You should live more. Tomorrow is an unpromised uncertainty.

“Why, you devil,” she muttered, grabbing the eraser. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She wiped away the first two phrases and placed her own thought above the latest offering.

A coward cannot face their tomorrows. A hero always does, even when it is dim.”

“Take that,” she said, slapping the marker pen into the holder.

She worked with fervor and avoided looking at the board for the next few hours. Then, as she inevitably would, her eyes strayed to the whiteboard. She read it again. She was convinced that whoever had written those words would understand her offensive treatment of them, if they read her response.

She hoped they did.

Then, in retrospect, she chided herself over the fact that she wasn’t the slightest bit worried that someone was coming into her office after hours to write on on the board. Wasn’t that a real problem, invasive, and creepy?

And just who was this mystery writer? And why were they choosing to do such a thing? Was it a secret admirer? Someone who worried that she worked too hard and didn’t mingle with the others at the coffeepot as they discussed the latest gossip?

She made a mental note to watch others as they nodded hello to her as she moved from office to copier or to the mailroom. Anyone who showed a bit too much interest would be suspect.

The time to leave for the day arrived, and she considered wiping the board clean. After all, it was silly to let some nameless, faceless writer make her feel so defensive. But even as her hand clasped the dry eraser cleaner bottle, she changed her mind. Something inside her wanted this person, this writer, to know what she thought about the latest posting.

She considered locking the door, also. That would be a big reply in and of itself. But a perverse sense of empowerment made her leave it unlocked. Let the writer see and know her response. What was the worst that could happen?

She flounced down the hallway, swinging her lunch bag.

~@~

That’s it for this week, folks. I hope you are enjoying this little short work of mine. If you want to, share this link with others so they can read it, too.

http://wp.me/p3VxaG-1Q3 for the first part of The Whiteboard

 

 

 

 

Part one of The Whiteboard

Part one of The Whiteboard

So, I just decided to go ahead and have a real post and/or series of posts. You will be thrilled to know that I have been writing 🙂 and you are about to be the lucky recipient of all that goodness.

I am working on a short story that is part of a writing prompt. 

I hope you enjoy it! 

This is part one.

whiteboard

THE WHITEBOARD by Kim Smith © 2017 (part one)

Anne had been coming into work early for months thanks to the added burden placed upon her already exhausting workload as a clerk. (Except for Wednesdays, that is. Wednesdays–being the central part of the work week–was reserved for a special deviation.) But now that she’d acquired a nicer, better paying job within the company, she could come in at the more usual hour of eight o’clock. It was her choice. No one cared, but she found she loved not having to fight the traffic each morning and continued her regiment of coming in early.

As she went up the elevator to her floor, she found her face creased into a smile as it stared back at her in the mirrored glass of the lift. Life felt suddenly good. New job, convenient times, better pay…yes. It definitely had begun to look up.

She moved through the hallway into the kitchen to put her lunch away. Tuna again. She could afford nicer fare now, but she also wanted to fit into nicer clothes, so tuna it was. At least for a little while longer.

She passed the coffeepots, promising herself that she’d enjoy a nice hot cup soon. When she entered her office, she pulled the door nearly closed so she could hang her purse on a hook on the back of it. Turning toward the windows–which opened onto a glorious view of the street–her eye caught black text on her whiteboard to the right.

The whiteboard was on a stand and was pretty non-descript. But today it had some thing written on it in black marker. The handwriting was neat, tidy, precise. Everything her own writing was not. No, this was not her hand. She hadn’t written this.

It said, “The movie of your life’s entirety is not the same as the clip of today’s experience.”

A rewording of some famous quote, she was sure, but who? Shaking her head, she discounted it. Not important. Not nearly as important as who had been in her office writing on her whiteboard. She didn’t lock the door, had never had reason to. Her office was not full of secrets to anyone who wanted to come in.

She seated herself behind her desk and stared at the writing.

Should she erase it? Should she leave it and admire it? Should she report it and to whom would she do such a thing?

“Not hurting anything for now, ” she muttered aloud to herself. She wouldn’t need to use the whiteboard again for a few days. Might as well let it rest.

Be sure to tune in next week for the next installment! 

 

 

 

creativity

Creative words: What they look like

Creative words: What they look like

words

Have you ever noticed how there are specific words that are used when people are exercising their creativity? Well, at least to me, it seems that certain words are the forerunners of a creative exercise.

For example investigate these:

Imagine…

What if…

Let’s try this…

words

See what I mean? It’s almost like creatives start out their creativity stint with specific words. And I do mean ALL creatives, even musicians, even painters. Especially writers.

Writers usually begin with a what if question and go from there.

Exploring our creativity means being observant, asking questions, listening to answers, and sometimes just doing nothing. Yes, that does happen. Sometimes creativity needs to draw from its own experience and we have nothing to do but sit quietly and allow it to happen.

Today, I hope you will allow your creative side to voice itself. I hope you will find time and space to put something down on paper, on canvas, or on whatever medium your talent needs to express itself.

And don’t judge it. Don’t erase it, paint over it, discount it. Allow it to live and breathe and grow. You may surprise yourself!