Community Blog
These posts were all written by someone in a Soul Writing group or workshop in ten minutes or less—really!
Not only that, what you read is virtually unedited from the original, timed writing. Several pieces often have the same title since groups write together on one prompt. Join us anytime to try it out for yourself. For now, happy reading.
This cup we call life
I pin them carefully through the paper and onto the cardboard with the little stickpins provided. I choose a color: red, blue, green.
The road back
The road back begins with finding the right pen to write these words. Too fat. Too thin. Running out of ink. Is this a journey I am resisting, or is it a version of needing the right vehicle for the road ahead?
Crossing the threshold
I stand at the mouth of a bridge, long and stretching over a bubbling, sparkly river. The sun is warm and there is a cool breeze off the water that gently rocks the bridge.
If you look closely …
If you look closely you’ll see a ring of guardians standing around you.
I’m tired of …
Whenever I came home, my father called out: “the American.” I didn’t think of it too much until years later.
I always felt I must …
I want to pull off the velcro of my past. I want to pull the past off of me with a loud, satisfying noise that rips open like a rain rattle, like the single most satisfying belch ever to light up the inner esophageal and intestinal universe.
The moment I knew …
The moment I knew the story of prune juice was in some ways tragic, came after my father died.
For reasons known only to them …
For reasons known only to them, some people have endless energy. Not me.
The secret path
The secret path. / The one obscured. / The one I’ve been silently treading around my own heart.
What it used to be like
What it used to be like to see my friends: A festival of baking and hosting and hugging. Pouring tea. Sharing bites.
The first thing I remember …
It is the thing that I have forgotten. It is a soft rain, so soft you can’t see the drops.