Katie Steedly’s first-person piece [The Unspeakable Gift] is a riveting retelling of her participation in a National Institutes of Health study that aided her quest to come to grips with her life of living with a rare genetic disorder. Her writing is superb.
In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.
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Weekly Wide-Awake #40
Wintering. Water. Embarrass. Employ.
Wintering
I have thought about wintering since listening to the On Being conversation with Katherine May, “How Wintering Replenishes the Soul.” Wintering — a verb, in this case, denotes a necessary time of reflection, stock taking, and rest. Wintering means living, experiencing, and breathing. May suggests there are times of global wintering, where isolation, grief, and stillness are part of the air we breathe. She also points to the natural flow of life and suggests we all — people, bees, mice, bears, etc. — perpetually dance with winter. Winter carries a natural weight. That makes sense when I think about the last few years and my experience of perennial goal setting, perpetual movement, noisy thoughts, and a flimsy center tethered to shiny objects.
Living the Comma #12
Staying Soft. Creativity. The Watercourse Way.
This week, in thinking about Pastor Matt’s message about water and ICE, I want to consider how language helps us remain soft and courageous and fierce — all at once. Our prompt comes from Darien Gee’s newsletter, Writer-ish, Micro Monday: The Beauty of Dreams #159 on the future, recurring dreams, an odes. Gee describes Writer-ish saying, “This is Writer-ish with Darien Gee, where I help you write your most powerful stories in 300 words or less.” Microprose feels like water cutting through memory’s stone, washing away yesterday’s pain, and clearing out our mind’s mud. Cheryl Strayed, in Dear Sugar, The Rumpus Advice Column #48: Write Like a Motherfucker explains, in the same way that water simply must water:
That you’re so bound up about writing tells me that writing is what you’re here to do. And when people are here to do that they almost always tell us something we need to hear. I want to know what you have inside you. I want to see the contours of your second beating heart.
Parker Palmer’s essay To Live Our Lives Like Water describes “the watercourse way.”
The best are like water…
The best, like water,/ Benefit all and do not compete./ They dwell in lowly spots that everyone else scorns./ Putting others before themselves,/ They find themselves/ in the foremost place/ And come very near to the Tao./ In their dwelling, they love/ the earth;/ In their heart, they love what is deep;/ In personal relationships, they love kindness;/ In their words, they love truth./ In the world, they love peace./ In personal affairs, they love what is right./ In action, they love choosing the right time./ It is because they do not compete with others/ That they are beyond the reproach of the world.
EXERCISE 151: REFLECT ON YOUR ANNOYING TRAITS
foibly, goofy, endearingly annoying
Write a self-portrait that catalogs as many of the foibly, goofy, endearingly annoying things about yourself as you can. For instance: I for some reason never use the whole onion or the whole pepper when I’m cooking, it’s just impossible for me. For instance: I regularly wash my laundry (and sometimes other people’s laundry) with a pen in my pocket.
Self-Portrait of Endearingly Annoying Things About Me That When I’m Dead You’ll Realize Were Actually Really Sweet
For instance, I have trouble keeping houseplants alive. For instance, I have boxes in storage that have not been opened in 20 years and multiple moves. For instance, I cry most days. For instance, I have hearing aids that I have not worn in years. For instance, I occasionally spread gossip. For instance, I was the worst college roommate, ever. For instance, I am a horrible gift giver. For instance, I binge watch HGTV. For instance, I combine cottage cheese and jelly. For instance, gluten-free noodles disintegrate under my watch. For instance, I love road trips. For instance, I still supinate — when my ankle is tired — even after peroneal tendon surgery. For instance, I watched soap operas with my grandmothers. For instance, I have never learned how to play bridge, or golf, or pickle ball. For instance, I have trouble keeping secrets. For instance, I lose earrings on the regular. For instance, I am a wannabe dancer, scientist, carpenter, gardener, poet, chef, astronomer. For instance, I wear cheap sunglasses. For instance, I love a whale’s song. For instance, I love gel ink pens.
Spit and Spaghetti #6
Pitches from Wind and Wall
Convict Leasing Today: On History Repeating Itself
I propose a 2,000-word article that will analyze the current prison labor struggle with an interest in offering a path forward based on past legal, political, and social progress. I will interview individuals involved in the current prison labor conversation — including policy makers and activists, historians familiar with the convict leasing system, and legal scholars who can help me understand how we got where we are today and where we go from here.
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About Katie

From Louisville. Live in Atlanta. Curious by nature. Researcher by education. Writer by practice. Grateful heart by desire.
Buy the Book!
The Stage Is On Fire, a memoir about hope and change, reasons for voyaging, and dreams burning down can be purchased on Amazon.
