Weekly Wide-Awake #59

[The Stage is on Fire] is a page-turner in which, much like life, there are no easy answers and yet each step of the journey yields insight and hope. This work of heart must not be missed!

Melanie Faith

Creative Writing Teacher, Essayist & Poet.

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.

The Society of Professional Journalists

In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.

I thank you … It is the authenticity of your “class notes”; and it is the delicacy and skill with which you present the nuances of classroom life and the actuality of your students’ and fellow teachers’ lives.

Maxine Greene

Philosopher and Education Scholar

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Weekly Wide-Awake #59

Blossoms. 1000 Words. Angels. Desire.

Blossoms

There are days we live

as if death were nowhere

in the background; from joy

to joy to joy, from wing to wing,

from blossom to blossom to

impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

From “Blossoms” by Li-Young Lee

I have a secret path in the Piedmont Park where I walk. On the way to the secret path (which is secret because I convinced myself it is magically hidden, not because no one knows about it), there is a small orchard. The orchard includes peaches, figs and apples. I walk through the trees marveling at the perfect timing of nature. There is no hurry. There is no rest.

There is a rhythm to the orchard. In the fall, tree leaves dance around the orchard in a symphony of color. In the winter, the trees rest and I have straight view of the Atlanta skyline. In the spring, the trees blossom and the fruit begin to form. In the summer, the orchard’s sweetness sings. The blossoms burst. The ebb and flow, the falling apart and coming back together, the chaos. It doesn’t matter as much standing in splendor.. I will pay attention. I will experience awe. I will breathe in life and breathe out love. I will stop and taste the sweetness. I will touch the impossible. I will jump from joy to joy, wing to wing, blossom to blossom.

Living the Comma #32

1000 Words of Summer. Andrea Gibson. Our Bodies.

Dear Writer Friends,

I started a two-week writing challenge, 1000 Words of Summer, this past Saturday. The challenge — started in 2018 by author Jami Attenberg — asks participants to write 1000 words a day. No constraints. No boundaries. No excuses. Simply write 1000 words a day between May 30th and June 12th. Each day, an essay written by an accomplished author is shared for writing inspiration and advice.

I began by writing a game plan — a loose outline of writing goals — to work on during the two weeks. My first goal is to reestablish my journaling practice, which has withered on the 2026 vine. My second goal is to finish the final few entries of the MONDAYS ARE FREE writing exercises which I began in February of 2025. My third goal is to draft a fellowship application that is due on June 22.

I am sharing 1000 Words of Summer here to invite us to think about what we do to develop our writing practice, to remember what inspires us to write, to connect us with words and stories at a deliberate pace.

Read the entire post here.

MONDAYS ARE FREE EXERCISES 231-235

Revelation. Blueprint. Dance. Angels. Spells.

EXERCISE 232: DECODE THE BLUEPRINT

a new kind of building

Listen to a piece of music that you have never listened to by Matthew Shipp or Pauline Oliveros or Arvo Part or Andrew Cyrille or Anthony Braxton or Michael Gregory Jackson or Adegoke Steve Colson or Milford Graves or Saadet Türköz.

Their music contains secret instructions on how to construct a new kind of building. Describe the building. What are its physical features? Why do people convene there?

The building twists and turns toward up. The building rises and rests, rises and rests, rises and rests. The building shifts and expands, shifts and expands, shifts and expands. The building holds and releases, holds and releases, holds and releases. The building hides and reveals, hides and reveals, hides and reveals. The building stands and witnesses, stands and witnesses, stands and witnesses. An Escher love letter. A philosophical orientation toward tomorrow. A technical orientation toward progress. A spiritual orientation toward hope.

WANTED: Week One — The Grammar of Longing

Turner syndrome: What I want to say about chronic conditions and longing and betweenness and brokenness.

I first heard your name when I was 15.

My first longing — for the knifelike abdominal pain to end. My second longing — for the languages of endocrinology, cardiology, and rheumatology to remain foreign languages. My third longing — for the definitions of normal and healthy and invincible to include me.

I live between acute and chronic. I live between silence and voice. I live between science and story. I live between worried and blessed. I live between mess and miracle. I live between secret and publication. I live between creating and crying. I live between constellation and darkness. I live between vigilance and release. I live between root and bud.

You broke me open long ago. My skin splits at each wound where puss and scar tissue meet. My hands hold tight to truths that were never mine. My breath moves up and down, up and down, up and down. My eyes see through diagnoses and daydreams. I always wanted the same God that guided my improbable birth to reveal my magic. I always wanted to ignore finitude. I always wanted to be whole.

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