Kathryn Freeman Art is Where My Spirit Animals Live

Henrietta and the Herons by Kathryn Freeman

Recently I discovered Kathryn Freeman's art at a writing workshop. For one of the story prompts, each writer was given a card of her artwork. We were allotted about forty-five minutes to go off and write a story. One of the things I love about prompt writing is that even when every writer gets the same prompt, no two stories are ever anywhere near alike. 

My card delighted me. It reminded me of the escape I find on an island in the Aegean Sea. The open air, blue skies, and the birds. I spent a good ten minutes just looking at it before I wrote. Later, after listening to all of the writers' delicious stories and looking at everyone's cards, it delighted me to notice that the similarity in each painting was the outline of a house with open windows or walls and the animals. It turned into one of the most delightful prompts I've ever been given. We were allowed to keep our cards and I determined then and there to find a way to bring more of Kathryn Freeman's art into my life. 

First I asked a fellow writer for permission to put her beautiful story here on The Glitter Globe. The prompt is seen below, and the story is by writer Lynne Rosenfeld.

Dance 2020 by Kathryn Freeman

Just a Dream by Lynne Rosenfeld

“I know it’s just a dream, but please, can I go back there?”

We were on the phone, a landline, vestige of earlier times. I, a lowly human, stumbling through brambles and vines, she, the Goddess of Dreams.

“Your dreams are programmed…it’s an algorithm,” she replied. “My powers are not as they once were. This dream you so crave came to you before A.I. usurped my gifts. I barely have a seat at the table. I’m given little respect, but they know they cannot discard me. I am a goddess after all. It seems that just the essence of a god, any kind of god, gives them pause, a hesitance to go too far in case they are left in a heap of ashes wrought by their own arrogance and self-destruction.”

“I see,” I replied. “I am sorry to hear, but want to thank you for the places you’ve allowed me to go in my dreams.”

We said goodbye and I was left with a dial tone and a warm phone pressed to my ear. Now, left to my own devices, I was determined to find a way back to my dream. It seemed that each time I tried to capture it, reclaim bits and pieces, the images slipped through my fingers. The Goddess had been my lifeline and she now could do nothing for me. The woven dream catcher hanging over my bed was no help. Its beauty seemed to scorn my grasping eagerness.

This dream was where I thought I wanted to live, even to die. Was it my idea of a heaven?  But why was I so eager to return, when I had barely gotten out of the last one. 

You see, I was walking in the woods across a thick blanket of green, trees reaching to the clouds, canopies of leaves like green balloons. The sun cast long shadows across the grass, washed clear of dried leaves, branches and fallen debris. I felt safe in my wanderings, solitary and safe, but for a ripple of uncertainty as the pheasant I passed offered a sly and knowing smile and the red fox winked and said, “follow me.”

The fox moved ahead quickly, weaving in and out of the trees, I struggled to keep up, the flick of his red tail, the blur of his black legs my only sign posts. I pushed forward, picking up my pace, determined not to lose him. 

He led me to a house with large open windows. I could hear a cello playing, what was it?  A tarantella?  The fox kept over the window ledge into the open air house and I followed. Of course I would. Wherever this dream was taking me wasn’t it where I belonged?  Where I was meant to be?  

The first thing I noticed was a gold and blue tile floor. I stepped over the window ledge into the house and saw a man bent over his cello, the deep and lively chords vibrated in my chest. No dancer was I, but his music, the sight of the foxes dancing in a circle, made me want to join. The man never looked up from his bow as it moved over the strings of the cello, but the foxes beckoned me, welcomed me, and there I was, joyful, free, and yearning.

Spotting a blue hat on a green wicker chair I wondered, was I supposed to leave money for the musician?  I had come into this dream without my wallet, and felt a pang of anxiety at my absence of change. I stepped out of the circle of dancing foxes and looked into the hat. Sure enough there were silver and gold coins, a few dollar bills.

A large black and brown dog lay across the tile floor. He lifted his head and called me over. He did not speak, but I knew he was calling me. As I approached, he thumped his tail on the gold and blue tiles and turned over onto his side. He sniffed my hand and gave it one wet lick. I nestled my face into his fur, then stretched out beside him, feeling his warm breath on my cheek.

“These foxes are driving me crazy,” he whispered. “I must tolerate them for the sake of my person” he said with a heavy sigh. “It’s the same every day. He plays the same music, the foxes come to dance, and sometimes the women jump out of the painting to join in. That money in the hat, it’s been here forever.”

“Gee, that sounds like a nightmare,” I stammered. 

 

“Yes, exactly. I’m glad you are here. I’ve been so bored.”

“But, this is just a dream,” I said. “I will soon be waking up…won’t I?”

The dog's soulful eyes looked deep into mine, a look more of sadness than regret.

“I don’t think so,” he said. And with a heavy sign he closed his eyes, leaving me with the tarantella and dancing foxes.

What stayed with me most in Lynne's story is the idea that the Goddess of Dreams had been replaced with A.I. Also, the surprise ending, the twist into too much of a good thing changed the entire direction of the story! I didn't see it coming. Lynne has a real grip on her stories and I enjoy the clarity and beauty of them. 

By the way, the above paragraph is the type of feedback welcome in an Amherst Writers and Artists writing workshop. My current favorite online writing workshop is Bibi's Peas with Honey 

In addition to Lynne's beautiful story as a way to share Kathryn Freeman's art, I found a website called Pomegranate where they sell some of her paintings as cards and jigsaw puzzles. I bought myself some, and purchased others for every upcoming birthday I had on my list! 

Pomegranate Cards

After the writing workshop, I found Kathryn Freeman's website and ordered myself a print. It took me a very long time to decide which one I wanted, because I liked all of them! It came in a tube and I piled books along the edges to flatten it out. I left it like that for a couple of weeks as I figured out exactly what size frame and matting I needed. 

Kathryn Freeman

Aren't the colors vibrant? The branches stretching out of the woods and into the house is what my woods feel like, and I want that blue couch! I already have a foxy-faced dog I sit and her name is Vixen. She's got to be the most angelic dog ever. That helped me choose which painting I wanted a print of! When the frame for this photo arrived, I carefully put the print into it, rearranging the edges to be sure that every detail could be seen! There's a frog if you want to put your eyeball up to the screen and try to find it. Yesterday my husband helped me hang it and I couldn't be happier with it! Isn't it gorgeous? You can practically feel all of the textures. It astonishes me and I wonder how paintings like this can be done!

Stories for Foxes by Kathryn Freeman

The Inn at Taughannock Falls and a Women Reading Aloud Writing Retreat

Last week I attended a Women Reading Aloud retreat in the Finger Lakes area of New York State. Women Reading Aloud WRA is my favorite writing retreat that I will travel to, that's how I fell in love with the secluded island of Alonissos, Greece. The Finger Lakes were one heck of a lot easier to get to than Alonissos! They are also incredibly beautiful. 

The Inn at Taughannock Falls rests right at the mouth of the path to the Falls. Our group took over The Inn and the two newer cottages for a long weekend. WRA uses the Amherst Writers and Artists Method that I'm such a fan of. The Director of WRA is Julie Maloney. I've written with her for years and I'm a huge fan. If you're just stepping into writing or if you have been published for years with piles of books to your credit, you'll all fit in and be comfortable with this group of women. 

Every day of the retreat, rain or shine, I took the time to walk to the falls. The Inn loaned me a massive umbrella on the rainy day and I loved every step! The falls are magnificent. 

The little falls at the start of the hike!

 

Our group wrote morning, afternoons, and evenings. Longer retreats offer longer down-time but you're always encouraged to take time for yourself at these workshops and retreats. We write to prompts, read aloud if we so desire, and the other writers offer feedback. Namely, "What works for you?" We're all writing first drafts, all writing is considered to be fiction, and all feedback is so the writer can take away what works in the piece. 

Taughannock Falls

Somehow, this positive feedback encourages writers to dig deep and write from the heart. My first workshops of this type were ages ago, and I wondered how the lack of hard to hear critique could help my writing. Yet it works beautifully. That doesn't mean you won't have to rewrite your brains out for publication later (you will). That doesn't mean you won't need an editor (you do). What it means is that, if you desire to publish someday, that you'll begin with something moving from the start. It also means that you'll enjoy your writing and listening and learning from other writers!

After a rain.

The Inn at Taughannock Falls provided our group with Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner and all the water and tea or coffee we could desire. They catered to our needs, and every time one of us with food allergies asked, "but is it gluten-free?" they answered cheerfully. The food was also quite good, and the gluten-free/dairy-free/nut-free fare was safe and tasty.

Let me just add that my favorite gluten-free comment is calling someone from the kitchen over to ask again, "Is this really gluten-free? It tastes too good to be gluten-free." As a "but, is it gluten-free?" person, that is the highest praise you can give a restaurant!

And I hope we come back again next year!

Ten Years of Greece, How do I Love Thee?

 

For the past ten years I've been going to Greece every summer. Except that year when no one was allowed to travel, I spend weeks to months packing, planning, and plotting my journey. Then a few days travel there, followed by a few weeks being there, and wrap it up with a few days traveling back home. 

The odd thing is that every year I go to the exact same place. Most years I go to write with Women Reading Aloud. Though I arrive early and stay long after. I've never been to Santorini, or any of the popular islands. Often I'll check out places or sights on the mainland during my journey: Athens, Kalamata, Meteora. My favorite museum—The Acropolis Museum—my favorite hotel in Athens—the Airport Sofitel—my favorite Greek Salad.

Usually the only islands I see are Skiathos and Skopelos in the Northern Sporades and only those because I need to pass them on my way to Alonissos, my favorite island. Maybe it's indicative that I don't need to see all of the islands in Greece to pick a favorite. I've been married to the same man for forty years. I didn't have to meet them all to know he was the one for me. I know when something works for me. This man. This island. Dark chocolate. I'm happy. Sure, I like to try different trips, different places at times. This place, however, doesn't change. As long as I can get myself through the long and arduous journey, that's where I'm going. 

Know what I do there? Other than write with WRA, I mean? Nothing. I go to my favorite beaches, drift in the sea, lay under an umbrella or write on top of the stones while laying on the beaches. Sometimes I sit by the sea in a taverna with a cup of cappuccino, fresh watermelon juice, or water and I don't even think. I'm just there. Once, a particularly annoying person kept saying, "Oh, you go there to meet a man." Please, girlfriend, I have a man. I'm not in love with another man. I'm in love with an entire ISLAND, with an entire PLACE, COUNTRY, SEA. Some people do not understand love at all. Greece is very easy to love. 

     

Amherst Writers & Artists—Finding Your Voice

 

Amherst Writers & Artists

At my first writing conference I heard well-established writers enthusing about the Amherst Writers & Artists method of writing. It intrigued me because they said that the secret to getting your best story onto the page was to dig deep and write fearlessly. Not worrying about what teachers or professors or other writers might think appealed to me but I had a few unpublished books under my belt and thought I'd figured out how to write. What I wanted to know was how to get someone to publish my book. 

Bet many writers go to conferences like I did, in a hurry to be published and fairly confident that the writing itself isn't an issue.

What I've learned over the ensuing years though is that getting a book published isn't the problem as much as writing the best stories I can. What I've learned is that while many of us may have this big fantasy of what a published book will mean, the fantasy isn't the reality. What I've learned is that if you really love to write your stories and focus on doing it to the best of your ability, absolutely wonderful things can follow.

There's something brilliant and empowering about finding your voice and using it.

Finding your Voice

A few years after I had my first books published I went to an Amherst Writers & Artists workshop on an island in Greece.

I told the facilitator of the workshop that I was currently working on another book and that I'd probably not attend all the daily classes. I wanted to hole up on my balcony alone and write. She responded encouragingly, asking only that I attend the first class to see how it worked. So I did. 

After that first class I went to every single class during the retreat, plus the extra ones they offered in the evenings. I was hooked. Not only that, but every book I wrote after I began to practice the Amherst Writers & Artists method became clearer and better. It was as if I'd once begun to sing with the hint of a frog in my throat, and someone encouraged me to stand taller, to clear my throat, take a deep breath and focus. Then when I sang, they sat in the first row and smiled, gave me a thumbs up, and encouraged me so that I began to sing in my true voice with real confidence.

Amherst Writers & Artists Method

This writing method has intrigued and given me so much back that for years now I've wanted to take their training class and learn whatever magic these workshop leaders impart. I applied for acceptance in their training program recently and was accepted. During the first day of training someone said it's somewhat difficult to explain to someone who hasn't taken an AWA class what it is without sounding like you're in a cult. That cracked me up. I've felt the same when I try to curb my enthusiasm and recommend the classes to other writers.

In fact, I think at least one other writer has asked if I prefer to work only with writers who've trained in the method. 

After completing the training and becoming certified I can answer that question. I prefer to work with supportive people. Amherst Writers & Artists helps writers to discover and share their stories in a safe and supportive environment. Everyone in the group is welcome and everyone is considered a writer of equal standing (published or not). There's no condemnation or criticism. It's not therapy, but it's therapeutic. If you share something close to the bone with someone and they rip it apart, it teaches you to hold back. 

If you share something close to the bone that you're writing and other writers tell you what works in the piece—it empowers your writing voice.

Writing to Prompts

How does this empowering writing method work? It seems incredibly simple but so do many of the moves you see in the Olympics. The facilitators of the workshops guide the writers through a series of writing prompts. Participants write for a specified amount of time, then read out loud in turn. That's the scary part for most writers. Feedback. If it sends you into a panic, or you don't want to share, you always have the option to pass. This is when the introverts in the group breathe a collective sigh of relief. (I know I did.)

It's fine if you don't want to read. Yet, if you do choose to share, or when you're ready to share and read (even if your voice shakes), the reward is great. The other writers in your group will listen closely and they'll tell you what works for them about the piece. They won't infringe on or criticize your work, they won't red line or comment on grammar, it's a first draft for pity's sake! They'll simply tell you what stood out, what they heard, and what works for them. That feedback is invaluable.

"So much depends upon..." is one of my favorite writing prompts. I think I've written to it in every class I've ever taken/taught. Not two answers have ever been the same. Another thing I've loved about this method is the privilege of listening to so much brilliant writing. I invite you to write to the prompt, for about four minutes. If you do, and want to share, leave it in the comments below or email it to me and I'll tell you what works for me. Below, I share what I wrote to it in my last class.

So much depends upon...time.

    How much do you get? A cup? Half a cup?

    How will you spend it? On yourself? On your people? Work? Kids? Family?

Science thrills me.

    I have big books about time.

    That Stephen Hawkings one.

    Or Julian Barbour who doesn't believe in time.

    He says everything happened at the same time.

    The Big Bang—the formation of the universes—humanity here on earth.

    Just whoosh here—then everything gone.

    No time. Could our concept of time simply be how our minds are capable of perceiving existence?

    Like dogs and color?

It doesn't really matter I figure.

Time. Perception. It's brief.

    It's a half a cup of whoosh.

    I'll take it.

Nobody Wants to Hear About My Upcoming Trip to Greece—But I Can't STFU About It

The Glitter Globe/S.R. Karfelt 

Sometimes dolphins follow the ferry.

In a bit more than two weeks I leave for my annual trip to Alonissos. Currently I'm annoying the stuffing out of my husband with it. Since I stay a month, everything that I won't be here to do must be done NOW. Right. Now. 

When I return we're having much-needed work done on our house. That means getting all of that organized and ready NOW too.

With vacation approaching like the ping of an ice-cream truck, you can probably imagine how organized and together I am with preparations and scheduling. I can imagine it too. If only it were anywhere near the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants truth. 

At night I can hear the sound of free-range cats and dance parties drifting up from the port. 

My office now looks like the inside of a fairly clean dumpster that's been stuffed with the contents of a library. To expect that to ever change is delusional. It's my method (she says with a straight face without blinking), but I need to organize all the books I'm writing, update everything and get it all in portable and travel mode. Chargers and adapters and flash drives need fished out and readied. Bills paid. Contractors contracted. Schedules prepped. Flights, hotels, and ferries arranged. All the things in order NOW.

I never even knew I liked olives in a seaside cafe beneath a full moon.

It's quite a journey from here in the shire to that quiet island in the Aegean. Each click of the mouse prepping travel plans brings back memories of the place. The race to prep for vacation always makes me long to be there and done with hectic preparations. 

Do you ever stop in the middle of vacation prep and wonder if it is even worth the effort? Alonissos is. 

Sometimes I dream I'm floating around the island. In the air.

Vacation float is why we all go through the hassle of going. It takes time to achieve vacation float. I wish everybody could feel it. The world would be a better place. All the hassle and prep to get to Alonissos is why I stay so long. It takes me three days of travel to get there, but keep in mind I live in the shire and we don't have high-tech things like direct flights. It once took me three days to fly home from Nashville. I think I can drive there in half a day. 

Most people here will decide between flying and driving based on which is faster. DC, Portland, Boston, heck—Orlando, you weigh flying time against driving effort. Driving often wins. There are always connecting flights here. Connections are uncooperative slippery bastards. 

Retsina is an insidious Greek wine with a pine flavor that will bind you to this land. 

There are usually only two airports that connect to the shire's. When you get to your gate coming home, you often know half the people there. It's a small town. Not only do I recognize faces but I could make an educated guess whether they've been to China on business or visiting a grown child in Colorado. I adore that about living here, and I'm a transplant. But when it comes to travel, small town life requires patience.

I'll leave here on a Friday morning and get to Athens on Saturday morning more than twenty-four hours later. That's if all goes according to plan, best case scenario. I spend that Saturday in Athens because I'll be exhausted and I can't get a flight to Skiathos until late anyway. 

In Athens I can walk up to the Acropolis and visit the Caryatids.

Sunday I'll catch a flight to Skiathos. It's a short flight on Olympic Air. I saw Skiathos listed on one of those scariest airports to fly into sites. By scary what they mean is awesome. 

Watch planes land from the rooftop seating of Sofia's Family Restaurant in Skiathos, as the sun sets.

You can eat anything you like at Sofia's because you burned all those calories climbing the steep winding steps of the alleys to get there. Sometimes I don't linger in Skiathos until after my workshop ends. If I'm running behind schedule I share a taxi with strangers from the Skiathos airport and we race straight for the port to catch a ferry. 

There are different kinds of ferries. The hydrofoil skims over the water and the trip is fast. I prefer to take the giant slow one. Its so big the hull is full of trucks and cars. There are several decks. It takes hours of gliding through the sea and stops on Skopelos first. 

Skopelos is where the Mama Mia island is located. It's absolutely gorgeous. The first time I went to my workshop in Greece I couldn't believe my luck. Skopelos makes a cameo appearance in my book HEARTLESS. What were the odds that I'd be next door to it at a writing workshop the year it came out?

Water foams white and arctic blue like peppermint breath mints as the ferry slices the Aegean. I sip cherry juice wearing a straw hat.

The reason I like my slow approach is it's my transition time from busy me to human being. Sometimes I'll meet other writers with the same destination on the ferry. We'll know each other even if we're strangers. A few times I've made friends with other solo female travelers also shunning the more popular islands, in search of the stillness of the Old World that lingers in hidden lavender patches and olive groves of Alonissos.

If I'm very lucky I'll find my float somewhere in the long hours of introspective writing time that's coming. Occasionally I'll sense its approach as my shoulders relax, my breath deepens, and words evaporate from my lips to nest in my fingertips. 

Sure I write all the time, but on Alonissos I write with paper, pencils and magic. It's delicious.

This will be my fourth year attending the WRA workshop. I know the shape of the island from a distance. The ferry will curve outward before turning to approach the big dock. Around me people will hurry to gather their belongings. We'll all lumber down two or three floors into the bowels of the ferry to gather bigger luggage. 

Docking is quick. Trucks and cars disembark alongside people, flooding the Hellenic Seaways dock with chaos. The woman who runs the pansion I stay at meets me at the ferry. She's clever and quick and looks like movie star. Her voice is accented with the strong undertones of hard Greek, "Kali-sperra, Steph-an-ie. Welcome, welcome home." Beside her is the powerhouse who runs WRA. It feels like coming home, and in a way it is—it's my writer home. Like a turtle I carry my writer home on my back at all times, but also like a turtle I remember where I discovered it and long to return every year. 

The beaches are white with salty stones from the sea. I melt into them.  

I get why nobody wants to hear about my trip. Life isn't fair. Holidays are a luxury, especially Greek holidays. My husband has to stay here and work. My kids have nothing to say about a trip their mother takes that is more epic than their young adult vacations. That just goes against the natural order doesn't it? Even writing friends who've attended the workshop in the past don't want to hear about it. No one can go every year. Eventually the pilgrimage ends. 

We pack up our float and hope the airline doesn't ruin it before we get home. I strongly suspect I harbor quite a bit of float within. It just takes quiet to find, and I can't quite find quiet in the chaos of my busy home life. 

Cicadas blast eardrums as we lean knee to knee reading aloud. We talk faster, racing the ferry before it docks and drowns all other sound.

S.R. Karfelt

Yet I've had the privilege of being in this place and the honor of meeting some of the most amazing women I've ever known as we write together. Each year we raise each other up. Each year my writing voice grows stronger. Bitch Witch. Nobody Told Me. Each year my speaking voice grows stronger too. 

Perhaps I've now given you a glimpse of why I can't shut up about my amazing float story. Perhaps you have one of your own? I hope you do. If so I don't think you should STFU about it. I think you should share it too, don't you? As a wise woman once told me, don't be afraid to speak even if your voice shakes.

A Matter of Chance—An Interview with Novelist, Julie Maloney

The Glitter Globe/S.R. Karfelt

Women Reading Aloud founder Julie Maloney tackles fiction after a lifetime dedicated to the arts  

Debut novel portrays a distraught mother’s search for her missing child.

When eight-year-old Vinni Stewart disappears from a Jersey shore town, Maddy, her distraught single mother, begins a desperate search for her daughter. Maddy’s five-year journey leads her to a bakery in Brooklyn, where she stumbles upon something terrifying. Ultimately, her artist neighbor Evelyn reconnects Maddy to her passion for painting and guides her to a life transformed through art. 

Detective John D’Orfini sees more than a kidnapping in the plot-thickening twists of chance surrounding Vinni’s disappearance, but his warnings to stay away from the investigation do not deter Maddy, even when her search puts her in danger. When the Russian Mafia warns her to stop sniffing into their business, Maddy must make a choice whether to save one child―even if it might jeopardize saving her own. 

“Beautiful and sensitive…effortlessly readable” ~ Christina Baker Kline, author of the New York Times best-selling “Orphan Train”

This novel is one I'm thrilled to share with you. You're going to want this book on the top of your TBR pile. Over the last few years I've had the pleasure of hearing Julie Maloney's writing and it is beautiful. 

If you read my blog you probably can't escape my love affair with Greece and the annual writing workshop I attend there. Julie Maloney is an author and the genius behind Women Reading Aloud, and she was kind enough to answer my questions.  

Julie, over the years I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying your writing. I’m looking forward to this book. What is the main thing you hope readers take away from this story? 

Julie Maloney, Writer

Life isn’t neat. In my debut novel, “A Matter of Chance,” (She Writes Press), the protagonist, Maddy Stewart, continues even when her life has been traumatized by the disappearance of her young daughter. I want the reader to see how things are rarely, if ever, “black and white.” I want the reader to realize how compassion necessitates forgiveness.

 What inspired you to write this book?

As a former dancer/choregrapher and artistic director of my own modern dance company in NYC, I had a home life with three young children and a husband. Balancing all of that was near to impossible…and yet what happens to a woman who cannot give any of it up? Who refuses to accept that a choice must be made? I selected from my experiences, even though it is fiction. Stephen King says: “In fiction lies the truth.” I agree wholeheartedly.  I wanted to write a story about a complex woman—aren’t we all—who had to face who she was amid heartbreak and devastation. The publishing industry wanted a “kidnapping” story, but I wrote about the woman/mother left behind…it is Maddy Stewart’s story. My question is: What happens to those left behind? How do they cope? What do they discover about themselves? 

What would surprise the reader to know about the research you did for this book? 

I traveled to Germany to see the work by Germany’s most renown artist—Kaethe Kollwitz. There are two museums dedicated solely to Kollwitz’s work—one in Cologne and one in Berlin. I traveled to Cologne. It was an emotional experience to walk in and see a life-size portrait of the artist right inside the front door. Initially, I discovered Kollwitz at a chance visit to the Morgan Library in New York City. Immediately, I was enchanted. I knew she was my muse for “A Matter of Chance.” Her images honor the downtrodden and the poor. I also drove through Bavaria and took in the landscape. I had to find the ending to my story and I did. Also, I worked with an undercover DEA agent in New York. Retired, he was willing to speak with me over several conversations about crime—and how easy it is to get away with it.

I love to read. I know you do too. What are some of your favorite books/authors. Are any of them in any way similar to this book? 

This is a hard question to answer. I love to read. I grew up around the corner from the local branch library. It was my greatest childhood joy to go to the library. I am a huge fan of Joyce Carol Oates and Elizabeth Strout. I have read Strout’s “Olive Kitteridge” five times. I also love “Stoner” by John Williams. Then there is the wonderful literary mystery writer, Kate Atkinson. And how can a writer not mention the masterful Stephen King! It’s all about storytelling and he is the king of it. I have just finished reading “Pachinko” by Min Jin Lee and loved it. I have read “The Great Gatsby” many times. My childhood favorite is “The Diary of Anne Frank.” I love Anne Enright, too. Of course, the poets! I cannot forget the poets who inspire me, as I have written and published many poems. I love Robert Frost and Linda Pastan, Audre Lord, Gerald Stern, Jane Hirshfield, Edward Hirsch, Ellen Bass…so many poets I love. Their words slip inside me when I need something wonderful to fill me.


As if hosting workshops all over the world and writing novels isn’t enough, what’s next, Julie? 

I have written the second novel—a sequel—to “A Matter of Chance.” It needs editing galore and I must find time to do this. I wanted to give a secondary character from my debut novel her own story…and now she has it. I have to refine it. The working title for this one is: "THE LIGHTBOX.” It is written in the voice of Tuba Schwimmer and her daughter, Gitta. Tuba is from “A Matter of Chance.” 

Also, I would like to put more of my poems into another chapbook. I enjoy giving poetry readings but I’m showing up to readings with lots of loose papers and they need to be collected between two covers. But . . . and this is something I’ve realized lately: I want to speak more to the world . . . to audiences of all sizes . . . to women in their living rooms and to men and women in lecture halls . . . to tell them to live with passion. I want to remind the world that time does not stand still. I want to hold the hand of someone who questions herself and say to her, “You are beautiful. You have a voice. Use it. Discover your inner language. Write down your words. Now sing."

You radiate serenity and encouragement at your workshops, and inspire your women writers to do the same. It’s a beautiful thing when we support each other. Is there any chance you’ll someday put that magic into a book on writing? 

Thank you for asking this question. I am seriously thinking about this…although the premise is so simple: Practice Kindness. I could offer so many instances of how far a simple act of kindness has gone to encourage a woman writer to go deep and let her voice soar. Once, during a retreat in Greece, a writer was having a very emotional experience as she read her work. She was sitting next to me. Although I always instruct everyone to allow the voice and the writer space…I felt this writer needed an extra “touch.” So I simply linked my arm inside hers as she read. I did not say one word. She continued reading to the end. Had she stopped reading, she—as well as the listeners—we, the readers, would have missed out on something glorious. Tone matters. We hear about this on the page all the time…but what about how we speak to one another? I like to remind participants to speak from their lower belly. Often, at the beginning of a retreat, I’ll hear a writer speak high from inside her throat, but as the days progress, with encouragement, she’ll begin to drop her voice into a more authentic range. As her work goes deep, so does the pitch of her voice and her TONE relaxes and resonates.

Women Reading Aloud, Greece

It's interesting how positive reinforcement and encouragement can bring out the best in us. The very first year I went to Women Reading Aloud in Alonissos I remember telling Julie ahead of time that I might decide to stay in my room and write some days. I didn't see how the premise for the workshop—writing and reading it aloud, would teach me enough to justify spending the entire day at it. I thought I'd probably want to spend half that time writing alone. 

Julie in her infinite wisdom simply said, that would be fine but I encourage you to come to the workshop and try it first. So I did. After that I never missed a session and attended every extra evening class she generously offered. 

Each year I find I discover something new, deeper, and unexpected in my writing thanks to this workshop. This amazing woman and writer helped me find my authentic voice, and I can tell you that you're going to love the sound of hers.

Alonissos, Greece and the Weird Writer Who Goes There

S.R. Karfelt/The Glitter Globe
My Favorite Beach

Nobody wants to hear about my trip to Greece. For the last few years I've been going there to attend a writing workshop. At first I tried to tell people about it. Here's the thing though, there is nobody who wants to hear about anyone's magical multiple week long vacation to Greece. 

Nobody.

Shut up. Some people have to work for a living. The kind of work that doesn't give you weeks to travel.

Do not make us kill you.

Do not ruin our time at the beach by a lake with your amaze-balls Greek photos.

I totally get this. 

So I stopped talking about it. After posting a freak ton of photos to Instagram I mean. But that's showing, not telling. Nope. I tuck it all up inside the magical olive tree growing beside my favorite beach, and set it just under my heart. I hope with all my wishful dreams that I can return again next year, and I know how fortunate I am to have gone at all. During the year I look at that secret wonderful and can barely believe it happened. I often wear a silver ring from Alonissos, and I don't wear rings. But it's beautiful and lightweight, and doesn't bother me as much as most rings do. 

Writing events are difficult to explain to non-writers. The best I can say is this. Writers are weird. We know we're weird. People like to joke about how weird they are, or how weird other people are. But writers are no-joke, to the bone, weirdos. 

When you're a genuine weirdo, being weird isn't fun. It got old somewhere around grade school. When you see the world differently, and take in overwhelming amounts of data every waking moment, and process your thoughts on paper to even get them into some type of order, well, it can be a deeply lonely experience.

At least until you start making up imaginary characters and having a blast with them.

Controlling your own universe is way cool. 

I digress.

Getting together with other writers is how I imagine most people feel when they truly connect with other people. I don't mean loving people. We love people. I adore my hot husband. I think my kids are the coolest. My friends put up with my crap and have fun with me.

But my writerly peeps understand my weird ass. They don't just tolerate my shit. They have the exact same weird shit. It's like being an alien and finding your people. I wish it for all writerly types.

You should see a writer conference. Everyone is talking at once. Like freaking extroverts or something. (Although there are plenty of writers who ARE extroverts. Talk about weirdos.) 

At writer gatherings I can hardly sleep I'm so excited and wired. Afterwards I really need a vacation to recover. Writers don't make me tired like most social interaction. Lack of sleep does. The magic of the gathering is that I can plug the cord to my freak flag in and be as weird as I can (it's a lot of weird). They don't even notice.

This shouldn't make those who love writers envious in any way. As much fun and connection as we have when we gather together, if it lasted too long we'd probably go cannibal or something. It's like a matter anti-matter thing. At first it's a blast, and then the universe is imploding.

We don't love each other more. We just share our weird. It's a relief. If you love a writer, I highly recommend getting them with other writers. It's like sending them to therapy. Everyone benefits.

Still. Nobody wants to hear about my kick-ass Greek vacation. I can probably tell you about the bus tour I took before the writing workshop started. I spent a couple days in Athens and went up to Meteora to see those monasteries in the clouds. But if I launch into the real reason my house looks like this and how I use my money on a trip that takes me nearly three days of travel just to arrive at the destination, and how I end up spending days on end huddled knee to knee with a bunch of other women writers, barely looking up, and just writing and then reading it aloud, well, that'd just be weird wouldn't it?




  

Caryatids at The Acropolis in Athens, Greece—Women Holding Up Their Little Bit of the World

Caryatid Porch at the Erechtheion, Acropolis
Athens, Greece

Caryatid. It's pronounced, "Carry-ah-did".

The definition of caryatid is a stone carving of a draped female figure, used as a pillar to support the entablature of a Greek or Greek-style building.

These ladies speak to me.

     Don't mind us, just a bunch of anonymous chicks holding all the shit together. Nothing to see here. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Hey, ladies. I'm crushing on you. You're functional and lovely, with strong legs. Bet the TSA would double check those big calves too. You're just looking good and keeping things from falling apart. I feel you. I've met your descendants. 

Those Greek women are pulling double plus shifts during tourist season. I see them there at seven in the morning, and still working at two a.m. too. They're cooking the food, making it look beautiful, serving it, cleaning it up. They're running a business, raising a family, and looking fine the whole time. The economy is sucking out loud all around them. But they're smiling, nay, they're laughing. 

Caryatid women are everywhere. They're working two jobs, working at places that need them but make no financial sense—but someone has to do it. So they do it. They don't complain. Wait. Sure they do. But no one listens, so it doesn't count. They'll just keep doing all the things, and holding up the world. 

Don't make them come over there. Because if they drop all this weight they're carrying, the whole world's gonna come crashing down. 

The light changes, and the colors of the stones seem to change with it.

Back at home writing books, blogs, and juggling Gummy/dementia stuff I sometimes feel like a Caryatid. This week Rescue Kitty dragged a full-grown rabbit through the cat door. I didn't know this for a few days, but I kept scrubbing everything in the workshop thinking Oh, man, cat food smells. 

It wasn't the cat food. Rescue Kitty had wedged him an out of the way spot. I thought it was a eagle when I spotted it, that's how big it was. The reason I thought it was an eagle is I thought those were feathers covering it. They weren't feathers. They were maggots. 

I immediately went after hubby.

     You need to clean a dead thing out of the workshop.

      It's your cat.

      It's not my cat!

      You feed it.

      It's your mom's cat! That makes it yours.

      It's your cat now.

This went on for a time. We argued over who had legal responsibility of the cat in our marriage. If feeding something denotes ownership, I own him and I guess the kids are mine too. 

In the end I relented. My friend said that makes me an amateur marital negotiator. Not true. I am, after all, caryatid strong. I submit the fact that I write novels, tend to Gummy, and have a chronically agitated neck as proof of my qualifications. The reason I gave in is there's a big problem with the kitchen drains that now he has to snake and clean and fix, in exchange for my body removing services. I can negotiate.

Yet when I went into the workshop with a Pirates of the Caribbean bandanna over my mouth and nose with a shovel in hand, I remembered that I'm a smart woman too. So I negotiated with the neighbor boys. They said they like to watch Bones. I said, "Let's make a deal." They cleaned all evidence of bunny death for a few dollars and a box of cookies. I think they'd have done it for free.

Back to the caryatids. The ones in the above pictures are at the Acropolis in Athens, Greece. The Acropolis is a citadel above the city. It's a rise with cliffs, and on top of it are many ancient ruins like the Parthenon and the Erechtheion where you find the porch of the Caryatids.

The Acropolis was built at a time when Athena and Poseidon were part of Greek religion. There are temples and statues on top or along the walk up. 

The Acropolis at night!

Above is a picture of the Acropolis at night. It's lit up and you can see it from all around Athens. Just below it on this side is the Acropolis Museum. It's my favorite museum. One of the things I love most about it is that inside it has the feel and even the look of the Acropolis. The bottom floor is glass and you can see a dig beneath it. Also there's a cafe on a large porch upstairs. You can sit outside and have a coffee and see the Acropolis during the day. 

The photo below is the Parthenon. Isn't it formidable? Imagine standing there thousands of years ago? No television. No internet. Just this impressive building to stir your imagination. Something about being on top the Acropolis that always strikes me, is that there are columns and ruins littered all over the place. Ruins are everywhere in Athens. But it's strange to see so many ancient treasures laying about and exposed to the elements. 

The Parthenon has been under construction every time I've gone, but it doesn't detract from the magnificence at all!

All the buildings on the Acropolis are impressive ruins. They're unexpectedly large and imposing. It takes a while just to hike the Acropolis and get to the top. So many feet have walked over the marble paths for centuries, in some places it's as smooth and slippery as ice. Like here just at the entrance on top.

No, seriously. 

Stairs. Yep. Not an optical illusion.
You can go around.
But where's the fun in that?

This was my second trip to the top, so I planned my sandals more wisely than last time. I ordered well over a dozen pair online and returned all but the Mephisto's and Teva's. The Teva's are what I wore for this hike. There was no slipping and now I'm a fan for life.

This time I also hiked up in the late afternoon to avoid the heat and

Dionysus

the blinding sun. I took the entrance by the Theater of Dionysus. A ticket to the Acropolis is 20€. There are discounts for students and such, but it's worth it even if you have to pay full price. The Acropolis museum is just below the Acropolis, and it contains many of the artifacts that have been removed. It's worth a visit too, plus air-conditioning and blank journals with caryatids on the cover can be had there.

The Theater of Dionysus at the base of the Acropolis
I like to walk up this side.

Journals are my weakness, and museum shops.

My haul from the Acropolis Museum

I easily pass by all the souvenir shops surrounding the Acropolis, and they seem endless, but I buy several of these for writing, and a couple books at the Acropolis Museum Shop. They're not online yet. You and I both wish. Then I spend a month hauling all my loot around Greece. 

It's so worth it. What more could a solo traveler want?

A Greek salad and a Mythos in Plaka is pretty excellent too. 

I wish I could share it with you.
The best tomatoes, cukes, onion, pepper, olive oil, oregano,
and a block of feta. That's it.

Now I want to go back. I love traveling Greece. The people are wonderful. The food is spectacular. And obviously the scenery is legendary. You in?