Loren MccRory offered a group on May 21.
Loren’s group was themed around: Writing for Breathing Space.
She was recently certified to lead workshops in the AWA method, after many years of searching for an expressive arts therapy in keeping with her passion for bibliotherapy and creative journaling.
For anyone convinced by credits or credentials, Loren has a MA in English lit and wrote a novel for her thesis. She is a retired MLIS library director and did a short stint in publishing. Post-retirement, she completed a year long certificate program with the Independent Publishing Resource Center in Portland, Oregon that culminated in a chapbook of poetry, CRYPTYCH, available as an ebook on Amazon. She also, loosely, operates a small press, Lorecroft Publishing that primarily helps others navigate the digital publishing terrain.
We thank Loren for her leadership and the following writers for sharing their work with us! The first piece was prompted by the Galway Kinnell quote, “sometimes it is necessary / to reteach a thing its loveliness.” The second was written in response to an old black and white photograph.
by Deepam Wadds
I tell her, you don’t know how lovely you are. She smiles a pink smile and looks at her pale hands. You wait, I tell her, too soon you will look back and long for this.
I want to show her the future so she will know. So she will step in to claim what is hers.
She scrolls through phone, selects lacy panties, eyelash dye, Vagisil. She covers her face with mud and waits. Waits for my son to claim her, to show her who she is. He builds a shelter, constructs his life, calls her out to the wilderness.
Don’t wait, I tell her as she scrolls for what new thing will make her lovely. Maybe if she were blonde…Come, I say, look into this mirror. See your eyes—the colour of sand and dreams?
I’ve forgotten how to dream.
What do you love?
Your son, she says.
What sets your heart alive?
He gaze drifts to the phone.
The answers aren’t there—they’re here. I tap her sweet narrow chest. The world has a place for you.
The world has stopped and there’s nowhere to go. Nothing to become.
We kneel in spring’s new green to snip the leaves of wild leek. Earth blossoms without assistance or praise.
It won’t come to you. You will have to find it.
I don’t know where to look.
Search as we did—in the voices of singers, in galleries, open fields, foreign lands, ancient tomes…
Make a list, I tell her. Of the things you love. Begin with yourself. Your fine strong fingers, for instance. Your capable legs. Your good heart. Begin there. Begin with your own loveliness.
by Laurel Karry
The door closes behind her with a creak that recalls the old horror movies with Sir Graves Ghastly.
It has an eerie sigh, almost like it’s taking its time to observe me, to figure out what seems different on this day with respect to all of my other visits. I stand behind the door, and again I sigh. I find a place amongst my friends – the ones that don’t judge, don’t expect, don’t natter, don’t load up on a beverage that changes one personality to another. I’m not really fond of the array of behaviours I have to choose from these days. It’s certainly not at all like going into an artists’ shop and salivating over all of these gorgeous tubes of colour. I try to buy only the 5 mL ones; paints are expensive, but I love them so, especially the crimsons, the cerulean, and the cauliflower. Yes, I know there isn’t a paint of that colour, but there should be. If I had my own shop, I’d add it. And it would have the lovely scent of lavender, be painted yellow, and just be a calm environment for other dreamers.
Thank you for joining us to Write Around the World!
For the rest of the summer, watch our blog! We are sharing writing from AWA’s yearly marathon fundraiser, which happened this year all-online throughout the month of May.
We offer this series in appreciation for the incredible community of writers and workshop leaders that sustain us. If you’re inspired and would like to be part of the fundraiser, please donate!