Sarah Sharp offered a session on May 22.
Sarah is a writer with a full-time day job and a home life, so she shares the challenges of making time to write, and making the most of that time.
She is an AWA affiliate, certified to lead workshops in the Amherst Writers and Artists (AWA) method as described in Writing Alone & With Others by Pat Schneider, Oxford University Press. She believes it’s possible to grow as a writer without being crushed by literary egos, and provides an environment where writers can explore their creativity without fear of rejection.
by Deepam Wadds
Canada hadn’t yet shifted from Fahrenheit to Celsius but travelling through Europe from the Netherlands to Germany, Austria, and finally Italy, I learned to translate the weight of grapes and the air on my skin to familiar numbers.
In Venice, I learned the bitter-sweetness of almonds in the Amaretto Paolo put to my lips. In Firenze not Florence, cara, Marcello taught me al dente, pasta’s proper consistency. I’d arrived in that country an uncut gem. So much wiser and sharpened, I left worldly and polished.
Or so I believed.
In photographs from that time, one can see tufts protruding from under pinfeathers.
by Tracy Rebstock
She stumbled along the path, tears of anger streaming down her face. She glanced over her shoulder and nearly tripped on a tree root in the path – I’ll not look back again she stated firmly to herself. She gathered her robe around her and starting walking, at first it was slowly and purposefully, but soon she found herself building speed, kind of thrashing through the branches and vines, tearing holes in her robe. She stopped only twice – once to take a rock out of her sandal, and the other to take a drink from the stream she forded, holding her pack high above her head as she crossed the water, cold and rushing, nearly up to her armpits in places. She barely stopped long enough to dry herself. Where was she going?
She wasn’t sure, but she knew she wanted to be as far away from him as she could. How could he be so cruel? She nearly lost her balance – with her eyes filling with tears she could barely see where she was going. She would not cry. He wasn’t worth it. But, she did need to consider what she would do come evening. When it got dark. When the trees would come alive, they did not like the human intrusion. Doing their night rituals – she would have to find shelter out of the trees.
How did she let him talk her into this? She was far from her cozy apartment. The 3rd floor walk up with its small kitchen, and that large window that opened out onto the street. She could spend hours watching people pass below her. She’d sit on the sill, holding her hot mug of tea, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, noting those who passed by. She was always making up stories in her head about their lives. What they could be doing or where they could be going. Where they lived and what dreams they had.
That is how she met him.
He passed by – under her window spot
And he looked up at her
She dropped her mug, and he CAUGHT it!
She’d never had someone look up at her before
She just watched from above – no one noticed her sitting there
But he – she wondered if it was because he saw her that she dropped the mug
It was her favorite
Made with loving hands by her grandmother
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!