Elizabeth Isaacs's Blog

Football has been a staple in my home my entire life. Sunday afternoons and Monday nights, Dad and I sat in front of the television, watching Jerry Rice, Joe Montana, Walter Payton, and Emmitt Smith make history. My son played in middle school, and recently, it’s been�� the common thread that kept us together when politics threatened to tear us apart.

The NFL brings fierce competition on the field with open sportsmanship after the game. Watching college ball gives us hope���that maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. At least for a few hours, anyway.

Yes, I love football.

And Disney knows it.

After ABC (owned by Disney) took Kimmel off the air, I lost faith in their brand. I know my pennies mean nothing to them, but they mean something to me. So I took the app off my television and decided to funnel my meager earnings into businesses that openly support democracy, not huge conglomerates that’ve decided to rip it apart.

Apparently, millions of people agreed with me. According to Snopes, after Kimmel’s suspension, Disney’s market capitalization fell by $1.4 billion overnight. By the end of the week, it had dropped $4.2 billion. The following week, the valuation had fallen by $6.4 billion.

What does any of this have to do with football?

Everything.

What does one do when they need to create a huge revenue stream to balance out mass losses?

Force the consumer to purchase thier product, that’s what.

Disney owns Hulu, a competitor of YouTube TV, which, I believe Disney is forcing football fans to ditch YouTube TV and switch to Hulu to watch their games.

“But Beth,” you say, “they’re offering a great package deal with Disney+, and it’s only an additional seven bucks a month. You don’t need Hulu.”

The point isn’t which streaming service you choose���it’s that you walk away from YouTube TV. And once that’s gone, we have no choice but Hulu or to be nickeled and dimed to death with a thousand different services.

Here’s the thing.

I love football. But I don’t need football.

And I hate what Disney has become.

So I won’t be switching services. If that means I don’t get to watch College GameDay anymore or Monday Night Football, so be it.

Because I’m sick of being a pawn in billionaires’ political games.

Football is about more than touchdowns and field goals. It’s about integrity, sportsmanship, and standing your ground when it matters. Those same principles apply off the field too. Disney is counting on fans like me to choose convenience over conviction, to sacrifice principle for a few hours of entertainment.

And that’s something I just won’t do.

All images created on canva.

Bloom where you’re planted

It means flourishing regardless of circumstances and growing despite your environment.
Such sage advice.
And yet, so many of us waste precious time thinking, “… if I had a better job/found someone who loved me/made more money/had a bigger house/ etc., I’d be happy.” Or the “I’ll wait to decorate when I get a bigger house/apartment” or “I’ll buy those cute jeans once I lose weight” type of mentality.

This mindset isn’t blooming where we are planted. It’s what I call “destination living”���the belief that life begins when we finally reach an imaginary finish line. But here’s the truth: there is no arrival. There’s only right now, and what we choose to do with it.

I’ve been guilty of this myself. I’ve caught myself saying, “Once this season is over…” or “When things settle down…” As if life has a pause button we can press until conditions improve. But life doesn’t wait. It’s happening right now, in this apartment that might feel too small, in this job that isn’t quite the dream, in this body that’s still a work in progress.

Mel Robbins��talks about the power of the��five-second rule���that tiny window between having an instinct to act and talking yourself out of it.��But she also speaks to something more profound: the idea that we don’t need permission to start living our lives fully. We don’t need the perfect conditions, the ideal circumstances, or everything lined up just right. We need to decide that today matters.

Blooming where you’re planted doesn’t mean settling or giving up on growth. It means recognizing that growth can happen anywhere. It means hanging the good artwork now, wearing clothes that make you feel good today, and creating beauty and joy with what you have right now. It means tending to yourself and your space with intention, regardless of whether it’s “perfect” yet.

The alternative���waiting for someday���is a slow form of self-abandonment. We tell ourselves we’re being practical or cautious, but really, we’re saying we’re not worth the investment until we meet some arbitrary standard. We’re putting ourselves in a holding pattern, circling the airport of our own lives, never quite landing.

What if we treated our current circumstances like the fertile ground they actually are? Not as a temporary inconvenience before real life begins, but as the actual soil from which our growth springs? The flowers that bloom in challenging conditions often have the deepest roots. This is not about resignation, but about empowerment. It’s about recognizing that we have the power to grow and thrive, regardless of the conditions we find ourselves in.

This doesn’t mean toxic positivity or pretending hardships don’t exist. It means making an active choice about where we direct our energy. We can acknowledge difficulty while still deciding to plant seeds of joy. We can work toward better circumstances while refusing to hold our present happiness hostage to future possibilities.

Start small. Buy the good candle. Frame the photo. Wear the outfit. Cook a nice meal, even if it’s just for you. These aren’t frivolous acts���they’re declarations that your life, as it exists right now, has value. That you have value. These small acts of self-affirmation are not insignificant. They are powerful reminders of your worth and the value of your life, just as it is.

Because here’s what I’ve learned: the person who can’t find contentment in a studio apartment won’t suddenly find it in a mansion. The person who can’t celebrate their body at this weight won’t magically love themselves twenty pounds from now. Happiness isn’t a destination we reach through acquisition or achievement. It’s a skill we practice, right where we are.

It’s easier said than done. But happiness isn’t a circumstance. It’s a state of mind.

 

Recently, someone asked why I like writing about fierce female warriors.

Because they were real women

For generations, we’ve been told that women warriors were the stuff of fantasy���convenient plot devices in Greek epics, symbols rather than people. But what if the most radical thing about the Amazons wasn’t that they existed in myth, but that they may have been inspired by actual women who lived, fought, and died on their own terms?
The archaeological record is telling us a story that challenges everything we thought we knew about ancient gender roles. And it’s far more interesting than the myths.

When Graves Tell the Truth

Here’s what we know: In the burial mounds scattered across the Eurasian steppes, archaeologists have found the remains of women interred��with weapons, armor, and battle scars. Not occasionally. Regularly. These weren’t ceremonial objects or symbolic gestures���these were working weapons, worn by bodies that show evidence of the kind of injuries you get from combat and hard riding.
These women were Scythians, members of nomadic tribes who dominated the steppes from roughly the 9th century BCE to the 1st century CE. And they weren’t just present on the battlefield���they were integral to it.
Recent archaeological and DNA analysis has revealed that many of the so-called “warrior graves” previously assumed to contain men actually contained women. For decades, archaeologists made assumptions based on grave goods���weapons meant warriors, warriors meant men. We’re now correcting centuries of misidentification.

Function over Gender

What made Scythian culture remarkable wasn’t just that women could fight���it’s that their society seems to have organized itself around functional roles rather than rigid gender categories. If you could ride a horse and draw a bow (essential skills for steppe nomads), you were valuable, regardless of your sex. This isn’t a story about women “proving themselves” in a man’s world. It’s a story about a world built from the ground up.
Take Tomyris, the Scythian queen who defeated Cyrus the Great of Persia in 530 BCE. Historical accounts portray her not as an anomaly but as a ruler who commanded respect through strategic brilliance and military prowess. When Cyrus killed her son through deception, her response was swift and brutal. She didn’t need male approval or permission to lead armies. The question itself would have been meaningless in her context.

The Amazon Paradox

So what about the Amazons?
The answer is complicated, which makes it more interesting. The Amazons of Greek mythology���women who cut off one breast to draw a bow better, who killed male children and kept only daughters���were almost certainly Greek fabrications, designed to represent everything that threatened Greek social order.
But the Greeks didn’t invent these stories out of nothing. They encountered cultures through trade, war, and exploration, where women rode horses, used weapons, and held power. The “Amazon” legends may represent Greek attempts to process and contain the unsettling reality of women who didn’t fit into their categories.

What This Means Now and Why does any of this matter to us today?

Because the stories we tell about the past shape what we believe is possible in the present. For too long, women’s history has been presented as a slow march from oppression toward liberation, with occasional “exceptional” women who managed to break through despite their circumstances.
But the Scythian evidence suggests something more complex: that gender roles aren’t universal or inevitable, but culturally constructed and remarkably variable. There have been societies���functional, successful societies���that organized themselves around principles very different from the ones we inherited.
This isn’t about idealizing the past or suggesting we should all become nomadic horse archers (though that does sound appealing some days). It’s about recognizing that the limitations we’re told are “natural” often aren’t. They’re historical–which means they’re changeable.

The Power of Reframing

All images created on Canva

The most radical legacy of these ancient women isn’t inspiration���it’s evidence. Evidence that different ways of organizing society have existed and worked. Evidence that women’s capacity for leadership, strategic thinking, and physical courage isn’t a modern development or a feminist fantasy.
When we look at Scythian women buried with their weapons, or read about Tomyris outmaneuvering one of history’s greatest conquerors, we’re not looking at exceptions. We’re looking at what was normal in their context.
And if it was normal then, in that place, under those conditions, what else might be possible now?
The stories of these women don’t just belong in the past.

They’re part of an ongoing conversation about who gets to hold power, who gets to be dangerous, and who gets to define what’s “natural” for half the human population.

And that’s why I love writing about them.

I have strong opinions about what���s happening in the world���and that shouldn���t be surprising. I teach at-risk elementary students, many born outside this country. I see their fear. I hold them when they cry. This summer, I���ve started stocking a food pantry in my classroom, because I know some of my kids will come back hungry this fall.

Cutting SNAP, Medicaid, and education isn���t some abstract political ideology floating in the ether of stupidity. It���s real. I see the cost, while those cheering from the sidelines never will.��Caring for the vulnerable isn���t a political issue. It���s a moral imperative���one I won���t abandon to keep the peace or make anyone comfortable.

Because silence, for me, would be betrayal.

The other day, someone commented that they thought I was sharing too many hard-hitting articles/videos on social media. She felt that my platform should be uplifting and fun. After all, I write fiction. I should stay in my lane … promote my books and not post about men in masks jumping out of unmarked vans and kidnapping brown-skinned people in broad daylight. Wasn’t I afraid of disenfranchising readers?

Guuurl. Have you read my books? The Kailmeyra series is centered on the power of intent. The Scythian series is about an advanced society whose culture very foundation is strength through equality and power through knowledge and truth.

Fighting corruption and injustice while championing integrity and truth is my lane.

But since the election, I���ve come to see that the stories I tell aren���t just imagined; they���re mirrors, reflecting the hardest truths of the world we live in. It���s made me wonder what it must have been like to live in 1774, when the Quartering Act gave British soldiers the right to live in private homes��without the owner’s consent. I imagine sitting at a dinner table, hearing some praise the comfort of armed men in their parlor���grateful for the illusion of safety���while others sat in quiet fury, forced to house the very enforcers of a king determined to crush their freedom.

I���ve often wondered what it was like in Georgia, 1845, when the Baptist church split���some claiming white people descended from Noah���s blessed sons, Shem and Japheth, while non-white people were cursed as descendants of Ham and his grandson Canaan. I���ve imagined what it must���ve been like to have family proudly preaching the new Southern Baptist doctrine���how God granted white men supremacy���while others sat in silence, biting their tongues, choking on convictions they didn’t have the courage to speak aloud.

I���ve imagined living in Nazi Germany in 1938, when the existence of concentration camps was common knowledge, even if their full horror remained unseen. I envision a dinner table where some spoke with chilling pride about rounding up Jewish families, while others stared at their plates in silence���fearful, complicit, or simply numb���as the world around them slipped into darkness.

Unfortunately, I don���t have to imagine what 2025 is like. I hear friends and family mindlessly regurgitate ignorance and propaganda spoon-fed by an oligarch-controlled media. I see those I once respected swallowing blatant lies, unhinged rants, and dangerous conspiracies without question. I don���t have to imagine a hatred so corrosive it fuels blatant racism and drives people to willingly give up their own freedoms���such as due process���just to make sure others suffer.

This isn���t a nightmare or a story to warn against. This is our reality.

And it’s not in me to keep my mouth shut and idly sit, praying it gets better.

So what can I do?

I can call out injustice where I see it. I can join people who continue to fight for democracy. I can post information that is rooted in facts and truth. I can unapologetically take up space in conversations and do my best to calmly communicate with intelligence and compassion.

And I can stay in my lane, crafting stories that honor my convictions and, God willing, kindle a spark of hope for humanity.

All photos were created in Canva

 

I’ve always believed that writing is my passion, but teaching is my calling. Writing fills a part of me that few things ever will, but my purpose in this life is to empower each child to realize that their voice matters, that they have gifts and talents, and that they are essential to this world. It’s an incredible responsibility, one I don’t take lightly. Each child who walks into my classroom brings with them a universe of possibility, their hearts brimming with hope, their eyes alight with joy and imagination. For those who���ve known more hardship than a child should, my classroom is a sanctuary where the music is a balm for the wounds this world has given. They let down their guard, and I see them���brave, resilient, creating with an abandon that fills my heart. In those moments, with every small triumph, I am reminded of why I teach.

But since the pandemic, the chilling darkness of fascism has crept over America, warping our very understanding of freedom���the extreme right seeking to strip away the humanity of the children I serve. Caught in the crossfire, I stand firm, shielding these young souls from the poison of bigotry and hate. There are mornings when I wake, my mind burdened with the weight of it all, wondering how to protect them while nourishing their hearts and minds. I spend my money, energy, and time trying to provide what is steadily being taken from our schools while doing my best to inspire them to dream and learn. Even though the burden grows heavier, I stand firm because being crushed under its weight is simply not an option.

But worry is a thief that steals our joy, quieting the songs of our purpose and leaving nothing but the hollow echoes of doubt. Life���s brilliance fades, clouded by past regrets and future fears, keeping us from fully embracing the beauty of a moment. Casting off worry’s heavy cloak has become my fiercest battle, but I refuse to let circumstances outside my control dim the light I’ve been given. And so I’ve started rereading and watching interviews with my greatest literary hero, Maya Angelou. Her words, her life, her resilience, they all serve as a beacon of hope and strength.

And I was reminded that gratitude is an antidote for despair.

I usually grab a cup of coffee first thing in the morning and scroll through Instagram and Facebook. And I’m pummeled with agonizing over thousands of brown-skinned marginalized people being rounded up with no legal recourse, or the plans to decimate thousands of hectares of cherished national parks, spanning three times the size of California.�� It siphons the very energy from my soul, draining me until there is barely a spark left to this light I’ve been given.

Something has to change.

So, instead of resenting elected officials who turned their backs on their constituents and swore fealty to a fascist oligarch, I’m meditating on what is still good, appreciating the representatives still fighting for their people. They are first on my gratitude list, standing unwavering at the frontline of the battles I am powerless to fight, their strength a constant reminder that our democracy still survives. The second is the discernment and intelligence to use the gifts I’ve been given and play a role in things I can change. Then, I focus on all that is still good in this world. As I snuggle into my comfy writing chair, I crack open a manuscript and step into a timeless depth of creative passion, where strength, hope, and love combine, a place where evil no longer exists. A place that restores my soul. And when the clock chimes that my time is waning, I close down my world, put on my armor, and leave for my calling, hoping my light is a strong beacon of better days to come.

It isn’t easy, though. I no longer can tolerate willful ignorance and complicity. But I’m learning that the most important things I can do is to take care of myself, surround myself with intelligent people willing to question and reflect on their beliefs, and fully embrace each moment in compassion and love.

For in those moments, there is abundant life.

 

 

Traditionally, the age of eighteen marks the threshold of adulthood. It���s a time when the reins of childhood are loosened, and responsibility shifts entirely, giving young adults the freedom to carve their own paths. It’s when we stand and face the weight of our choices–when we realize that every action and every decision can become a burden we alone bear.

Accountability is a powerful force that humbles us, demanding responsibility for all we say and do. But all too often, accountability loses its strength when consequences become distant, untouchable, and far from our hearts.

Failure to hold ourselves accountable creates fertile ground for immaturity and recklessness to take root. It cultivates ignorance, spreads hatred, and leaves a trail of destruction in its wake. The repercussions can be seen from our front doors, where the chaos and division, bred from arrogance and denial, are laid bare for all to see.

As Americans, we were entrusted with a priceless gift, one paid for in the blood and sacrifice of our forefathers. Freedoms fiercely guarded by generations that came before us are now unraveling before our eyes. This is the price of ignorance and indifference, the ramifications of our apathy and careless disregard.

America���s childhood has come to an end, and now we stand at the crossroads of our own making, a place where every soul must take responsibility for the next step they choose. There is no room for excuses, no tolerance for ignorance, and no place for silence, for it is complicity in its purest form.

We are at a turning point. One path leads us back to the heart of Democracy, while the other descends into the darkness of fascism. Every citizen is accountable for the road they choose, and�� each must carry the magnitude of their actions or apathy. Excuses are no longer acceptable. Fallacies no longer tolerated. This is the moment to decide.

Will we fight to remain a land of the free and the home of the brave?

So many horrible things are happening at whiplash speed. It can leave us with a sense of helplessness and rage.

That’s exactly how they want you to feel.

So what can we do?

Steven Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People teaches how to be productive in the workplace, but it also applies to life.

Simply put, to be effective, we must first take inventory of an issue and place it into one of three categories: things I can control, things I can influence,�� or areas of concern. (I made the third circle “out of my control” because it defines that space better for me). From there, we adjust the time, effort, and energy based on where that issue falls within our circles.

For example, I have no control over oligarchs going into the Social Security system and doing God knows what. But I can get on their website and download my information before it gets altered, and I can alert all my friends to do the same.

See the mindset shift? Instead of feeling helpless that douche (which is how I say d o g e) is manipulating or even stealing from a system set up to care for our elderly, I now have an action, which is to print out my information and then encourage others to do the same. Covey calls it a circle of influence, but it feels more like a circle of empowerment. Because that’s precisely what it does, it empowers you to do something about issues you have control or influence over.

So, I’ve spent this week looking at things we can do within my circle of control, and here are my top ten:

#10 Think before you spend. Before shopping, check out GoodsUniteUs. I have the app, which is super convenient as it’s always on my phone.

#9 Stay informed. Fascists control media outlets. We know this. And they put out propaganda like it’s their job (no one needs to look any further than the White House Instagram page to get the point). Finding a reputable source has always been difficult, but I’m sticking with the BBC, PBS Newshour (for as long as they are on the air), the CBC,�� and Heather Cox Richardson, one of the greatest historians of our time.

#8 Avoid people who love knee-jerk reactions. When we believe something and someone contradicts that belief, our natural response is to unquestioningly defend. This tendency is a big reason so many people double down on the indefensible (they’re eating dogs in Ohio, for example). Breathe. And then reflect when presented with new facts.

#7. Take stock of your financial institutions. Finra rules (regulations for the investment/banking industry) prohibit large donations to party affiliations, but that doesn’t mean those institutions create a culture that aligns with your moral compass. Consider going with a local bank or moving to a Credit Union.

#6. Take time to call or write your representatives. It seems like an effort in futility, but it does make a difference. 5 calls is a great way to see the issues, and it gives you a script as a starting point to help along the way. It’s a great app and it only takes a few minutes to make your voice heard.

#5. It’s okay to take a break. We are in this for the long haul. Get off Social Media. Go out with friends. Take stock of those friendships. As I said last week, cognitive dissonance is real. If your friends no longer align with your moral compass, maybe it’s time to step back and give that friendship a break too.

#4. Stop using credit cards. This one’s a tough one for me. For years, I’ve put everything on a card and then paid it off at the end of the month. But every transaction gives a processing company (most likely owned by an oligarch) 3% of that purchase. It also means less hard currency is in circulation in our communities. I’ll continue using cards when I’m on the road, but I’ll be back to dollars and cents for day-to-day transactions.

#3 Help local business. So many companies have been affected by the oligarch’s decisions regarding our global economy. Much like over-tipping during the pandemic, find industries close to home that have been hit (like Ky’s bourbon industry, for example) and consider giving them your business.

#2 Join and donate to RepresentUs.This is a non-partisan��grass-roots movement whose sole purpose is to end corruption within our democracy and get it working again.

#1 Make sure your party affiliation aligns with your moral compass. I know so many people who are unhappy with the Republican Party, and yet they haven’t left. But the Republican Party isn’t what is used to be. Instead of intellectuals discussing fiscal conservativism, smaller government, and lower taxes for all, it is now comprised of extremists hellbent on destroying our parks, and normalizing racism, misogyny, and fear. If you can’t bring yourself to join the Democrats, then become a libertarian or independent. It’s important, though, because shrinking their numbers shrinks their power.

 

 

Cognitive dissonance. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately. Actually, I’ve been thinking about how we got here, how good, moral people, people I’ve loved for decades, friends, family … people I work with, pray with, used to respect … how can these people support such despicable acts?

Where is their line in the sand?

This isn’t a political post. It goes well beyond liberal or conservative ideology.

This is about morality���a deep, pervasive sense of right and wrong and that feeling of discomfort when we are faced with behaviors that contradict our convictions. Trying to find compassion for those who openly tolerate intolerable behavior is exhausting.

In the beginning, I ignored mental health professionals who warned about the dangers of having a leader with a profound inability to empathize because I held a small glimmer of hope that he could possibly change things.

But after hearing him openly brag that he doesn’t ��“… even wait … [he] just starts kissing.”��

I discovered my line in the sand. I refuse to support any leader who thinks it’s all right to force unwanted attention on anyone.

But I was in the minority. Even with numerous sexual assault cases, most Americans didn’t seem to care.��

So rape and molestation is not their line in the sand. Duly noted.

They didn’t draw a line when he ordered children to be ripped from their mother’s arms and put in cages. As of two years ago, close to 1,000 of those children still have yet to be reunited with their families.

Neither was making fun of a disabled reporter, lying, fraud, or putting judges loyal to him on the Supreme Court.

Not even making false accusations about our electoral process,��which led to an insurrection where 140 officers were injured and five later died.

It wasn’t when he posted a video calling for a “new unified Reich.”��

It wasn’t when he urged Christians to “get out and vote …�� in four more years, you won’t have to vote anymore.”��

It wasn’t when he destroyed America’s relationships with both Mexico and Canada, or when he rambled on about purchasing Greenland or promising that America would foot the bill to turn the Gaza strip into a new French Riviera.��

It wasn’t when he denied knowing anything about Project 2025 and then nominated its creators to powerful governmental positions.����

It wasn’t when he laid out his plan to decimate the Department of Education (another little tidbit from Project 2025), that would destroy Title One funding, which over 65% of American public schools need to survive. If the initiative goes through, schools will no longer be able to feed hungry children or give specific help to students with disabilities or special needs.

And now, supporting another��oligarch, one who was never elected and has no security clearance, nor is even a federal employee, apparently it’s okay to take six hackers into the Department of the Treasury and steal American citizens’ personal information. Musk now has your name, address, SS number, any student loan information, your mother’s maiden name, and your banking information.�� But, for some, even that isn’t enough to stop supporting him.

So when is it going to be enough?

When women have to ask their husbands or communities for healthcare?(This, again, is a component of Project 2025.)��

Or when farmers lose their livelihood and Americans go hungry because federal subsidies are no longer available?

Or maybe you’ll draw the line when he enacts the draft (like the one both he and Musk dodged years ago),��forcing your son to go to Gaza and remove Palestinian citizens.

I don’t care who you voted for or why. And I’m no longer interested in hearing justifications of why you stood on the sidelines and refused to vote at all. I don’t care what your political affiliation is, what religion you believe in, or what your sexual orientation is.

But I’d like to know. What is the issue that will force you to take a stand?

Whatever it is, if you haven’t discovered it yet, I hope to God you find it soon.

 

 

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

The world spun out of control during the pandemic, and I’ve been struggling to find my creative footing since. I’ve missed having the time and ingenuity to sit down and blog. And honestly, I started to believe that I’d lost my one spark of madness.

Talk about devastating.

Writing has been my outlet for well over a decade. It’s been the one thing I relied on … the one thing I did just for me.

I loved getting up at 4 a.m. and heading to the writing room. The smell of coffee brewing while the pups lay at my feet. I loved the challenge of creating a storyline that melds our harsh reality into the world I’d rather see.

But life has a way of kicking us in the shins, and tragedy piled on the shitstorm left by the pandemic. It was like being hit with a tsunami and then being left in the rubble after the water receded. Writing time became scarce, but when I found time, I’d do nothing but stare at a blank screen.

One month turned to six, and then a year, and I thought about giving it up altogether.��Creativity hides in the deep waters of our brain, and it was like I no longer could swim in those proverbial waters.

Liana Gardner and I talk every week, and she reminded me that writing isn’t an all-or-nothing venture. No one’s getting shot at dawn if I don’t crank out 100 blog posts and three books a year.

For a writer, the joy is in the process. For the reader, it’s the product.

I needed to give myself grace. And understanding. Just sit down and put some words on the page. Any words. The creative pump hadn’t been primed in a while. The first water that flowed might be rusty and brown, but if I kept pumping, eventually, fresh water would appear.

And she was right.

I’ve started freewriting again, and I’m working on edits and the new manuscript every day. Even if only for an hour or so.

The imaginative waters are back. I’m happier and much less stressed.

It feels great to be back in the saddle again.

 

 

 

In the enchanting realm of words, imagination dances with possibility. Creativity transforms mere sentences into magic. If there’s one truth that weaves through great storytelling, it’s the power of imagination. It transcends the ordinary, breathing life into characters and worlds that linger in the reader’s mind.

Creating is the deepest form of intelligence.

And I love it. I love putting my interpretation of others’ works through acting, singing, and dancing (even though I’m mediocre at best on a few of those). But most of all, I love writing. I love painting with words, sketching pictures in hues of pen-dipped dreams, and conjuring worlds that pulse with a life of their own, breathing vitality into a story’s veins with the intent of rendering it unforgettable.

At least, that’s the goal.

The Greeks believed that creatives were gifted a spiritual messenger from the gods. These “geniuses” were responsible for the incredible art created by the masters of the day.

I understand why they believed it.

Slipping into a creative flow state suspends time and reality. We venture to a place beyond our insecurities and perceived limitations. It’s an immersive experience that allows us to discover internal truths within and ultimately perceive our very existence in a different way.

Our imagination is a river that flows deep within our subconscious, and dipping our toes into those waters is incredibly vulnerable … and terrifying … and exhilarating at the same time.