What a remarkable Conversations with the Goddess workshop we had today! I drew the Sedna card (Inuit Eskimo and Alaskan Goddess of the Sea) from the Goddess Guidance Oracle deck not once, but twice--and everyone's writing about infinite supply was beautiful, kismet, and connected. I'd love to share a tiny excerpt of my writing here and invite @Cate Fitt, @Susan Buniva, and @Erin N to do the same! Goddess, it has recently come to my attention that things in my life are not happening on my time-table, nor are they going according to plan. My plan, at least. I did not plan to be down for the count for 6 weeks nor to keep experiencing more f-ing growth experiences. Please advise. Your confused devotee, Valley Jane Dear Valley Jane, Goddesses are forged through the fire, not on the beach drinking mai-tais. Sedna found her power through the forced surrender of her deepest pain, creation is born from the destruction of what came before. Please release your old ideas about time or plans--clinging to them will only slow you down. Let go or be dragged! It's always right now now now where everything is perfect already because you are the soul you came here to be, in a constant state of becoming. Honey, give yourself grace for showing up in human form--a notoriously difficult situation to inhabit. You got this. Love always, G. Please join me for more Convos with the Goddess next week, 9/1 at 2 PM EST. Add to your calendar here! XOXO, Valley Jane

Hi writers! We've all heard of gratitude lists--and they sure can work wonders. However, I have found that sometimes it's hard to sit down and get straight to gratitude when there are other things roiling around in my heart, mind, body, and soul. And so I have adapted the gratitude list to include three distinct sections....and I've added just a few of my own answers below. SHIT I'M RELEASING: people pleasing/co-dependency, second-guessing, self-doubt, dysmporphia THANKS I'M FEELING: abundance of nature, healing from giardia, this beautiful writing community WISHES I'M CREATING: dance parties, flow, synchronicities, a retreat center, a green thumb What's on your list?? I'd love for you to share in the comments below!

Hello, I’m Lisa. I’ll be writing with you all from Richmond, VA. Although when I write, I believe I’m at least a little bit removed from space and time. I tend to write about feelings and observations, I’m called mostly to journalling and stream-of-consciousness processing. I am not inclined towards memoir right now, but that could change. Going through my memories feels too much like trauma sometimes. I’m here because of Valley - I’ve been enamored of her work for many years now from classrooms and workshops to retreats and houses of healing. All great portals to creativity! I need to reconnect with my creative spark which flickers and always needs extra magic breath in order to flame. My favorite magic word? That’s a tough one. It’s probably MEOW. I say it often especially when anxious or flummoxed. Some might call it a stim, but I think it’s a magic spell to ground me. MEOW. Plus, cats are magic and I’d like to have some of that magic.

This is a piece I wrote last week in our Oracle Card Free-Writing Session. I'll be hosting another one on 02 September, which you can check out here Free-Writing | Oracle Card ✨ _______________________ Today, I pulled a card from Kris Carr’s oracle deck, Crazy Sexy Love Notes. It was one of the first oracle card sets ever gifted to me, and I still love it. I received the card ‘Listen’. My first thought, quite angry, was, “I listen enough! Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?” I’ve been feeling particularly spicy mood-wise for the last week or so. Then I thought, “Well, I’m someone, aren’t I? Am I listening to myself?” If I'm being totally honest, of course the answer is no. Part of the reason I’ve been so bristly lately is because I haven’t been listening to myself. Or, OK, maybe the whole reason. Overburdened, busy, busy, busy, concerned with everyone else. I’ve always done this—disappeared into the background of my To-Do list, trying to people-please my way out of taking responsibility for my own life. This month I turn 37. This entire year I’ve been thinking about what it would take for me to step into the next level of my life, and though I’ve put in some effort, it all fell a little flat. When I turned 36 I got a massive tattoo of a snake on my forearm; my way of saying '“Here I am and tough titties if you don’t like it.” I was so proud of myself for standing up to the voices in my head who have spent most of my life telling me we can’t do things like that. The voices who told me to lay low, take up less space, be normal, blend in, hide the weirdness. Little did I know that making this external gesture was only the decree that would herald the deeper journey into allowing myself to be seen. And just as I am writing this, I realise that while I might have taken up the mantle at first, here I am a year later, faded right back into the place I’m most comfortable—the understudy waiting behind the heavy wings of the theatre curtains, not the one braving it all on the stage.

Working title: Hell's Comin' With Me. A man sits on a porch, rocking chair, revolver in hand. He shoots the town preacher as he runs out of the church. Doesn't deny it. The town doesn't hold a trial - they just throw him out, no name, no defense, one day and he's gone. Here's the part I'm still turning over: this town isn't the usual Wild West nest of outlaws and grifters. Nobody in it is evil. Not officially, not on paper. So when the exile starts walking and keeps waking up miles from where he fell asleep, with no memory of the road between, that's not just a spooky detail. Something is wrong with distance itself around him, and he's the last person who'd notice. Back in town, they need a new preacher. The winner didn't even want the job, ran as a joke with a friend, laughed when his name got called. Now he's got access to something the town has kept quiet for generations. He's in over his head and doesn't know it yet. I'm building the middle section right now, the stretch between the shooting and whatever the exile finds out there. Curious how other writers here handle a structure like this: reader knows the narrator is unreliable about his own memory, but the narrator doesn't know it about himself. Anyone dealt with that split before, and how did you keep the reader from getting frustrated instead of hooked?