June 1, 2021

Rebecca Hosking — Multitalented Creative

Rebecca Hosking — Multitalented Creative

Photo above: Elephant Camp, Chang Mai, Thailand Editor’s Note: This month’s featured artist is also a very talented musician and poet. Check out Rebecca Hosking’s diverse creative endeavors below. Not All Witches Belong to a Coven Not all witches belong to a coven. Put aside the stereotypes. Expand your mind and think outside of the box. Mother nature lives inside all of us. She is the mother of the earth. Her medicine lives in the plants that feed off the dirt. Get your feet wet, dabble, and expand your mind. Not all witches wear black clothing or dance naked in the garden just before dawn. This woman lives alone. She lives among her dreams, works hard like a graceful wave carrying life to the shore. She warms her skin with the sun and finds energy…

Continue reading →

March 10, 2020

“Wordsmithing Past the Editor,” CNF* by Philip Gabbard

“Wordsmithing Past the Editor,” CNF* by Philip Gabbard

Editor’s Note: This post is an excerpt from: THISday-Words for the Vulnerable and the Venerable by Philip Gabbard, a book of essays and *creative nonfiction.   Wordsmithing Past The Editor  Could you imagine if Mark Twain or Pink Floyd wrote ad copy today? Although, while  sixty-second ad copy wasn’t a “thing” in Twain’s day—he was widely heralded for penning some poignant one-liners back in the late 1800s, like saying that  common sense ain’t so common. But even Twain had his  influencers. Perhaps it was Voltaire who similarly wrote the same line a century and a half earlier. Then in truth, the fact that common sense hasn’t been, well, common has been common since AD 130, when the Roman poet Juvenal first wrote that there was  not a more uncommon thing in the world than common sense. And I can only think that that was something Juvenal  heard…

Continue reading →

August 12, 2019

“The Music Boy,” by Claire Tollefsrud

“The Music Boy,” by Claire Tollefsrud

The Music Boy         He was young and made of sound. Rhythms followed him. They drummed through his fingers on school desks and sang through his dreams while he slept.        His mother was a wildcard who wore her heart on her sleeve. She made sculptures and saw beauty everywhere, raised three boys while finishing her art degree. Many nights the boy slept on the floor of the art building with his brothers, tucked into blankets among the half-finished pieces of desire. So, maybe music was in his skin. And perhaps it also crept into his soul on those nights, like creativity tends to do.        The boy was made of different mettle. It took him some time to find his way into the hearts of other people, but the melodious metronome in the back…

Continue reading →