Daily Prompt Love <3 Drenched
25 April 2017
Seventh day of rain here. Everything is gray, saturated.
Make art about being drenched.

25 April 2017
Seventh day of rain here. Everything is gray, saturated.
Make art about being drenched.

24 April 2017
A prompt I do with my students, an effort to reconnect them with their bodies, and to use that beautiful sensory work in their writing.
Home smells like….
Fear tastes like…..
Beauty feels like…..
Sorrow looks like….
Love sounds like….
Make art intersecting and grounding a large concept through the body, through an unexpected sense.

23 April 2017
Rainy Sunday. Yep. Make art about the art of the nap.

22 April 2017
I can’t join the March for Science today, so to honor those who march–
Make art inspired by this.

HeartWood, a literary magazine in association with the low-res MFA at West Virginia Wesleyan College, is accepting submissions for the October issue. Seeking poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.
Guidelines for journal here: http://www.heartwoodlitmag.com/submit/
HeartWood also hosts an annual broadside competition, open for reading now.
A writing practice requires us to slow down, reflect, attend. HeartWood Literary Magazine & West Virginia Wesleyan’s MFA Program seek to honor this practice with an annual broadside series and contest. Partnering with West Virginia letterpress company Base Camp Printing, we print the winning entry (poetry or flash prose) on a limited-edition letterpress broadside featuring an original image inspired by the text. The annual broadside serves as artifact companion to the fall issue of the digital magazine. Both the handmade and the electronic HeartWood venues aim to showcase work that gets to the heart of the matter.
2017 Contest Judge: MAGGIE ANDERSON is the author of five books of poems most recently Dear All, (Four Way Books, 2017) and five edited or co-edited volumes of poetry. She was the founding director of the Wick Poetry Center and founder and editor of the Wick Poetry Series of the Kent State University Press. Anderson was also the Director of the Northeast Ohio MFA in creative writing from 2006-2009 and is the recipient of two grants from the National Endowment for the Arts as well as grants from the Ohio, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania Councils on the Arts. Maggie Anderson is Professor Emerita in English of Kent State University and currently lives in Asheville, NC.
Broadside Guidelines here: http://www.heartwoodlitmag.com/contest/

20 April 2017
“No one has ever become poor by giving.” -Anne Frank
Make art about the benefits of giving.

21 April 2017
Lots of company above this morning for our walk.
Make art about maintaining balance, about regaining balance, about seeking balance.

17 April 2017



16 April 2017
“He fought because he actually felt safer fighting than running.”
– Richard Adams
It’s hard to empathize with the combative life attitude until we look below the surface and see it’s a protective mechanism, meant to combat the anxiety produced from a world perceived as hostile. The need to fight is really just a signal of deep fear.
Make art about the fear driving combative people, or about understanding and forgiving them.

The lover’s footprint in the sand the ten-year-old kid’s bare feet in the mud picking chili for rich growers, not those seeking cultural or ethnic roots, but those whose roots have been exposed, hacked, dug up and burned and in those roots do animals burrow for warmth; what is broken is blessed, not the knowledge and empty-shelled wisdom paraphrased from textbooks, not the mimicking nor plaques of distinction nor the ribbons and medals but after the privileged carriage has passed the breeze blows traces of wheel ruts away and on the dust will again be the people’s broken footprints. What is broken God blesses, not the perfectly brick-on-brick prison but the shattered wall that announces freedom to the world, proclaims the irascible spirit of the human rebelling against lies, against betrayal, against taking what is not deserved; the human complaint is what God blesses, our impoverished dirt roads filled with cripples, what is broken is baptized, the irreverent disbeliever, the addict’s arm seamed with needle marks is a thread line of a blanket frayed and bare from keeping the man warm. We are all broken ornaments, glinting in our worn-out work gloves, foreclosed homes, ruined marriages, from which shimmer our lives in their deepest truths, blood from the wound, broken ornaments— when we lost our perfection and honored our imperfect sentiments, we were blessed. Broken are the ghettos, barrios, trailer parks where gangs duel to death, yet through the wretchedness a woman of sixty comes riding her rusty bicycle, we embrace we bury in our hearts, broken ornaments, accused, hunted, finding solace and refuge we work, we worry, we love but always with compassion reflecting our blessings— in our brokenness thrives life, thrives light, thrives the essence of our strength, each of us a warm fragment, broken off from the greater ornament of the unseen, then rejoined as dust, to all this is.
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