The writer comes to the places where traces of making can actually be seen and smelled and touched expecting to be inspired and enabled, possibly even cured. Janet Malcolm
I’m convinced that anyone willing to call themselves a writer is fascinated, at times addicted, to the terror and beauty in this life. The satisfying remains of an incredible breakfast. The unsaid, yet final words. The strangers. To capture this interest involves an individual process. Some of us write alone. Some of us make lists. Some of us face the angel together, by beginning daily with 250 word practices.
But along with considering the “how” and the “why”, we would be foolish to overlook the “why not?” The self-preservation that occurs when we are not writing. How does “not writing” feed our process? Lumina Vol. XVI Blog will feature writing, literary events, art, interviews, and more, from students and faculty, all…
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