Greetings from Seattle! My husband and I are traveling in western Washington this week, visiting our friends and family. Already, the time here has been so sweet. I can't wait to share more when I'm home. And I will! But enough about me—let's meet Katie! So here's something that makes me so excited about life. If you haven't heard (seen) me say (write) it before, one of the primary reasons I tell my stories is to connect with other people in their experiences of grace, grief, hope, delight, . . .
This week, I have been reminiscing on the significance of places. I dug up these few paragraphs I had written in January, and have added to them as my husband and I prepare to travel back to a familiar place in a few days. I have been in this room countless—literally, countless—times in my life. I was probably only days old the first time I ever entered this room. Almost 32 years later, this room is still one I sit in from time to time. It is the sanctuary of the small church in the . . .
When I woke up on the same Saturday that Darren speaks to here (but two hours later than he did), I shuffled out into the living room, my eyes still opening and my bedhead reaching new heights, to see him writing. He acknowledged me but kept on typing, as if he could not get the words out fast enough. (As a writer, few things make me more envious than that.) I love that he writes to process big feelings. I appreciate that he wants to be a part of what I am doing here, and that he is willing to . . .
I'm so excited to be sharing at The Redbud Post today. The Post is a monthly publication of work by members of the Redbud Writers Guild. This dynamic group of women have been a phenomenal support system for me as I grow as a writer. I'm deeply honored to be a part of this community. To read my post, on dealing with the death of my sweet Grandma, head on over here: The Redbud Post. Grateful to have you here, Mallory . . .
I dream a lot of dreams. For my life and for the world, yes, but like actual in-my-sleep dreams. I have them often—vivid ones, that stay with me throughout the following day(s), sometimes months. I've said a lot of goodbyes. Some I anticipated, like the death of my Grandma, and I was able to speak a final parting word. Others came unexpectedly, such as in faded or fractured friendships, and the spoken goodbye was not necessarily an option or a success. Instead, it has come through years of . . .
A house down the street from where I live has two campaign signs in their yard. One supports Donald Trump, the other supports Hillary Clinton. This is not some sort of riddle; this is an actual, seemingly confused yard in southwestern Ohio. I cannot tell you how mesmerized I have been by this home. I do not know the people who live there, but my husband and I talk hypotheticals about what scenarios could lead them to have both a Trump and Clinton sign—two different candidates from different . . .