she says, because we must

Lucia means light

"Lucia means light," she says. but I create in the dark. If the muse is going to come at all, early morning is when she finds me tappity-tapping at the kitchen table circling an idea's glint. I find it, lose it, find it again perhaps, in awe of the encounter in a room lit only by a tea light, even on the longest day of the year.

I churn over what it means to build a creative life within our other lives. You do too, I know it. In pursuit of a nesting doll existence it is tempting to focus on mastering the how. Reduced to sets of practices with accompanying catch phrases, recipes for accomplishing the how resonate in the simple way that common sense does. And then there is the what and the why.

The what is a fingerprint - individual, the marks we leave. Lyrics before falling into bed so you will dream them. The exploration of a movement, an expression. Pixels manipulated on a screen that are the yield of the heavy camera on a scarf around your neck always. Always. Seeds pressed into soil. Carved wooden blocks smeared with ink to print. A soufflé. A family. A goddam revolution. 

The why is our common compulsion. The why is because we must.  


Sarah Anne Childers is the online editor at luciajournal.com where she toggles between curating creatives as an editor and creatively curating ideas and the words they live in as a writer. 

sarah@luciajournal.com

 

we knew how

June 15, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

I cannot recall all of the Junes of my life, but I do remember the way it felt to hide in child-made nests under birch trees in the tall grass that lined Chemawa Road.

School was out. Like little deer mice, we made paths through the weeds and burrowed where we could watch an occasional adult drive slowly by, coming or going from the cul-de-sac. We were hidden, and we were free.

My friend's father brought her a chicken sandwich from McDonald's each day and she always shared them with me there in the shade of the paper barks. In exchange, I'd give her half of however many homemade chocolate chip cookies I'd managed to grab from the glass Planter's Peanuts jar before my mother noticed the heist and said, "That's enough."

We also brought books, magazines, candy, and notes folded neatly into little rectangles with fancy edges securing their contents from prying eyes. It is astonishing what a child has time to learn when school is no longer in session.

The sun was hot in the farm country north of Salem, Oregon, and the smell of sweet grass mixed with cherry bubblegum perfumed our hideaway as we debated whether to set a sprinkler and run through it or ride our bikes down back to the railroad tracks and leave pennies where our parents told us not to.

We knew how to savor June.


Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.

dandelion lessons

Dandelions after dawn, before coffee.

Dandelions after dawn, before coffee.

June 13, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

The dandelions I cut from the urban wild spot near Madrona Park on Saturday are already showing me new things. Like any good teacher, they are subtle with what they offer; they show more than they tell.

On Sunday, their bright yellow faces were opened wide to the world like buttons on child's raincoat designed to stand out and cheer.

In the evening after a gorgeous date, he and I sat together on my living room floor, navigating things. It is a tender, delicate dance, this learning how to love. It requires courage, honesty, vulnerability, rootedness, and trust. Trying to find the right words at midnight after a full day of work, life, movement, activity, Italian food, and a sunset was a task my brain could not accomplish with grace. I wanted to listen when I found myself talking. I wanted to talk when I found myself listening. I was tired.

My words seemed defensive, tentative, uncertain and afraid, and I heard myself revert to habits I long to shift and change. That is when I noticed they were sleeping.

Did you know dandelions close themselves up entirely when the sun goes down? They do this every night, even when they are cut flowers in a vase. Not a single bit of yellow can be seen, only tight green buds.

Dandelions do not stay awake analyzing their love, vibrance, or future potential until the wee hours of the morning. They rest when the sun goes down and when they wake, they love more. These tough little flowers do not ask anyone for beauty sleep. They just take it, like lionesses. 

This morning--through the haze of waking, making coffee, and remembering I am loved--I noticed them opening again. Slowly, just like me. 

xo
laura


Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.