Journal Camp day 22

Posted on July 22, 2018 by Cynthia G.

Saying I love you

He said I love you by calling her back from her circle, by competing with her banjo, by holding her hostage to starving ghosts. He said I love you one hundred and ten percent and therefore you owe me something in return. You owe me I love you back one hundred and eleven percent. Can you dig it? She laughed, then sobered. Oh, you’re serious then, she said. Those words cut. Those words did not say I love you one hundred and twelve percent. Okay then, she said. I will shave back my performances by ten percent, cross my heart and hope to die. What else, he averred, there must be more. Well, she replied, I will cut back visits with my sisters by twenty-five percent. All together, that’s thirty-five percent more for you. That’s pretty good, hey? I can say I love you thirty-five percent more than before. Harumph! He tooted. I still love you more. Is that the best you can do? I’ve given you one hundred and thirteen percent of my heart and I still don’t feel your love. What about my children, she asked. I’ve given them back to their father for you. I walked them back to their paternal home. When do I get credit for that? Children belong to their father, he said. A woman belongs to her lover. She practiced saying I love you, I love you, I love you, in the mirror. Finally, she thought: the truth.

Journal Camp, Day 6

Posted on July 6, 2018 by Cynthia G.

Relics in the Attic

There was an apartment in my grandmother’s house where an attic would have been. Up the staircase, there was a kitchenette, living room, bathroom with a clawfoot tub, closet, bedroom, and screened porch. It was only used as often as we visited, arriving in a station wagon loaded with kids, luggage, and the detritus of a small tribe. The apartment smelled of dust and mothballs. It seemed enchanted somehow, a miniature house. We had never seen an apartment and it held a special charm to me. The living room was by far the largest space, with an overstuffed sofa, braid rug, ancient radio cabinet that might have broadcast reports from a faraway war, a window that overlooked the backyard garden and Italian plum tree. When we descended after five hours on the road, children scattered like marbles on a linoleum floor. We touched every room at once: kitchen, pantry, back yard, cellar, upstairs apartment. We slept everywhere too, sofas made into bed with sheets and chenille spreads, screened porch and sleeping bags. Family legend maintains that my parents lived in the apartment their first year of marriage: playing house in an attic filled with relics of austerity.

Virtual Journaling Camp

Posted on June 18, 2018 by Cynthia G.

Journal Camp (2)

Join me in July for a Virtual Journaling Camp! Journaling Campers will write for a minimum 15 minutes per day and in a month will have collected 31 pages of dazzling, original journaling prose. Camper registration fee is $99. For this you get:

31 journaling prompts delivered to your inbox
a signed copy of my book, Journaling As Sacred Practice: An Act of Extreme Bravery
four video coaching sessions with award-winning author and coach, Cynthia Gregory
access to a private FaceBook Group where you can post journal entries and share community with other Happy Campers

To register, email me at coach.cynthia.gregory@gmail.com

See you at camp!

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six word story no. 180

Posted on March 27, 2017 by Cynthia G.

Goose and gander didn’t share sauce.

Julia Child
Please credit Paul Child, courtesy of Alfred A. Knopf

Brought to you with port wine cherry sauce, by Journaling as Sacred Practice: An Act of Extreme Bravery. Available now on Amazon.

six word story no. 179

Posted on March 22, 2017 by Cynthia G.

There would be no more do-overs.

Brought to you with heart, courage, and a little dog too, by Journaling as Sacred Practice: An Act of Extreme Bravery. Available now on Amazon.

six word story no. 177

Posted on March 18, 2017 by Cynthia G.

Madness with a jolt of irony.

Brought to you with a fully pregnant sense of importance by Journaling as Sacred Practice: An Act of Extreme Bravery. Available now on Amazon.

six word story no. 171

Posted on February 27, 2017 by Cynthia G.

She owned DeMille at a glance.

Brought to you with big blue eyes and a Cecile B. DeMille closeup by Journaling as Sacred Practice: An Act of Extreme Bravery. Available now on Amazon.

six word story no. 157

Posted on January 25, 2017 by Cynthia G.

There were disturbing examples of censorship.

Brought to you with courage, justice, and brazen vision by Journaling as Sacred Practice: An Act of Extreme Bravery. Available now on Amazon.

six word story no. 151

Posted on January 8, 2017 by Cynthia G.

Newscasters warned of dangerous drought-killing rains.

Brought to you with heavy rubber boots and bright yellow slickers by Journaling as Sacred Practice: An Act of Extreme Bravery. Available now on Amazon.

six word story no. 144

Posted on December 20, 2016 by Cynthia G.

Solstice fires burned throughout the night.

Brought to you with shooting stars and comet tails by Journaling as Sacred Practice: An Act of Extreme Bravery, a fabulous book available to Druids, pagans, and Santas now on Amazon.