I am a creative-writing-school drop out, a lapsed anthropologist, and, by all accounts, a somewhat miserable hiking companion.
I occasionally scavenge for mushrooms or take photos of abandoned typewriters in the wild. But you’re more likely to find me stepping into deep, dark, metaphorical woods; digging up stories long buried; shaking the dirt off their roots; and bringing them into the light.
A feminist poet, essayist and book reviewer, sporadic sermon writer, and novice novelist, I write to make sense of the world and my place in it.
“A word after a word after a word is power,” says Margaret Atwood.
“Story is medicine,” says Clarissa Pinkola Estes.
And so, I write.
Shelley Marie Motz 