Making Your Voice Heard in Trying Times

For the past fifteen years, I have devoted myself to encouraging women to navigate the turbulent waters of challenging times. Writing has become my vehicle of expression, a canvas on which I explore the depths of self-discovery. I have tried to inspire others to embrace this path of introspection and creativity.

These days, I observe many people grappling with fear and anxiety, their hearts heavy with uncertainty about the future. Will they be able to hold on to their homes? Will their Social Security or other benefits face cuts? And for those who are dark-skinned naturalized citizens, the question remains unanswered. Should they keep their passport photos tucked in their wallets for safety?

Writing may not be a viable option for everyone to articulate their thoughts or voice their protests, but it can help us make sense of these trying times. Just putting thoughts into words may be a way to unravel any catastrophic thinking based not in logic but in fear.

You don’t have to show anyone what you wrote. This is for you and you alone.

There are countless pathways to making one’s voice heard. Yet, as a writer, penning my thoughts is my form of activism. In these tumultuous times, writing is an invaluable gift. It provides an outlet for my emotions and a way to connect with others.

Through writing, I channel my frustration towards my local school board. They seem resistant to act as the environmental stewards my community desperately needs. I wish for them to preserve our precious open spaces. They should not surrender them to relentless development. To make my voice heard, I have written to local officials and shared my stance on this critical issue.

As writers, we do what we need to make the most of trying times.

There are times when I find myself at a loss for words and want to let it go. Letting go can be a good thing, too, bringing its own kind of peace.

As Lent approaches, I find myself reflecting on two years ago when I was packing for a pilgrimage to Israel, organized by the Philadelphia Episcopal Archdiocese. That journey turned out to be a transformative tapestry of experiences. I discovered a renewal of spirituality there, in that place where once it all happened and one life still resonates today. This renewal has enriched my life since. And so I wrote about it, my own keepsake of that time.

I won’t tell you how to wield your writing as a tool for change or a gateway to enlightenment. You know what you want to do and how you want to do it … your desires and the method that resonates with you. We are the compass of our journey in making the most of trying times. There is something better waiting on the other side. It is far more beautiful than the day-to-day struggles of dread and fear. It’s called love.

Remember you are not alone.

I invite you to share your own experiences or thoughts on writing as a means of coping and fostering engagement and community.

A Wintry Mix of Memoir and Vulnerability

This week, I concluded my memoir writing workshop, “The Stories of Our Lives.”

We met weekly on Mondays for one month, and despite being challenged by snow and wintry mixes that either pushed us out a week or delayed our start times, our little group of writers shared their vulnerability in the warmth of the writing circle.


I have taught memoir for fifteen years, and my takeaway is always this: There is a great curiosity about where our words might lead us, coupled with the desire to learn the craft of writing. And so, much of my workshop focused on writing about those pivotal moments in life, reflecting on them, and then teaching the writers to craft an effective takeaway, which is essentially offering the reader the message or lesson learned.

At the end of my workshops, I always ask the writers to share on a notecard what they brought with them and what they took away.  Here are a couple of those responses from our recent workshop:

“I brought doubt about my life stories and asked the question would anyone have interest in them? I brought insecurity and potential embarrassment. I’m taking home the ability to see past my self-doubt. Maybe my story will help me or others. I also learned that everyone has a right to be heard and seen. I am a writer.”

And this: “What did I bring with me? What did I take away? I brought curiosity with me … an open-minded hope to learn more about something I enjoy doing and want to do someday. I took away a memorable warm in-person experience. I took away documents (handouts) and notes to come back to when I’m ready.”

Another wrote: “I brought curiosity, excitement, and a need to explore the writing and critique processes. What did I leave with? A new prompt process. What is pivotal? What are turning points in my life? Write the scene. Consider the story arc.”

As Anne Lamott once said: “You own everything that happens to you.”

This owning of our life stories is grist for further thought, reflection, and ultimately the joy of self-discovery … answering the ultimate questions: Who am I? What has my life been all about?


I especially want to thank our hostess Kimberly Ely for offering examples of her favorite memoirs to our group… excerpts from Stephanie Land’s memoir Maid and Michelle Obama’s Becoming. Kimberly, who blogs at 4 The Love of Peace, also provided hot coffee and tea, biscotti, mandarins, cheese and crackers as we gathered in a room with a view, to quote Virginia Woolf…windows showcasing sunlight on snow-covered trees on a hillside in Chester County, Pennsylvania.


In the end, while the pain of the stories I listen to is often overwhelming, I am touched by the vulnerability in sharing these moments of our lives on a winter’s morning in the warmth of writers supporting writers .

Writing ‘Moments of Love’

As many of you are aware, some members of the Women’s Writing Circle have been working on a collection of stories and poems. This is our third anthology, and with each undertaking, I find myself asking the question: “Why did I embark on this journey?” The process is undeniably demanding, often requiring us to invest countless hours and energy. Yet, once the final touches are made and the project is completed, a sense of fulfillment washes over me. I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to collaborate with other creative minds to produce a beautiful book that we can offer to our readers.

This time around, we struggled with the title of the anthology for quite some time. The organizers—those of us committed to editing and publishing the book—found ourselves in a creative quandary. We tossed around countless ideas, brainstorming and deliberating, but none of them quite captured the spirit of our work, which includes fiction, memoir, and poetry. The stories are both contemporary in setting and classic glimpses of love from bygone eras. This week, however, I am thrilled to share that we have finally settled on a title: Moments of Love: An Anthology of Stories and Poems.

The phrase “moments of love” struck a chord with me because I believe it encapsulates the essence of what our writers are sharing. Love is the overarching theme of this anthology, but the challenge was to articulate this theme in a title that resonates deeply and feels universally relatable. There’s a beautifully poignant quote by May Sarton that mirrors our title perfectly:

“Two things when you forget the time when nothing exists except the moment—the moment of writing, the moment of love. That perfect concentration is bliss.”

This idea reflects my own experience. When I sit down to write, particularly when I’m exploring the theme of love, the world around me fades away, and nothing else seems to matter. The poignant memories of John, my parents, and my best friend—each of whom is gone—serve as powerful motivators for my writing. This reflection becomes both a therapeutic journey and a source of joy, filling me with a sense of anticipation as I savor my morning coffee and confront the blank page.

At present, I am leading a memoir writing workshop, and I continually discover that what drives memoir writers is their intense desire to articulate feelings and stories they have longed to share. For many, this longing is intertwined with the need to remember the moments filled with love—be it moments of joy, redemption, clarity, or any experience that propels them forward.

January, with its bone-chilling cold and pervasive sense of isolation, can often feel daunting. Yet, as we pour our hearts into the writing of those moments of love, we uncover warmth and companionship through the written word. The art of storytelling is truly the most profound gift we can share with one another, bridging the gaps created by distance and time.

Embracing Imperfection: A January Reflection

A few fitful snowflakes still fall after a morning of heavier snowfall leaving a template of gray sky and white lawn. The holiday hustle and bustle is over, and it’s time to return to work. I continue to write my novel about obsessive love and a woman stalker after the snow led to the cancellation of my morning writing workshop.

Besides my novel Obsession Unleashed, my energy is in my writing group, compiling an anthology. The Women’s Writing Circle is creating short stories and poems centered around the theme of love. We might write about an immigrant grandmother. We capture vivid memories that emerge on a sultry, windy summer day at the seashore. There’s a landscape of barns and silos out here where I live. A painter’s delight. A writer’s inspiration to go deeper.

It gets me thinking I can focus less on demanding more of myself but instead appreciating whatever it is that I can put into words. When NFL season began, I found a great distraction rooting for the Philadelphia Eagles. I am naturally competitive. The sport sparks my interest in high-level competition. Maybe it was growing up with an older brother who was an avid sports fan, or having to raise two sons on my own that made football the autumn and early winter pleasure of my life. Say goodbye to the blahs of Sunday. And so I write this. How perfect is that.

Photograph of painting by Peter Sculthorpe

As we work, we refine and develop the craft of writing, discovering something new about ourselves or those who influenced us.

I’ve moved from my upstairs writing desk to my kitchen table. I now have a view of my backyard blanketed in snow. A large cream-colored poinsettia from the church in remembrance of my parents graces the fireplace hearth.

I guess you could say I find January and its frigid days trying. It’s hard to visualize spring.

There is so much pressure to be perfect—whether it’s giving up alcohol, staying active, eating healthily, or exploring the unknown. And the work, always the work to remain engaged and creative even when it feels so cold outside. There is no perfect sentence, no perfect story. But, of course, writing is not for the faint of heart.

The New Year is starting and I am reminded that we should enjoy each new day, even the messy and difficult parts. I subscribe to a philosophy that if we welcome ease and simplicity into our lives, the rest follows naturally. I embrace what Episcopal priest Kate Bowler calls a “try January.” I prefer it over a “dry” January. Bowler emphasizes “not crushing it.” Instead, she encourages us to try and let go of perfection. We should keep moving ahead one day at a time.

How about you? How do you find a little relief from the “perfection” of it all?

Finding Light in Darkness: Writing and the Winter Solstice

As the Winter Solstice draws near, the long, shadowy days remind us that darkness often precedes light. This cyclical transition is particularly profound for those of us who navigate the pivotal moments of our lives through the art of writing. Over the years, I have met countless writers, and a recurring theme stands out: we come together in the warm embrace of the writing circle, seeking solace and clarity.

In this sacred space, we strive to unburden ourselves of the stories that weigh heavily on our hearts—narratives we not only yearn to express but must articulate to cultivate a healthier, more vibrant existence. Each is a flicker of light that helps illuminate our paths, guiding us toward deeper understanding and connection.

For me, that journey began with writing about John. We faced terrible adversity as a young couple with two small children. The cancer shattered my naïve dreams of a happily ever after. I emerged on the other side with two survival tools: my writing and my faith.

Now I write about the challenges that come with the winter of my life. Staying healthy in mind and body. Confronting with emotional intelligence people and systems bent on destroying my life or the lives of those I love. Being grounded in optimism, hope, and faith. Coping with the messiness of unrealized expectations.

Our life stories prompt us to honor the defining moments. These moments have shaped us, revealing who we were and who we have become.

No “genius” is required, only the commitment to put pen to page, and the belief that our story lights the path forward.

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Photo by Susan Weidener

The length and the severity of our “winters” are often rooted in our writing lives. I was the girl lost in a book on a quiet winter day, dreaming of adventure and romance. Over the years, I realized the importance of staying grounded in the present. I also learned to accept loneliness. Writing made these lessons clearer and a burden lifted.

When you embark on the writing life, you hold close a memory, that moment in time that reconnects you with who you are. You remember the feel of his hand in yours. You remember turning the pages of a treasured book of photographs and poems he created as a special gift for you.

You come into the moment with awareness of that first Christmas alone. You remember waking up as dawn approached and you stepped outside, a sliver of moon in a silver sky. This is the day you want to write—to capture this moment before it slips away like a wisp of wind.

And so begins the recovery and the renewal.

As the Winter Solstice arrives, I invite you to enter the “darkness.” Welcome the gift it offers of the life unexpected and the life examined.

Embrace Winter Writing: Ignite Your Creativity

As we welcome December and the start of winter, it is a time to embrace hope in our writing. For many, winter can evoke feelings of dread due to the cold and darkness. However, it also brings the beauty of snowflakes on evergreen boughs. It brings the sparkle of Christmas decorations and the festivities of joyful celebrations. As we settle into winter, we find comfort in the warmth of the fire. We also enjoy a trip to the coffee shop. There, we feel inspired to devote a morning to ourselves.

For me, the first snowfall framed by a flawless blue sky offers a magical moment. It reminds me of winters as a child growing up in Pennsylvania. I recall the joy of sledding and a day off from school. When I came inside, my diary and notebooks were waiting. I attempted to write a poem, a description of the woods behind my house. There, icy-encased monkey vines glittered in brilliant light.

Writing offers the hope of understanding and appreciating our humanity and those around us. It serves as a comforter and friend on a cold winter’s day. It is a touchstone to our past and to the present and maybe a path to what lies ahead.

Unfortunately, I often hear people say writing feels more daunting than hopeful. Writing should be healing. Questions arise: Am I good enough? Am I an untrained writer? How much catching up must I do to make my writing shine?

Writing can indeed be intimidating. Yet, comparing ourselves to other writers is an exercise in futility. Instead, the goal is to bring a unique voice, perspective, experience, and life to the world of storytelling.

We may still hear that nagging voice of doubt. It asks, “Can I truly express what I want to say on the page?”

Ultimately, the dedication to writing is what matters. With determination and a willingness to believe we offer something of worth to our readers, we conquer half the battle. As Hemingway put it, “Writing can be hard, but it doesn’t have to be lonely.”

Ways to do this include:

Taking a writing workshop

Joining a writing group

Pairing with a writing buddy

Keeping a journal

Writing every day, if only a few words or sentences

Using writing prompts to jumpstart your work

As American novelist and poet Charles Bukowski once said, “A writer is not a writer because he has written some books. A writer is not a writer because he teaches literature. A writer is only a writer if he can write now, tonight, this minute.”

Another way to validate your work is to publish it. As writers delve into their own insecurities, feedback from readers assures us that what we wrote has merit. This happened to me when I began publishing my memoirs. I still remember readers telling me that my stories touched their own lives. I met readers at book signings and open mic readings. I also connected with them through my church, our Women’s Writing Circle, and the local libraries.

I invite you to give yourself permission to write during this season of hope. Embrace winter writing and ignite your creativity. Let our words guide us as we welcome in winter.

I invite you to share your own experiences about winter and writing.

A Celebration of Women Supporting Women

It’s inspiring when women join hands to encourage each other in their creative and artistic pursuits. This weekend, I enjoyed participating in a festival sponsored by women who showcased women artists and entrepreneurs.


If ever there was a time for women to support and celebrate women, this is the moment. Multicolored sticky notes posted a rainbow of validation and acceptance on restroom mirrors in the Phoenixville Recreation Center in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where we gathered for the Phoenixville Women’s Outreach 2024 Power Festival.

“I love who I am.” Another note read, “I am worthy of love and respect.”

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Ginger, Susan, and Flo at our Women’s Writing Circle table.


Ginger, Flo, and I represented our Women’s Writing Circle, celebrating its 15th anniversary this month. Both women have been with me from the beginning of this journey. 

Over the years, our read-around encouraged women to tell their stories, whether a healing journey, a creative expression, or a morning devoted to themselves. Together, we travel the hills and valleys.


As we sat at our table, which displayed photographs of our women reading their work, of our published anthologies of stories and poems, we shared with members of the public our journeys as women. We spoke of losing a beloved husband, of wanting to journal the daily moments of our lives, or pick up a pen and learn the craft of writing.

We even read our work with other performers on stage in the adjoining room. The creative energy of musical performances and author readings permeated the air. Microphone in hand, I read from And the Memory Returns and was reminded of the privilege of sharing with an audience and realizing my dream to write and publish a book.


Artists, jewelry makers, and those offering massages, therapeutic soaps and creams, and homemade baked goods made for a festive occasion on a crisp November afternoon before we would decide as a nation if it is a woman’s time to hold the highest office in the land.


As a young girl, I often felt alone. Writing saved me then and now, a companionship of reflection and creativity, whether alone in my bedroom as a teenager or as a widow wondering how to go on. The Women’s Writing Circle offered a “home” of kindred spirits interested in sharing and writing. This group remains the foundation of my creative life and a living reminder that community inspires and that we are not alone in this crazy, wonderful journey of the feminine.

Welcoming In Autumn

The autumn equinox has come and gone, leaving behind a balance of dark and light hours. As we gradually transition into earlier nights and embrace the changes that autumn brings, it offers thoughts and reflections.

Autumn is a time to reset and even renew intentions. I anticipate continuing our writing journey and uniting women within our writing circle. Fifteen years ago in November, we began meeting in a small independent bookstore, moving on from there to a church and then to a hotel and finally to a quaint library where we’ve gathered for the last two years. I invite new writers to join us…no experience is required, rather a willingness to explore the landscape of heart and mind.

Autumn always brings a yearning for days gone by. The act of stowing away summer swimwear and clothes as we prepare for the onset of winter brings the realization that the summers slip away swiftly. A bittersweet melody plays in October when my husband died thirty years ago. Although he is no longer in my life, his memory comes alive on crisp fall nights when moonlight casts it corridor of white light over the backyard of the house he and I once lived in together.

I spent half of September touring Germany from the Rhine River Valley to the beer halls of Berlin. Upon returning from my trip, I found myself more inspired than ever to engage in activities that foster connections with others.

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Photo by Susan Weidener

Germany’s frightening history from World War II serves as a sobering reminder, one that unfortunately reflects patterns seen in my own country. The act of demonizing fellow human beings gives rise to an “us versus them” mentality, perpetuating division.

Writing, on the other hand, serves as a great equalizer, offering profound insights into the human experience. Crafting a compelling story with believable characters transcends simplistic notions of good and evil, instead serving as a reminder to remain vigilant and attuned to our surroundings and fellow beings.

Despite the changing seasons, my passion for creating, writing, and sharing our stories within the community remains constant. Colorful leaves, morning mists, crisp apples, and vibrant gourds are gifts that inspire the writer to welcome in the abundance of autumn.

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Finding Peace in an Unexpected Encounter On the Eastern Shore

It is a splendid summer day so I take off for the Eastern Shore of Maryland … a tucked-away little town with historic homes. It’s an idyllic getaway from the overcrowding of suburban, Pennsylvania where I live.

I walk the Episcopal Church graveyard … Saint Anne’s, dating back to the 18th century. The small, weather-stained headstones tell poignant stories of the people buried there—from a mother laid to rest beside her untimely deceased son to a man who lived well into his nineties. A sloping grassy embankment leads to the river under stunning blue skies.

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Photo by Susan Weidener


Afterward, I browse through an antique shop. Pendants and earrings, as well as heavy plastic bracelets, are displayed and I remember my mother and her jewelry. This outing is my Julia Cameron artist’s date. The hope, always is to jumpstart new writing, which has felt elusive this summer.


Faded Christmas decorations that once belonged to someone who cherished hopes and dreams around a Christmas tree are marked down fifty percent off for sale.

At a shop across the street, I smell vanilla and cinnamon-scented candles. Goat and honey aloe soaps are for sale. A young man flirts with the girl behind the counter.

The day has a life of its own.

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I walk the cobblestoned sidewalk to a renowned crab shack for lunch. It’s only me, a single woman. A hostess in her early twenties seats me at a table with a view of the street. The motorcycles with American flags roar down the main street. An SUV blares Google Maps “Your destination is on your left.” I check my cell phone. I wait … and wait. No menu. As couples and families who come in after me are served, I feel ignored. I stand up and start to leave when a brown-haired waitress, probably in her fifties, approaches. I admit to her I had been waiting. She sees my displeasure.
 
She says she’s not sure it’s her table, she’s still waiting for her assignment. She says this grim-faced, as though somehow it is up to me to understand her schedule. Just then a couple sits down at the next table. A waitress immediately appears with menus. “I’ll get you something to drink,” my waitress says unsmiling. “What would you like?” I tell her iced tea with lemonade.

When she returns with my drink, she asks if I’d decided. I inquire about the platter versus the sandwich. There are side dishes. “What are they,” I ask. She looks disgusted. She opens the menu. “Here,” she says pointing to side dishes I hadn’t seen. I feel her hostility and the mounting tension on the hot summer day. I quickly say I’ll take the sandwich not the platter, so I don’t waste her time pondering side dishes. She is put off by me. Is it my hair? My sunglasses? Or is it that I have leisure time on a beautiful day and she doesn’t? Would she have dared show that hostility if I were a man? Or is it that the place isn’t run efficiently not that I am an older invisible woman?


The negativity of an unexpected encounter offers reflection. I am reminded of the lessons learned from the cemetery visit — the value of gaining perspective, and the importance of choosing love and peace over conflict because nothing lasts forever.


I smile. When she brings my food and drink, I thank her. “Both are perfect,” I say when a few minutes later she checks back to see if everything is alright.  She returns my smile. We’re on good footing now. I’ve given her the respect she must have thought I didn’t have for her.

As I get into my car to drive home, I realize I may have something to write about after all. How easily this could have devolved into an antagonistic and ugly situation marring my beautiful day. Instead, I’ve recovered a sense of peace through an unexpected encounter. The Buddhists have a saying. “Don’t judge, observe.” A writer knows to pay attention, not just to others, but to herself.

Photos by Susan Weidener

Note to my readers: I will be traveling for the next couple of weeks. I expect I will have a lot to write about when I return.

Energy and Positivity Along the Writer’s Way

The other day, I met a woman at my gentle yoga class. It’s the end of summer and worn out by the heat, the cool, air-conditioned mind and body room offered respite. Before class began, the woman looked at me and asked, “What do you do?” I hadn’t been asked that in years, as I am long past retirement. “I’ve written several books, and our writing group is working on a collection of short stories and poems,” I said. I wanted to say something that felt positive, at least to me. “Do you write?” I asked the woman, who looked to be in her seventies. She said she didn’t. She is often tired, she said. “I have no energy.” She pondered the possibility that boredom contributed to her malaise. “But I’ve started coming to this class, and that’s something,” she said.

Exercise gave both physical and mental strength, and she congratulated herself for trying something new. Exactly!

We all need to find positivity and energy in our lives. Otherwise, what’s the point? After I got home from yoga, I started rereading May Sarton’s Journal of A Solitude.  Sarton writes: Life—all of it—flows through this instrument (writing) and is distilled through it into works of art. How one lives as a private person is intimately bound into the work.

My ordinary life is often lifted into the extraordinary by my work. As summer draws to a close, the sun on my face, the perk of Lily’s ears when she hears my son’s car in the driveway, and meeting someone new in my yoga class is what I try to capture in words in hopes of sharing with you. The work and the energy are intertwined, fostered by a new project, which is the Women’s Writing Circle anthology and my work-in-progress novel.

In my last novel And the Memory Returns, Ava hopes that writing about her life could reveal some truth. What had it all meant? What was the purpose of her life?

That book was a writing odyssey that took me three years to complete. The title was derived from one of my favorite writing prompts and each day I looked forward to working on the book. It gave me so much energy, that project. Although some memories are based on my own life, Ava’s memories belong to her, not me. She is every woman, raising a child, feeling the pressure always to be perfect, and deciding she’s going to keep going. Age won’t hold her back as she ruminates on her life in a deeply personal way.

“Happiness—if there was such a thing—came with creating a meaningful life. Writing was her work, her pastime, and her job. With writing, all the rest fell into place.”

Writing also allows us to vent, something we all need to do from time to time. Sarton writes: And at some point, I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some imaginary reader or real relative or friend and come out with personal truth.

Vulnerable writing, what Sarton calls being “naked,” offers positive outcomes. When I write about a person who is mentally unwell or whose sole focus appears to be revenge or manipulation or control—take your pick—that is a segue way to an examination of the human condition that is reflective rather than reactive. It also reminds me to savor the “truth” of good people in my life, those who offer the gift of empathy and compassion.

Yesterday, I saw the woman again in my yoga class. She looked lively as she chatted with another woman. I felt good being there too, stretching my muscles and easing my mind. We all take it one day at a time, not pushing on some days but pushing harder on others. Just breathe. To my writing friends, there is no right way or wrong way, just enjoy the energy and positivity that comes with the work.