I think in color. Fuchsia and chartreuse are pure pop. Deep purple is midnight. Somewhere along the way I learned that 3am belongs to eccentrics and poets and writers and lovers — awake after midnight, when imaginations soar. That explained a lot. Orange brings warmth and yes. And lately, taupe — a color that lends a poetic charm when paired with black wool and scarves. My mind is always writing, even when I’m not. Even when I’m working, cooking, cleaning, or wiped out on the couch at the end of the day. Most of what I write starts small — a tug, a line, a moment that won’t let go. So I’m sharing things here in color. Not as rules. Just as a way of holding orbit. Purple (constellations) — quotes and shared wisdom, places where words have already lived. Purple (open sky) — essays I've sat with, revised, and feel ready to share. Pink — announcements, dates, when and where we gather. Head in the clouds — prompts and play. Taupe — inward wisps: wonderings, questions, quiet weather. Green — outward wisps: things noticed, overheard, glimpsed. Those outward moments don’t ask to be kept to ourselves — they’ve spoken to us, nudged us, kept us awake. Something in them felt alive, lit us up, softened us, restored our faith in beauty or humanity on a hard day. That’s not random. That’s the muse tapping on the shoulder, asking us to carry the magic a little farther. We write. Or we don’t — and things tend to go sideways. Most of us know the cycle. The tug. The avoidance. The sincere vow that we’re committed this time. And then drifting again. Writers are especially good at avoiding the one thing we know keeps us sane. We’ll circle the page for years, until life feels louder and harder than it needs to be. Eventually, we come back in something like desperation and write our way out, swearing we’ll stay faithful this time. Until we wander again. That’s why this space exists — to hold orbit. For writers who drift, return, and begin again. I look forward to hearing about the things that wisp, jostle, tug gently, or run collision courses through your mind. The half-thoughts. The stray lines. The moments that won’t leave you alone yet.

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to treat writing like a luxury instead of a necessity. We get busy. We get tired. We tell ourselves we’ll come back to it later. And then one day we notice life feels heavier, noisier, harder to hold — and we can’t quite name why. This space exists for that moment of remembering. Holding Orbit for Writers is a place to stay close to the page — imperfectly, gently, together. No pressure to produce. No requirement to share. Just a steady place to return when you realize how much writing matters to you. If you’ve drifted and are finding your way back, you’re in the right room.