Last week, I started my fellowship at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts in Amherst, Virginia. I tried to record this piece while catching the blue-sky moon over my shoulder. Same rules apply as usual about the recording—though today, you may see a cow go by behind me, or a hawk swooping by, or a groundhog toddling its way across the lawn. And more likely than not, I’ll probably make a mistake, but we’re going to go with it because that’s what we do here.
There was a blood moon this morning. And as I left the residence for my studio in the darkness, I ran into a fellow fellow who reminded me of the lunar eclipse. The sky was showing off the moment we left the residence, with more stars than blackness visible out here. And the moon? She was almost fully eclipsed as she came into perfect alignment with the earth and the sun. While my phone had no hope of capturing the moon’s magic, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts has been transformative. Each day, this glorious mountain casts its own spell on me.
The night, and the moon, inspire my best work. For me, everyday has begun at 4:00 a.m. since I began writing Moonrise Over New Jessup. At that hour, the line between my dreams and creativity is most porous. My dear friend Robert Jones Jr. (aka Son of Baldwin and mind behind
Substack ) penned his spectacular work The Prophets early in the morning, too, and schooled me that this time is what Toni Morrison called "the edges of the day." I didn't know that as I wrote New Jessup—I only knew that the 4:00 hour was when I could bend language; where there was no boundary for my pen. I carry that discipline into my writing life today because it is where I create. And if you haven’t picked up Robert’s book—please do. The Prophets is a remarkable testament to the unlimited power of Black literature to keep our stories, and our ancestors, alive.
After I stopped ogling at the sky, bid my fellow fellow a “good morning,” and made it to my studio, a piece that I have been trying to write for over a year worked its way into my mind. Under this morning’s spectacular sky, I finally found the creative space and inspiration to unblock my heart and allow the words to flow. I like to write about the pull and weight of love’s gravity, and this one fits that mold. To give you a sense of what I mean, I am recording a flash fiction piece about longing and lost(?) love that I wrote a while back. My sincerest thanks to CRAFT Literary Magazine for publishing A Gravity of Jazz, which can be found at the link above. Feel free to read, listen, or both.
Thanks to all of you who visit with me every week, to my new readers and viewers. If you like the content you find here, feel free to like, share, and subscribe. Until next week, thank you for joining me at Lioness Tales.
Gravitational Love