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The alchemy of imagery: using theme-specific language to capture raw emotion

A few years ago, I received a wonderful surprise: my poem “Butterfly House” was awarded an Honorable Mention in the 86th Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Competition. The poem, which appears in my collection The Dragon & The Dragonfly, was one of those rare pieces that poured out of me in a single, fluid sitting.

But looking back on it now, I realize it wasn’t just a stroke of luck. It worked because of a fundamental rule of powerful writing: letting a specific theme provide the exact vocabulary for your emotional landscape.

The story behind the poem

It was November 4th, my late husband’s birthday. Seeking a way to honor my grief and celebrate his memory, I decided to visit the Tropical Butterfly House at the Pacific Science Center in Seattle. I had only learned about the exhibit a week prior, but I knew I had to go. I wanted an adventure to honor his transition into whatever comes next, and to acknowledge my own messy, painful struggle to find a new life for myself.

The experience was pure magic. I remember standing perfectly still, arms outstretched, just waiting. Several butterflies fluttered past, but one—a massive, striking monarch—landed right on my hair and stayed. For a brief moment, the heavy weight of loss lifted.

In many Indigenous cultures, the butterfly is a profound symbol of change, joy, and transformation. It represents the miracle of resurrection—the exact medicine I needed that day.

The craft: writing without sentimentality

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Breaking the barrier: how to eliminate filtering verbs and master deep point of view

We’ve all heard the classic writing advice: Show, don’t tell. It’s a golden rule for a reason, but when you’re transitioning from an intermediate writer to an advanced storyteller, there are subtle, sneaky culprits that keep your prose from achieving true intimacy.

They are called filtering verbs.

Words like saw, heard, felt, noticed, realized, and thought.

On the surface, they seem harmless. They simply describe what your character is experiencing. But filtering verbs act like a glass wall between your reader and your protagonist. Every time you write “She heard the floorboard creak,” you’re reminding the reader that they are sitting in a chair, reading a book about a person hearing a sound.

If you want to pull your reader entirely inside your character’s skin, it’s time to break the glass. Welcome to the world of Deep Point of View.

What is filtering and why does it weaken your prose?

Filtering happens when a writer places the protagonist’s senses between the reader and the action. It creates a narrative distance. Instead of experiencing the world through the character, the reader is watching the character experience the world.

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Unearthing the right idea: brainstorming techniques for writers

We’ve all stared at a blank page, wondering where the next scene, poem, or essay is going to come from. Recently, my writing partner and I were talking about how we tackle this exact problem, and it usually involves a clock.

We love using a 10-minute timer. The rule is simple: quickly write down a rapid-fire bullet list of any and all ideas we can think of. No filtering, no judging. Once the timer dings, we go back through the list and weed out the concepts with lower tension and stakes. It’s an incredibly effective way to bypass the inner editor and find the raw, high-stakes material.

But sometimes, you need a different kind of shovel to dig up the right concept. Whether you’re plotting a novel, searching for the perfect sensory image for a poem, or trying to figure out how a specific scene should unfold, here are five other brainstorming methods to try.

1. The Ray Bradbury “mulch” method

Ray Bradbury famously said that our minds are full of a “fabulous mulch” of experiences. To tap into it, try his favorite exercise: Make a list of 10 things you fiercely love, and 10 things you absolutely hate. Then, take one item from the “hate” list and tear it down in a short story or poem. Take one from the “love” list and celebrate it. This is a brilliant way to access deep emotion and write with genuine stakes, especially for personal essays or poetry.

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The art of the critique: how to receive writing feedback without losing your mind (part 2)

In Part 1 of this series, we talked about the delicate art of giving feedback. We discussed how to frame critiques so the writer stays open and curious rather than shutting down.

But what happens when the tables are turned? What happens when you are the one sitting in the hot seat?

Taking feedback is incredibly difficult. Our words and our stories are, in a way, our children. They are our creations, and we love them fiercely. Because of that emotional attachment, our immediate reaction to criticism is often to protect our work.

But if we want to grow, we have to learn how to step back, remain objective, and avoid getting tangled up in our own emotions.

Here are some essential tips for receiving feedback with grace and making the best use of it.

1. Maintain emotional distance (and remember to breathe)

When you hear a piece of feedback you don’t like, your body might react before your brain does. You might feel a sudden flush of heat, a tightening in your chest, or a wall of resistance coming up.

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The art of the critique: how to give writing feedback that actually helps (part 1)

Sharing your writing with another person is, quite frankly, terrifying. Whether it’s a rough draft of a poem or the first few chapters of a novel, handing over your work feels like handing over a piece of your soul.

Because we know how vulnerable this process is, we often fear critique groups. We worry we will be ripped apart, or that we will unwittingly discourage someone else. But constructive feedback is the fuel that makes us grow. Without outside eyes, we are blind to our own habits, plot holes, and stylistic stumbles.

Over the years, I have learned that giving good feedback is its own art form. It is not just about having a critical eye—it is about communication, psychology, and respect.

In this two-part series, we are going to master both sides of the coin. Today, we focus on Part 1: How to deliver feedback to other writers that empowers them, rather than puts them on the defensive.

Here are the guiding principles I use every time I read someone else’s work.

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Building an author brand that doesn’t feel like a costume: part two

In my last post, I talked about the mindset shift of moving away from a “professional costume” and toward a brand that feels like home. I shared how my history in energy medicine and my love for the “stars and soil” of my own life became the compass for my online author presence.

But how do you actually put that into practice? How do you move from a philosophy to a platform without losing your soul in the process?

Here is how I’ve been “dressing” my digital space to match the magic I’m writing about.

Claiming your space: the naming strategy

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Building an author brand that doesn’t feel like a costume: part one

Most of us became writers because we wanted to hide. We wanted to stay safely tucked behind the keyboard, letting our prose speak for us while we remained comfortably invisible.

But then we finish a manuscript and realize the industry has changed. The word “platform” starts appearing in every query guide and agent blog. Suddenly, we’re told we need to be marketers, influencers, and “brands.”

For a long time, that felt like being asked to put on a costume that didn’t fit. I didn’t want to be “salesy.” I didn’t want to shout into the void of social media. But I’ve recently realized that branding doesn’t have to be a mask—it can be a mirror.

Why I chose my name over a company name

When I first started thinking about my online presence, my instinct was to hide behind a business name. It felt safer, more professional, and less… vulnerable. But as a Life Transition Coach for over 20 years, I know that people don’t connect with logos—they connect with souls.

I decided to lead with Carol Despeaux Fawcett rather than a generic company title because my writing is deeply personal. If I want readers to trust me with their time and emotions, I have to show up as myself—”Gaga” to my two precious grandsons, poet, Airbnb hostess, entrepreneur, and recovering “divine janitor” included.

Finding your “stars and soil”

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