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Posts tagged ‘writing’

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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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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How to keep your story running in the background of your mind

For years, my brain had a default setting. No matter what I was doing—folding laundry, sitting in a waiting room, or driving—the “background app” running in my mind was business. I was constantly triaging to-do lists, marketing strategies, and logistics.

It was productive, sure. But it was also killing the magic.

Over the last few years, I’ve made a conscious, radical shift. I’ve closed the “business” tab and opened the “story” tab. Now, when the world gets loud or the chores pile up, my manuscript is what hums in the background. This mindset switch has changed everything for my consistency.

Making the mindset switch

We are often told to “treat writing like a business.” While that’s great for hitting deadlines, it can make the act of creation feel like just another chore on the list. When your writing is the first thing to get cut during a crisis—like a surgery or a season of caregiving—it’s usually because we’ve categorized it as “work” instead of “life.”

By letting the story run in the background, you aren’t just a writer when you’re at the keyboard. You’re a writer while you’re washing the dishes or taking the dog for a walk.

Tips for dreaming into your story

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When the muse meets the gurney: staying a writer when life refuses to cooperate

We’ve all been there. You have the vision, the character arcs, and that one perfect line of dialogue etched into your soul—and then life decides to rewrite your entire schedule.

As writers, we often feel like if we aren’t putting words on a page, we’re losing our “membership” to the craft. We think if the manuscript isn’t growing, the writer in us must be shrinking.

But I’ve spent the last few years learning that writing isn’t just a verb. It’s a way of seeing.

It’s been a long time since I sat in this digital space with you. Why? Because life happened in the loudest, most physical ways possible.

I spent nearly a decade as the primary caregiver for a dear friend, a journey that recently came to a heartbreaking end with her passing. Amidst the emotional weight of caregiving and grief, my own body decided to join the fray. I took a fall down the stairs that resulted in a torn quad tendon, followed by surgery and months of grueling rehab.

When you’re navigating death, grief, and learning how to walk again, “finding time to write” can feel like a cruel joke. For a long time, my writing was the first thing to be sacrificed. But lately, I’ve found a way back. I’m getting better at staying consistent, even when the world is chaotic.

How to stay “in character” when you can’t get to the keyboard

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