I am taking a summer writing course called Finding Your Voice with Robin Rice and Emily McDowell. Below you will find the first assignment. The writing prompt was based on this image and I opted to free-write for 10 minutes based on the lead-in sentence that is in bold. I’ve also supplied an audio link of me reading it aloud. I will be sharing my written work here as a means for containing it in one place. I’d love to have you follow along!
Image copyright: Eve Hannah
Audio: https://soundcloud.com/tia-188659352/tiakeo_findyourvoice_01
"I never said I wouldn't jump," she whispered aloud to herself. "So I can't be called a liar. Then again, if I do jump... > ... I might know what it means to fly. " She could imagine that feeling, because the burning fire in her core had been nudging her for over 20 years. Jump in, be the artist you know yourself to be. Her heals would always dig-in, "I don't see any artists like me." It felt safer to step back, to pivot just slightly, to go in the direction of design. Her father painted a beautiful example of what an architect could be. Thinking back to that 20 year old version of herself, she understood. This scenic overlook revealed the winding river that led to this moment. No amount of success as a designer could tend the fire inside, because she was an artist. To come to this realization at the age of 40 felt freeing and embarrassing. Like so many women who grew-up knowing the truth of their oppression while speaking words of empowerment, she lived amidst the double-standard. The false truth, the invisible lie was ever present. But something had finally shifted, like an emergency siren that was tested every first Wednesday of the month, the siren sounded and women had snapped out of the trance. Her lens became clear and she knew what she had to do. It was time to tend her fire, to speak the words that previously would not have been understood. Others were speaking her language and she had no choice but to join in the call. She opened her mouth and it all came flowing out, in a tongue that was ancient, inherent, surprising to her. All of the women in her blood memory were counting on her ... to jump.
