If I had the organizational capacity to write a list of the women who rule my world, Anissa would be in bold permanent ink closest to the top. As a woman of many creative works, talents, and hairstyles, she is a goddess of space making. Her ability to create a space for any person who breathes makes my heart swell with gratitude.Read More
“We were meant to know one another” – is often the phrase my inner voice feels confident screaming when I meet a woman with a heart that could be divided by ten million and still shine as bright. Upon meeting Charmaine outside of our day job stocking lettuce at Trader Joe’s, my inner voice was amplified for every Panera-goer to hear.Read More
Un Jin was a woman described to me that I knew I had to meet; a woman who asked me out to breakfast instead of just coffee. To learn about someone over a meal has taken on a new importance after sharing huevos rancheros, grease, and bottomless diner coffee.Read More
I always feel strange about reading up on a woman I have never met but will meet soon; I feel like a sleuth. But, after reading Laurie Lambert’s story, I didn’t need a detective wool hat to decide who owned this specific car. The mothering, bold, poetic Laurie Lambert opened the third entrance door to Women Writing for a Change moments later and confessed to the triplet bumper sticker, a-ha!Read More
It’s a hot one, and I’m driving down the road slowly. Half distracted by the jelly beans I’m shoving in my mouth, I spot my subject walking down the same street, pistachios in hand and blue hair flaming.Read More
I am early again, biting my nails and washing my nerves down with iced coffee. There is a fly circling my table and pausing on the window after each lap. As I watch it scurry across the glass, I wonder if this fly on the wall really holds secrets.
Rachel Miller walks in the door and the room brightens. She spends time with the barista, thinking about what she wants and cracking jokes, and I smile knowing we’re about to have a great conversation.Read More
As soon as I pull up to Homeadow Song Farm, I know the homestead is no stranger to me; the energy is too welcoming and sweet. I step out of my pollen-covered Corolla, trip on a rock, look around with my mouth agape, and see Vicki Mansoor looking at me as she walks down the stairs.
Vicki is the natural beauty of the land, disguised as a human being. I feel unnatural with a camera hanging from my neck: There is just no way to capture that kind of beauty. Not even words can, but I will try to explain.Read More
When I say Emily is something else, I mean it. I decide this after she tells me she changed her middle name to Killer Whale in the second grade. Killer whale, Egyptologist, zoologist – these were the dream jobs of Emily Maxwell, and I think she is achieving them in her own way. Emily has been able to pursue a lot of her passions through writing and photographing for CityBeat, and now WCPO. She is a photojournalist and hiker by day, and I am convinced she is a killer whale by night.Read More
Light shines through a window glistening with raindrops onto a spread of blank pages I hope to fill with notes about a woman I met by chance. Bonnie Rupe sits across from me in the coffee shop, a radiating example of true light and passion. Over tea, we talk about travel, generation gaps, her degrees in French and English, and I’m thinking I will need many more blank pages to get everything down.Read More
So much is happening on Valentine’s Day: people loving one another, chocolate comas, flowers being cut and put in vases, and I am standing in rain soaking myself to the bone. Kicking myself for not wearing the raincoat my mom gifted me, I stand in front of an arts and cultural center called Baker Hunt.Read More