In my once upon a time, I wore a veil cloaked myself from dangers handed down, family history. Swaddled in soft cloth, layers upon layers my spirit- winterized. This behavior snowballed beyond its season. You can’t winterize yourself against Summer’s sun. Smoked out, nature-burnt the layers peeled away without guilt and I lay swathed not in madness. The veil: a metaphor of humility, protection, of freedom. But I was never free as the day I threw my veil in the sun, cast off my history and staked claim to a
I am inhabiting my writer self these days. It feels like slipping under warm blankets at the end of a cold day. I had forgotten the spread of it, the cascade effect, how if you love writing it is better than chocolate and it begets more writing. Some may imagine themselves awash in a sea of money. I prefer the heavenly float of words on paper, and that feeling of trying and continuing even when you have no specific place you are going. You simply go. *** If
In what could only be the result of an influx of new mother hormones, I grew overwhelmed by my internet presence (admittedly not that great) and pulled back hard on all the strands of myself. I might have made another choice. Instead, I deleted the entire content of this blog. Fortunately, I still have access to the blog posts through wayback. I still have what I wrote of “The Docks”. I wish it was still here in the files of this site, if offline. People, you have to talk me
Welcome to The Honeyed Quill (formerly The Spire), home to the writing of Shawna Ayoub Ainslie. Shawna received an MFA in Creative Writing from Indiana University with a Fiction thesis on the Lebanese Civil War and resulting Lebanese-American diaspora. Her writing has appeared in Grist Online, Arab Comment, Racialicious, Medium: The Archipelago and was selected by Amy Gigi Alexander for the Stories of Good essay series. Shawna’s work addresses themes of race, place, abuse, mental health, parenting, faith, science fiction and fantasy. In addition to writing, Shawna undertakes unrealistic crochet projects, crafts
I hold myself away from the adventure of life. It is a roller coaster. I am poised at the drop. Here I am at my highest height gazing at maybe the lowest low. I resist the ride, hold my breath, squeeze my eyes shut. I will drop anyway. I will fall. And I will click my way back up, dragging and dragged back to the tippiest top. There, I will see how far there is to fall again. And, again, I will look at the peaks pointing like so many
Fall is the season of my creativity. I will return soon.