This quarterly segment is a mix of interviews and casual conversations, intended to highlight and connect with the creative community. I hope to showcase and dive deeper with creators on this platform that will bring additional eyes to their work, build creative friendships, and push the narrative of the importance of collaboration towards creative freedom and liberation that we all should strive to obtain in this hyper-independent capitalist system we all survive under as artists.

In this episode of Hey Friend! I have a fellow writer, pleasure-driven, sacred slut Eza Bell, author of the platform Diary of a Sacred Slut, where readers can explore the ways she writes on pleasure, embodiment, and visual storytelling.

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Mentioned In Episode

Diary of a Sacred Slut

Access Granted: Self-Worship as Preparation

Last night was different, I was me in a different way and I loved it. But I know that the day wouldn’t have been possible without the way that I said yes and no all day long…

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3 months ago · 15 likes · 2 comments · Diary of a Sacred Slut

Diary of a Sacred Slut

World Changing Cum

Image from Pintrest…

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a month ago · 40 likes · 3 comments · Diary of a Sacred Slut

Connect with Eza Bell

If this moved you, there’s more waiting for you.

Read Psalms of a Sacred Slut, a debut collection for anyone ready to worship themselves without apology.

Or step into The Feral Fantasy: a custom erotic story written so close to your real desire that your body recognizes it not as fiction, but as memory.

If you want to stay close to the work as it unfolds, subscribe. New content drops every Wednesday at 8pm ET.

Are you looking to connect and potentially make a new friend in me?! Let’s talk!

I refuse to be bought into their ideas of greatness. To touch a crackling glass that shifts with every promise made. A masquerade in a voided space.

I refuse to wait for their acceptance. Never really given but expected to blend into their order of perfection.

I am not made for their consumption.

I am multifaceted and feral.

I am greatness.

I wait for no one.

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Thank you for taking the time to read my words even when you don’t have to!

If you want to be a witness to my creative journey as a Black queer writer, you can check out my site or subscribe to get notified of future posts ❤️

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Listen to my podcast episode about Beginning Again here.

Alina Is Typing 💬

Alina Is Speaking: Ep. 04—Beginning Again

Welcome to Alina Is Speaking, where I, Alina, step away from the page and towards the microphone and force y'all to hear many of my thoughts. After this episode, please remember to check out my postings and other episodes to connect further. I hope you enjoy this first episode of Alina is Speaking…

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2 months ago · Alina Moore

WRITING PROMPT

What goals no longer align with you now that we are mid-year? Please share them in the comments!

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WATCH THEM:

Samara Joy- You Stepped Out Of A Dream

Danae Younge- People Don’t Know the Difference Between Writing a Book and Being a Writer...

Edith’s place- YouTube videos

READ THEM:

You're allowed to want more -

SOME STORIES REQUIRE BECOMING THE PERSON CAPABLE OF TELLING THEM-

THE CREATIVE STILLNESS ANNOUNCEMENT:

Alina Is Typing 💬

Women Holding in Creative Stillness

It’s out! The 2026 release of the Creative Stillness Anthology, led by poet, community builder, and author Dhayana Alejandrina . Birthed from the Creative Writing Hour and Gatekeeper Press, I’m excited to share my inclusion and reflections on my poem in this beautiful work of art and the artistic community surrounding it…

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3 months ago · 13 likes · 2 comments · Alina Moore and Dhayana Alejandrina

IF YOU HAVE TAKEN THE TIME TO READ THROUGH TO THE END, THANK YOU! Your support and engagement are so appreciated. ❤️

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This episode is about my experience thus far on sabbatical and relearning myself.

My moments of reflection during this sabbatical thus far:

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Thank you for taking the time to listen to my words even when you don’t have to!

If you want to be a witness to my creative journey as a Black queer writer, you can check out my site or subscribe to get notified of future posts ❤️

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It isn’t here to sell you anything.

You won’t find a 3-step plan for growing your platform or a flashy new way to make your content stand out from the piles of posts on the digital thread. You may have received this post in an email or seen it come across your feed. Maybe you took a glance at this paragraph and are now debating whether to save it to your growing pile of Saved posts. You don’t have to read it. I don’t want you to.

I promise this post isn’t for you.

Period.

This post is for me.

The current practice of what a ‘creative’ is feels suffocating, and the pressure to perform as an artist online is high with the rise of AI. There’s a silent, continuous tension to prove authority and skill in content as the artist so that others see the worthiness of said artist to make the art content. The “achievement” of that process presents itself as brands/consumers’ financial gains and affirmations, in hopes that a larger following, engagement, and deposits would flow down the path. But I don’t want to create ‘content’. I don’t want to be a ‘content creator ¹.’

I’ve struggled with calling myself a Content creator. I’ve envisioned my part in this digital ecosystem as the sharing of my experience as a writer, artist, and human in this society with no specific reciprocation expected. But even then, there’s always seemed to be a layer of unease in my heart when I see the prerequisites needed to establish myself as an artist in this digital world or to make a claim to the title of Content creator. The far-off voices that lectured on performing craft to gain Viewers/subscribers and customers, to become "relevant, meaningful or worthy” of creation, always left a bad taste in my mouth and stained the title of Influencer/Content creator.

The spiritual energy surrounding titles like those felt wrong for me, my work, and my creative practice. I’ve intended to share my craft and thoughts with others so that they can be enjoyed and connect to the community, though that seems to be the common message surrounding art and process, as many creators’ intentions are similar. So what makes something online art, and what makes it content created?

I’m as fatigued as the OP above. There’s a level of hierarchy in the digital creative field for those who succeed (with achievement having various levels) in content creation. From those who make viral trends, or influence large audiences, to those who are given the accolades and opportunities we as artists are expected to strive for when publicly sharing our art, dreams, and aspirations.

I question my role in the digital space. I wonder if I have no desire to succeed or achieve in those ways, why do I feel pulled to share digitally, especially when I’m creating, when creating within community is the highest priority in this rotting artificial tech world?

I thought that influencing others and gaining recognition for my work were the sole markers of an artist in this time, until I came across this note on Substack.

I recognised how incredible my ancestors and creative muses were at documenting their thoughts on their present selves.

Thoughts and expressions of self were shown in James Baldwin’s The Creative Process (1962), with Baldwin stating, “Societies never know it, but the war of an artist with his society is a lover’s war, and he does, at his best, what lovers do, which is to reveal the beloved to himself and, with that revelation, to make freedom real.” Audre Lorde’s Cancer Journal showed her expression of self-reflection, anger, joy, her hopes in dreams and death, whilst embracing resilience through her diagnosis and illness.

Reflecting on the role of an artist is to force the public to face uncomfortable truths, ultimately shifting the artist towards genuine self-realisation and societal freedom.

If I am an artist of this present time in the ways the Self acts, processes, and creates online, am I growing within the creation? Or am I making content for consumption's sake?

There can be an argument for both. The creation and sharing of such is part of an artist’s role. I don’t deny that fact.

But for me, to help move past my own barriers, to face the art that speaks to me and my creative process, I must create for myself. To share myself with myself. I want to use my content as an archive of my growing creative journey and the evolution of who I am as an artist.

So whoever wants to stay and see that journey, I welcome them with open arms and in community. But I feel more confident as an artist when I know I can use my digital space as a way of documenting and archiving myself.

I want to go forward in posting my work, knowing its sole purpose is to permit myself to create in ways that feel genuine and authentic, presently. No pressures to maintain a rigid posting pace, no pressures to provide offerings out of obligation rather than genuine gratefulness, and no pressures to be perceived with the sole purpose of bringing in status, or reaching certain milestones that are man-made and hold no lasting merits. I just want to embrace, grow, and evolve through my artistic process, to immortalise who I am now.

Regardless of who is reading, viewing, following, or subscribing, I will create.

I will create in the ways that fill me, at my own timing and creative flow. Giving myself permission to learn through mess and play whilst still practising consistency and strengthening what I feel encourages personal growth. I want to provide myself with experiences I can look back on, to open space that creates opportunities for my mind to switch, to try again, and to change at any time, as frequently and often as possible. To learn the different me’s as time goes by, as my craft evolves, and people stop to see and read and move to the next thing.

Because this post, my work, and its purpose are just for me.

Thank you for taking the time to read my words! If you want to continue showing your love for this post and support a Black queer writer: comment, restack, or subscribe to get notified for future posts! ❤️

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Creative Stillness is a collective anthology of poetry and essays that honors the spaces where creativity is shaped, restored, and reclaimed. Organized into four sections—The Weaving, The Centering, The Offering, and The Surrendering—the collection moves through the natural rhythms of the creative life, exploring cultural memory, identity, grief and joy, mental health, healing, and artistic devotion.

MY PART IN THIS COLLECTION: WOMEN HOLDING

You will see my poem, Women Holding, included (on page 24!) at the beginning of the section, The Weaving.

Women Holding was written at a time when my observation of the weight each of my close female loved ones carried was too large not to voice. Often, women who are raised within this patriarchal society are expected to hold what others refuse to carry, are expected to do it with smiles, and set aside the pain that came with the load. But in that moment of stilled observation, I also recognized how lovingly we hold one another through the aches and transitions life inevitably hands us. We hold life in our palms and even guide them through death. Through it all, the stillness and firmness of our hold can be the strength we all seek and need, but this piece calls us to refuse the silence that harbors alongside it. Our strength and our struggles deserve to be heard, and when we hold on to one another through that process, we can be unstoppable

The anthology interweaves journaling prompts which invite readers to pause, reflect, and reconnect with their own creative voice. Intimate yet expansive, this anthology serves as both a literary offering and a companion, reminding us that rest can be generative, stillness can be transformative, and meaning can take root when we slow down enough to listen.

Get your copy now of this beautiful collection!

Buy It Here

More about the Creative Stillness Anthology and its conception by

Thoughts On Life

Creative Stillness Is a Collective Exhale

There was a time when I slowly removed the phrase writer’s block from my vocabulary. Not because writing suddenly became effortless, but because I began to understand something deeper about creativity itself. Creation never truly stops. It may slow. It may soften. It may ask us to wait. But it is always unfolding beneath the surface…

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6 months ago · 13 likes · 2 comments · Dhayana Alejandrina

Learn more about The Creative Writing Hour Writer’s Group.

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Thank you for taking the time to read my words! If you want to continue showing your love for this post and support a Black queer writer.

Comment, restack, tip me below, or subscribe for future post!❤️

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THE TLDR

Hey! I’m Alina. I’m a Black lesbian writer and poet from Chicago. I am currently on the exciting, yet trying, adventure of writing my first full-length novel that I aim to get traditionally published!

Project Disco a.k.a The Last Dance in the Disco Inferno (The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo meets Pose during the 70s disco craze) tells a story of reclusive former starlet Elaine ‘Dayna Darkness’ Sims, whose spent the past three decades hiding from the glitter and grit of her past, never sharing why, until she is unexpectedly approached by ambitious curator Tori Robinson, on her own costly rebrand undertaking, to archive Elaine’s life for a new exhibition.

Hidden secrets dance with memory and mirrors as haunting ghosts of Elaine’s disco era resurface, and the deep shadows of New York City threaten Tori’s exhibition. Are the secrets they’ve kept to protect their reputations worth more than the cost of the truth? For this final performance, they must decide to preserve the legacy of their public persona or reveal the truths behind the curtain.

In the disco inferno, the truth is the only thing that doesn’t burn.

I’m officially done with the second revision of ACT II in my current WIP, The Last Dance In The Disco Inferno, meaning I’m creeping towards the end of this draft, and I can’t believe how this journey has been taking shape thus far.

ACT II was just as difficult and all-consuming as the first time drafting. It’s like I’ve been squaring off in the ring with a beast that is solidifying its form, and some days I win as its creator, other days it knocks me out so hard, my eyes cross, and my mind jumbles from the task at hand.

In this second draft, I knew this section of the story would be difficult because I was approaching a complete restructuring of one of the timelines/POV’s. Having re-brainstormed and re-plotted the main conflict in one of the major storylines, I knew that this part of the draft would involve heavy mental gymnastics to not only heighten the stakes but also merge and twine the pieces of the existing elements so that the conflict’s impact would jump off the page.

With a new storyline inputted in the new chapters, I quickly realized this process felt like drafting for the first time again! I had great flow and energy at some points, and during others, the magnitude of the work ahead hit my self-esteem hard. As I was clarifying and evolving one chapter/section that had already been written, I had to shift to drafting another section that felt like I was producing infant words. I deleted so many existing moments, then included many new scenes to expand on Tori’s, one of my FMCs, backstories and character arc. Tori did not have as much depth as my other characters in Draft One, even though she was the driving force in bringing the central story to life. It felt like a puzzling maze that I somehow came out of the other end of, only to stare at the next, impending, larger maze ahead!

I recognize that this part of the writing stage is just the process of creating art. This is the work that is feared by many writers and even avoided by those who refuse to put in the work but expect the rewards.

I stand stronger now than before in tackling this beast because I see the potential of this story and the impact it can have as a whole. My characters are so much more layered than the first draft; their environments and the purpose within their missions are what drive me to the page every day. This draft truly has made me laugh with my characters, and tear up and hurt when they hurt. I know I have many paths to take with them still, but I feel so proud of this reconstruction so far.

I accept the beast for what it is. I’m now deep in the cave with it, examining its inner core. And I refuse to give up because of the discomfort of staring it in the eye. A successful artist is one who doesn’t quit. I see the end near, and I see how this work is forming into the larger picture of what storytelling can be.

Cheers to knocking on the doors of this final ACT/end of draft two!

Read about my process and how I was able to reach THE END on my first draft.

Subscribe to follow along with a writer trying to take up space and write stories that come from the heart.

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I have been so fortunate to participate in various fellowships the past year with amazing groups of collectives that truly has shown me the power in building a writing community whilst paving a path of your own.

Over the past year I participated in Collections Of Transience residency, developing my poetry and short fiction, and connecting with other amazing writers. The fellows and I completed the program and I’m so glad to share a piece of artistry involved from this cohort with our collective chapbook Across The Digital Waters.

Each piece by us fellows in this collection is a thoughtful reflection of our modern digital age and the meaning of how it has changed the world. As we are facing an increasingly digital reality, what has been the impacts of this transformation? Where are we all collectively headed next?

In this collection you will find three of my poetry pieces, Monarch to Machine, Answers from machines, and No Title, that I feel captures my thoughts on the digital age as a creative and the challenging work that comes with pushing against systems that try to eliminate voices like mine aside.

I am so glad to have been included in this experience with Julianne Estur, and Sarah Chin. Also working with insightful, and caring instructors Chris Fong Chew, Grace Zhu and the COT team. I am grateful there is an opportunity for readers and creators to read and reflect as we did in this collection.

OPPORTUNITY!

Submit to Collections Of Transience Literary Magazine imprint Shaved Ice Collective Issue One. Submission close May 31st!

After having done FIVE writing fellowships/residency I feel a little confident to share some of my tips on how to stand out in your artist statement that can be used when applying to fellowship residency’s. Questions You Should Ask Yourself To Make Your Artist Statement Stand Out is a reflection and insight from my time in residency with Seventh Wave Magazine.

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Speaking of Seventh Wave

Check out my thoughts of my experience as a 2025 Seventh Wave Residency Fellow in my Residency Spotlight Feature and get some insight into my creative practice and journey!

Thank you for taking the time to read my words! If you want to continue showing your love for this post and support a Black queer writer. Comment, restack, tip me below or subscribe for future essays!

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My body flinch’s at the remnant of time where I had no agency over the choices my body was made to perform. A time where I was not introduced to my own body because it was proclaimed to be a reflection of another, who only knew to perform too.

I had my first transformation at 18. Working my first job, it was the first clearing in my mind that I was my own being, striving to carve my own path, working hard with my shovel of awakening in hand.

At 25 I had my second transformation, pulled to different portals of possibilities that my greatness could be—something that happened to always be there, waiting. But my body needed rest (and quiet), though the signals failed to spark my mind.

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There were times when I was forced to maintain the high achievements my body created. Dragged to events, put into clubs, teams or groups one after another, even when my distain grew and my body refused. My body formed a literal mental block at, and still, I was pressured to go against my body’s desire to pause and rest. Reprehended if I shifted against the people-pleasing habit I was trained to not test.

In early adulthood my drive and work ethic were praised. I was told that my greatness was because of my unrest. I moved towards those that drained my tank blindly, eventually working, unrest, towards reconstructing what was damaged. Believing I can work back towards the levels of comforts I believed were promised. My drive was to be the model of what it meant to be the best daughter, sister, worker, partner, and friend. I was the fuel; though the gas was pumped in and through, it only refueled those that parked alongside me.

Now, six years later I feel another transformation happening but this time my bones cry out why I still need to move at this speed? Race until my tank is emptied? Asking me to hear the aches and cramps that pain my body quicker than before. Wondering if the path I’m racing on is one I still wanted to marathon towards? The real question being, why do we say ‘rest in peace’ once someone is no longer living? Are we not allowed to live in peace and rest too?

I’ve never truly rested longer than 2 weeks. The type of rest that involved no agendas nor carefully planned schedules. No frequent last minute “catch ups” to sustain acquainted connections as I’m finishing a long work day. From childhood to early adulthood, alarms and structured 9-5’s were mainly a part of me like a limb. From the pending Sunday blues pumping into the veins of each tendon, to the praise from authoritative names keeping my system working to maintain it’s pace.

I’m so deeply tired. I have never NOT worked nor not had a structured plan for my next steps if I briefly wasn’t working. And once I stepped into a full time schedule I began to work year round no breaks longer than 2 weeks once a year, working weekends often and odd hours sometimes. 8+ years of long yawns and cramped necks for a pretty check. There hadn’t been many slow mornings nor slow movements towards actions that called to my body naturally until recently.

I can’t lie and say money and security isn’t of high importance to me; it was the main factor within my relentless unrest to pursue a life of my dreams. We’ve all been trained to see it through in order to build a life towards comforts we were told was afforded to us. But I’ve grown to see my dreams have changed, my desires have shifted and it requires rest. Some say, with burnt out pride, they’ve worked through their tiredness as they cash in their checks, speaking as if they’ve won the race of endurance. But truthfully, no awards are given to you during this never ending rabbit race, the only thing awarded is sickness or accidently injuries forcing the body to pause because the body keeps the score.

All that to say, I’m taking a 3 month sabbatical in June with no plans to return to a traditional 9-5 after. This time away to reset is needed as a form of self care, and not the self care that’s rooted in aesthetics that white feminism has claimed. The care I need is in the slow, quiet communication with my body. The care of making no active plans aside from living presently to what my body is desiring to experience in that moment.

I finally have the opportunity to rest the way I have dreamed too. It’s coming soon, a little less than 30 days to be exact, and it makes me want to cry. Tears of relief I’ve made it through the rough patches, tears from the fear of having to let go and release the steering wheel that drove me along the laid out path I’m now discarding, and tears of joy for listening to what has been calling to me for too long. Though I originally hoped to take a longer sabbatical, I’m taking what I can get and releasing the anxiety of what ifs and could be’s.

Not resting has created health concerns, mental burn out, and emotional distress I can’t ignore any longer. I no longer wish to live a life of unfulfillment in order to survive in this capitalist society. At 31, I’m in a space where I can finally step away and reconnect with my body, mind, and heart and hear where this next transition will take me. Discover where would be most fulfilling for me (thankfully with some additional external support: financially, emotionally and physically).

I strive to rest not rot. I’d rather die tomorrow broke and happy than walk as a lost soul and emptied body used for capital and still dying. As an artist, writer and creative, rest is fundamental to my practice. I know this new path will have it’s own rocky moments but I intent to lay my ass down OFTEN and move at my own pace.

WANT TO READ MORE OF MY WORK?

Speaking on legacy and how I don’t want to be remembered.

Thank you for taking the time to read my words! If you want to continue showing your love for this post and support a Black queer writer. Comment, restack, tip me below or subscribe for future essays!

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This episode is about my shitty habit of doomscrolling and my desire to tune into rituals that fulfill me and pour into self-care.

If you have routines or rituals that helped you turn away from the screen and become present in your life, please share them in the comments!

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The art of being unreachable by

The intimacy of “I can handle you.” by

Are You Paying Attention to Me Beyond How I Make You Feel? by

IF YOU HAVE TAKEN THE TIME TO READ THROUGH TO THE END, THANK YOU! Your support and engagement are so appreciated. ❤️

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My time on Substack has shown me how many writers and creatives there are on this platform who are doing amazing work, and I’m trying to be their friend! And I refuse to accept that my (potential) friends will go unrecognized or buried beneath an algorithm.

This quarterly segment is a mix of interview and casual conversation with intention to pour in continuous effort in highlighting and connecting with the creative community. I hope to showcase and dive deeper with creators on this platform that will bring additional eyes to their work, build creative friendships, and push the narrative of the importance of collaboration towards creative freedom and liberation that we all should strive to obtain in this hyper-independent capitalist system we all survive under as artist.

I’ve had my eyes on my first guest’s page from the beginning of my engagement on Substack and this element of collaboration and creative celebration felt aligned with the creative visionary mission and I’d love to introduce this segment with Shareece and their platform!

Alina: I’d love to start with how you like to share who you are, what you do, how do you identify as a creative?

Shareece from : So I would like to start by introducing myself. My name is Shareece Williams so people know me as “Qween” and I’m from Houston, Texas, but I resign in Austin, Texas and I am 30 years old. I am a creative, visionary, specializing in storytelling, world building, and community development. My creative practice consists of screenwriting, producing, contemporary abstract art, and poetry. I identify as a visual artist/multimedia artist, but I like to reference myself as a creative visionary.

A: Yes! I love the declaration and a Southern Qween at that. We will definitely get into the depth of those golden words ‘creative visionary’ in a moment but I’d love to hear first about how you came to Substack. What about the platform do you feel supports your creative practice compared to other platforms?

S: Thank you! I came across Substack through TikTok. I saw a couple of people migrating here who I admired as creators and it allowed me to see what it had to offer me. Substack has been such a supportive platform for my creative practice in many ways, but mostly by the individuals who engage with my work. That is something that I truly enjoy about this platform, but also the openness to understanding creative avenues for what it is.

A: I definitely relate! I feel like this platform has allowed me to create without the external pressures of perfection that some of the other apps seem to be layered with. It feels freeing and supportive which is so great and we can actually build a community. Are there any particular topics or discourse you feel you gravitate towards the most on Substack?

S: It wasn’t anything in particular I know for sure I was getting overwhelmed and frustrated with TikTok so I needed something new. Therefore, when that opportunity open for me to sign up, I didn’t hesitate.

A: I’ve had to do my own things like check in with myself, it does become overwhelming and so much stimulation for sure. Since being on Substack are there any creators or recent posts you are really loving?

S: Oh yes of course!! The entire council for Realm Empire Industries are cutting up on Substack.

Find the council of REI Here

A: Yes! I love their women in culture pieces! But speaking of favorites, What is your current favorite tv show and your top 3 favorite movies?

S: Top 3 shows right now: 1. Shrinking 2. Paradise 3. High Potential

I know you didn’t ask but of all time: 1. Nashville 2. Westworld 3. The Morning Show

Movies right now: 1. Opus 2. She Taught Love 3. The Lost Bus.

Of all time: 1. Life 2. Gravity 3. Extinction

A: Okay you’re definitely putting me on because I only know a few of those but based on your reviews and deep dives of TV and movies I trust this top list haha. So I know on your platform you mostly share and write about storytelling and entertainment through TV/Film. But between both formats, if you had to choose, which one do you believe is the strongest vessel for an impactful story? if you can’t decide it’s okay I know that’s a tough one ha But I know some people have their preferences sometimes.

S: Oh TV hands down! lol I strongly believe in visual representation and how it can transform culture and society. I’ve seen it happen with my own two eyes and that alone makes me feel it’s best.

A: That makes sense. What about the format and structure of TV do you feel makes it possible to transform culture and society, that movies may not be able to do with similar impact? Any particular shows that you feel do it best?

S: The time, the energy and the Act structure that leads the story through episodes that can be an hour or less instead of film that pushes the act structure of the story in one sitting. I personally hate that. Which is why I don’t watch a lot of movies but I respect the craft of it. The impact of the show last longer than a movie ever could! No shade lol!

TV Shows:

Queen Sugar

High Potential

Paradise

Cross

From

Love Is

Forever

Survival of The Thickest

A: haha Look! I don’t see the shade, that is a fact for sure. I personally am a limited series lover because of that exact reason. The intentional pacing, story tension and impact a story can have in something that is structured within ACTS. Would you say this sort of intentionally is a form of creative practice that creative visionaries embody?

S: Exactly!!!!! Love me a limited series down. Yes absolutely. We most definitely embody pacing, story tension and impact. In fact, we value that most. I believe we thrive off impact and that’s what makes the work we do really matter.

A: I feel like many artists, writers, multi-faceted creative typically all strive for that sort of impact. In your own definition how would you define what a creative visionary is? And who would you say are the people that currently embody the creative visionary practice?

S: Yes indeed, from my experience and constant discovery with the practice a creative visionary is an impactful artist! A person who unintentionally carries the weight of the world on their back while creating a healthy balance of energy, power and abundance for themselves and community! Individuals like Nina Simone, Sam Gilliam, Doechii, Courtney A. Kemp are some to name a few.

A: The first person that did come to mind for me was Doechii as well, but yes to Nina Simone and all others definitely fit the description! When you say they carry the world while creating a healthy balance of energy, power and abundance for themselves and the community, I imagine that balance is difficult to maintain, intimidating even. Do you feel a creative visionary is only a visionary if they have to carry that weight? Or is a visionary only realized when that weight is put onto them?

S: Well, first off I love the questions! But yes, to both of the questions, I really think that it depends on the mindset of that particular creative, visionary, and their learning styles. There’s so many factors that comes into play when answering both questions. Personally, I believe I truly became a creative visionary once I realized the weight of the world was already on me. As a black woman, I had to learn that pretty quickly in life so it really just depends on their state of mind and where they are in life.

A: I understand what you mean. I’m sure there could be MANY substack essays alone on Black women and the weight we carry and if that weight is needed to showcase our excellence or is it just put on us and we show our excellence despite it. Regardless of it though I think it wouldn’t be disputed that Black women’s excellence is going to shine brighter than the rest for sure, because the talent can not be denied! Lol

S: Omg yes! And that is why I say you can’t be anti Black and anti Black Woman and be a creative visionary!

A: SAY IT AGAIN! Haha

A: Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me and allowing me to peak into your creative practice! Before we end please shoutout where readers can find your work or any opportunities they can look out for over at The Creative Visionary

S: yes, of course!!!

S: For some opportunities:

We are looking for class of instructors for The Williams Institute of Creative Visionaries

The Creative Visionary

Calling the First Generation: The Creative Visionary Institute Faculty Search Is Now Open

There are moments in history where a door opens — not just for opportunity, but for legacy…

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9 months ago · 40 likes · 16 comments · The Creative Visionary and creative economy 🌎

We are also building our Tv/Film Division at REI and are looking creators to join:

REALM EMPIRE INDUSTRIES

How to Pitch a TV Show or Feature Film to the Realm Empire Network (REN)

At Realm Empire Industries, pitching isn’t about chasing a yes…

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7 months ago · 18 likes · 2 comments · creative economy 🌎

REALM EMPIRE INDUSTRIES

How to Become a Filmmaker in Realm Empire Industries (REI)

Filmmaking is not a title. It’s a practice…

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8 months ago · 26 likes · 1 comment · creative economy 🌎 and The Creative Visionary

S: Thank you so much for this. I had so much fun conversing with you; I hope to have more time with you.

A: This is so great! Thank you for joining me!

Are you looking to connect and potentially make a new friend in me?! Let’s talk!

What does it mean when the many people I connect with tell me that the space I open up to them is a rare experience? That it’s new for them, that they’ve rarely shown up as their truest self until they’ve stepped into this space?

As a person who lives their life with an open channel to receive unpressured, loving energies with the simple expectation to make genuine human connections (any other polyamorous folks here?!) There’s a pattern in my life that I can’t seem to make sense of, but it has long become the norm for me. I struggle to understand what to do with the information (if there is even something I want to do with it), but for now, I just needed a space to share.

This pattern that has become so norm for me typically shows its face because a person will orbit into my bubble and they’ll share pieces of themselves (as a lesbian, this happens literally within hours or a few short days lol) and I’ll listen, I’ll inquire for understanding, and I’ll empathize. This is the way I naturally am in this world. And within that, I’m told often it’s rare.

But is it rare if it keeps happening to me in this way?

I wrote a note on Substack once that I always strive and value being that person in a room who makes another person feel safe and seen, and I do think I succeed in that when I meet people and get connected with others.

But what I think I failed to include is that I wanted that shared space to feel mutual. I recognized that in being a safe space for others, it opens up their wounds, scars, and traumas. It introduces me to people who have been hurt by many other people in other spaces and rooms, and I never know where to place that knowing.

This pattern has turned into cycles in the past few years, where many times the person will leave this safe space (for a variety of reasons), taking what filled them. And I’m left in a room with what was passed that was meant to be shared, not rented.

I believe at this beautiful age of 31, I’ve strengthened my acts of boundary setting, of communicating capacity, and general understanding of nuance. I’ve met many wonderful people who always have good intentions and are excited by the rarity that comes into their lives.

But I find myself questioning if something is always rare for others but not me; is it really rare? Or am I just one of those people that others get to experience before going into other rooms that may not bring such exposure?

I don’t have answers that settle me nor clear these floating questions; I only have my observations, experiences, and reflections.

But I have now grown to clarify my proclamation from earlier. The safe space I strive to provide for others should, and will, always have a permanent spot for ALL of me, regardless if it’s being shared with others.

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I’ve known I have loved womanhood since I was young. Since I’ve seen the matriarchal way my familial blood is populated with women through each generational thread. Strong and vocal but supportive in their own ways. Since meeting my best friend and having my spirit mirrored, laughing within the safety of our presence and companionship.

I’ve loved women since I knew that if our eyes locked, they could blush back at my stare, that they may wonder like me if it’s more than a friendly gaze. Even then, finding beauty in the bond formed from a 42-hour date.

I’ve loved them more since hearing the many stories others like me have stored away due to the pain. Those who named their survival only to then have it painted over with bold words of They meant no harm! Or Everyone feels that way.

I’ve loved women through the release that happens after they get to lie in soft spaces and pause for a slow smile to reach their face. I’ve loved women between the deep cracks inside the layered shields, gently asking them to love what I see, even when they’ve only known love from what they’ve been told.

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Women are so beautiful, happily in loving spaces together, sharing in our mutual beauty where we can just be. When they’ve taught me to love the woman they see in me.

I love them more than what my body feels, I love them greater than what my eyes see. I love them because of the romance they speak into me.

So this letter is for lesbians who think of nothing but women, and the beauty we all hold with ease. And sometimes a little more loving during the birds & bees. 🐝

Looking for more yearnful lesbian poems by me?

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A Favorite Video from Cam Does It Youtube Channel

If you haven’t already, watch Jill Scott’s Tiny Desk Concert on NPR Music

Read Cherry Lips here:

Read Shadow Side of BDSM By

Dominion & Desire

Shadow Side of BDSM- Part III

Content Note: This essay discusses BDSM, power exchange, grief, trauma, and abuse within intimate dynamics. While explicit sexual detail is not included, the themes may be activating for some readers, particularly those with lived experience of relational or sexual harm…

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7 months ago · 6 likes · 2 comments · K.L.

Read A Proper Ode To Black Women By

The Fringe

A Proper Ode to Black Women

I woke up this morning with love and Black women on my mind. Those two particulars are synonymous for me, more often than not. I am under no delusions about my own power, and the power cupped in the palms of ALL Black women. We can weave magic into everything we intentionally touch because we are, quite literally, the root of it all…

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7 months ago · 19 likes · 12 comments · Chanel Spellman-Timmons

IF YOU HAVE TAKEN THE TIME TO READ THROUGH TO THE END, THANK YOU! Your support and engagement are so appreciated. ❤️

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I told her there is always noise, she just needs to listen.

Many days when I’m alone I feel pulled to silence, to let the natural noise around me fill the space, to hear my thoughts and where they are living in my body. To hear my home, my sanctuary, settling its bones to each new day and pulling me in to land softly besides it.

The noise is coming from the crackle of the incense I burned when I entered the space, and the waves of smoke that swirls my body and washes through me asking me to breath into it deeply.

The noise I hear comes in from the murmurs outside my window as life chooses to move and change as the seconds go by. The sounds from yesterday already past, tuning in the new frequency of today. The comfort of knowing life’s noises continue around me helps me honor the fact that I woke up to hear them. That I’m not alone, life continues to make tunes that move my body and spirit.

Other times the noise is from the visions I see. How it travels between each of my ears promising the offerings I am seeking if I let them wonder through me in the stillness and quietness of my physical space.

My home is always quiet because the calm buzz allows me to hear my lungs fill up and it tells me I’m still here, I’m alive and I can live each second with my eyes towards the pleasures and peace life offers. Content in knowing the silence will wait in the queue, allowing the noises of those I love to play in its space.

The silence always waits for me. I just have to sit and listen. She now welcomes the silence with me, sitting and waiting for it beside me. We breath it in together now as home welcomes us both in.

Looking for more moments of reflections that happen at home? Come to the Kitchen Table.

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This episode is about my experience as a public librarian for the past 7 years. How I came into the field, the experiences I had and saw, and the burnout that has come with it.

This episode is to share what MY experience as a community service worker has been like and in no way reflects librarianship as a whole nor a specific library system. I hope that sharing my story and experience helps others gain a perspective of the work of libraries, but also where you, as a community member, can help support library workers.

If you are a community service worker (teacher, social worker, retail, etc.), please take to the comments and share your thoughts and feelings on how the work as a community service worker has impacted you emotionally, mentally, and physically. Share a piece of the struggle and the ways we, as community members, can better support and benefit from these services.

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Resources for further reading

The Legacy of Black Women in Librarianship: When They Dared to Be Powerful by Nicole A. Cooke

The Black Librarian in America: Reflections, Resistance, and Reawakening by Shauntee Burns-Simpson (Editor)

Freedom Libraries: The Untold Story of Libraries for African Americans in the South by Mike Selby

The bundle of cash that slid across the table tingled against Mr. Shepard’s fingers. “Your business has been a pleasure to have.” Ma Naveen said with a smirk. Sharp and filed black polished manicured nails traced a line down Mr. Shepard’s hand, leaving a small thin blemish, before she wrapped her fingers around the band.

“You know I thought the rumors would be true,” Mr. Shepard chuckled, his thin mustache waving up and down as he did. Ma Naveen moved the slit of her black dress to the side, a red lace garter taut against her almond thigh, clipping her pouch inside. His eyes followed in a trance before clearing his throat. “You ain’t no danger to no man.”

The candlelit room doesn’t catch the twitch of her mouth as she resists a laugh. “Danger’s only good to men seeking it.” His response is a deep belly laugh, amusement clouding his signals to run.

“Station up in Chicago said that partner of yours is the dangerous one. But I don’t mind none if I get to meet danger herself. Heard she’s a stunner like you.” He said. Ma Naveen’s lips curl to one side, making Mr. Shepard fidget in the wooden chair as her black-eyed stare seemed to expand for a moment too long.

“They have more than danger up in Chicago.” Ma Naveen stands, walking around the table to sit at the edge, legs crossed over the other, the slit exposing her strength.

“Seems like Georgia folks are just like dem northern ones, huh?” His words are shaky as they leave his mouth, but he tries to shield it with a laugh.

Ma Naveen leaned forward, Mr. Shepard’s body pulled in tandem. “Georgia folk don’t know danger unless it’s kissing him on his lips,” her voice a whisper as she leans in, kissing him on his cheek. He blows out an uneasy breath, reaching up to touch her exposed leg, but she swiftly covers it and walks towards the door. “Shall we get back to the party, Mr. Shepard?” He nods, adjusting his suit and pants before following her out of the office.

Ma Naveen’s heels clicked against the oaked millennium floor. Each step echoed snaking along the red tiled wallpaper, spreading across the white, floral scroll-patterned ceiling. Mr. Shepard watches as Ma Naveen’s ass swishes with each step. “I know y’all haven’t been here long, but I know the officers here would be grateful for your permanent presence.”

She stops in front of a tall, wood-carved door, turning to look at Mr. Shepard’s lascivious gaze. “I can get you any business you looking for, just come by the station.” He promised. She wipes the lipstick mark off his cheek, then pats it gently, “We stay as long as is needed,” then pushes open the door to a candlelit dining room.

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A long cloth-covered table, fitted for royal affairs, is decorated with shiny fine China, half-empty decanters, and a feast that could have fed a village for days. Soft music plays as the laughter of the ladies in Chablis manor danced with Mr. Shepherd’s county men’s arousals. Beautifully striking women, all shades of brown, providing attentive care to the dozen of men. Arms draped across exposed shoulders, and collared buttons opened loosely, Ma Naveen refills each man’s glass with ruby wine as she walks around the dining room, ladies bowing their heads as she passes.

“My men really needed this, Ms. Naveen. We been busting our asses with these raids, ya know, keeping this county safe from degeneracy.” Ma Naveen hums lightly as she listens to his deprivations. She makes it to the head of the table, gently pushing Mr. Shepard down into the seat next to hers.

“Gentleman,” Ma Naveen’s voice commanded the room. “Please be seated at the table to begin tonight’s festivities.” Each of Ma’s ladies grabbed a hand of one of the county men and guided them to their chairs. Ma waits for the drunken men to quietly settle as the ladies stand obediently next to each of the chairs.

“Thank you for coming today, gentlemen, as Mr. Shepard here shared with me, you all could use some good food, wine, and release, yes?” The men all hoot in agreement, some clapping their hands and nodding fiercely.

“Release is right!” one of the men shouted, and the others laughed at his outburst. “Settle down. We have plenty of time for that.” Mr. Shepard said, giving Ma Naveen a wink.

Ma Naveen’s smirk stayed steady as she watched the men’s excitement cover the table. “Feast before release, gentleman.” She waved towards the food, and the men began to eat. Each of them wasted no time piling their plates. “Will you ladies be eating with us?” Mr. Shepard asked.

“Part of our service is a show while you dine.” His eyebrows raised in surprise. Ma snapped her fingers, “Reign, please put on the music. We will begin our service.” With food stuffed in their mouths, the men shouted with a cheer as the ladies spread around the table.

Music: Florence + The Machine - Everybody Scream

Sounds of chimes began, and the women swayed slowly, humming together to the tune, their hums vibrating high until the bass of the drums pounded, making the ladies erupt in movement as one. “Oh, what a treat, Naveen,” Mr. Shepard laughed. Ma sat in her seat watching as the men chewed their food and gaped in their seats.

“I’ve heard some things about you, Mr. Shepard,” Ma said to him after a few moments.

“Oh, really?” He said, eyes glued to Ma’s ladies as they began to slowly undress with a tease.

“I hear you have a wife, Jenny.” He doesn’t respond, taking another sip of his wine glass, cheering as the ladies climbed onto the tables, tossing pieces of clothing onto the ground. “And your kids, Benita and Joseph.” He looked at her then, eyes squinted in confusion.

“What my kids got to do with anything ?” One of Ma’s ladies bent down from atop the table and untied Mr. Shepard’s tie. The ladies followed suit with the other men.

“I’ve also heard about the county targeting homes in Dalton and Lawrenceville, young boys and girls missing.”

Mr. Shepard grunted with annoyance, “I’m not paying to talk about all that business; we came for release just like you said.”

“And when you leave here, you are back to your business then?” Ma Naveen stare is piercing as she placed an elbow on the table, chin in palm, waiting for his response with amusement. Ladies now on top of men’s laps, others caressing their shoulders and necks, as Mr. Shepard’s words come out in a rush, “We just do our job, you hear. We get informed of where we need to go, and that’s it, that’s–.” Ma Naveen abruptly slammed her fist onto the table, standing up and clapping her hands twice. The room froze from her command, the music continue to play music as the men stare with attentive quietness.

“Gentleman, Mr. Shepard expressed to me that you all spend your day moving from place to place, just doing your job as told.” Half-bitten bread fall from men’s mouths as others looked up in drunken daze. “Well, he is wrong, and tonight I will share exactly what it is you’re doing.”

“Naveen, we don’t–”

“Quiet!” She shouts. Mr. Shepard jumped up in a rage, but Ma quickly pushed him down in his seat, holding him still with a strength he didn’t expect. “What the fu–”

“We’ve prepared for you to come here, plenty of food and drink for your comforts, so you will listen, Mr. Shepard.” His rage remained but simmers low. “You men are lost. You apply to work for other men who lead you in directions that they say are best for you, but those other men are just as lost as you.” Ma Naveen released Mr. Shepard’s shoulder to slowly undress from her silk black dress, it slides easily off her shoulder and down her smooth back, leaving only her small purple pouch and red-stained lips showcased. The men squinted at her with uncertain eyes, markings unknown to them scribed onto her ebony skin. “You seek the comfort of women to drown your sorrows of horrors, but then leave home to snatch our youth and do what you please with them.”

The men began to refute, slurs and defamations spill from their mouths. Mr. Shepard goes to stand again, but Ma gripped his shoulder again, clenching tighter, making him yelp in pain.

“You choose to stay employed by men who take and use for their own pleasure. You choose to become like them to gain false pleasures.” The ladies hum louder with each of Ma’s words, waving the men’s ties in the air, then quickly tying the men’s feet to the chair. The music and hums drown out the men’s cry for release. Ma Naveen’s voice rises above the noise, “Men who take and use for the work of abuse and terror. Men who took our own, so we shall take theirs.”

“Naveen, what kind of mess is this? You can’t be treating us any way, we paid for our business here!” Mr. Shepard’s voice fuses with the other men’s cries of fear. The ladies gather atop the table, standing tall and bare, each carrying their own patterns of marking across their brown skin.

They swayed side to side as Ma Naveen's words seeped across the table, “You choose to seek out danger, Mr. Shepard, you shall have it.” The ladies screamed out loud, sharp fangs protruding through their gums. They pounced off the table onto each man’s lap, their markings pulsing against their skin as they clawed and teared through the layered flesh of the men’s abdomen. The men screamed in agony as cherry-red blood spills down the chairs spraying out furiously.

“Fucking demons!” Mr. Shepard yelled, tearing away from Ma Naveen's grip, arm swinging as he ran to the door, his shoulder dislodged, preventing him from pulling the door open. All around him, men were draining from the outside. The ladies feasting feverishly, bloody crunches melody the music’s crescendo. “What–who are–what do you want?” Mr. Shepard whimpered against the door. He shuffled along the darkened room wall, trying to find someplace to hide. Ma followed his movement, taking her time as the ladies rip through each carcass of men, each step of her heels leaving a bloody trail.

“We are the Ladies of Tituba. We follow no man and fear no judgment. We protect the children of the mainland, and we always take back what has been stolen. ” Mr. Shepard stumbled against a nearby window seal, pulling away the curtains to try to climb out the window. The late sunset rays shine inside, and the ladies caught in its path screech in pain as the light burns their flesh. Ma Naveen charges towards Mr. Shepard, snatching the curtain from his grip and slamming him to the ground.

“Your people take our land’s children, imprison them for a man that holds no native claim, you choose to stroke the calling of the man, then turn an eye when harm is done, expecting no judgment to be called upon you. You cannot run from judgment tonight, Mr. Shepard. Your time is up.”

His scream is cut short as Ma tears through the pulsing veins in Mr. Shepard’s throat, ripping the last string of muscles from his neck, his head dismembered, rolling to the side of his lifeless body. Ma wiped her mouth clean, humming low, eyes closed as she inhaled deeply.

The room is now quiet except for the buzz of static coming from the stereo.

“Where to next, Naveen?” She opened her eyes, the men of the county lay mutilated, and the Ladies of Tituba stared back with cherry red lips turned up in a smile. Ma Naveen unclips her pouch from her thigh and bounces it in her bloody palms.

“Chicago. It’s time.”

About this piece

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my short story, Cherry Lips. The story’s inspiration came from the unconstitutional deportation and kidnapping of Black and Brown bodies happening in the United States currently under a fascist governing administration.

But as history is known to repeat itself, this story also reflects the centuries-long kidnapping, abuse, imprisonment and murder of Black and Brown bodies by those who have worked with or profited from these immoral systems.

It is our role as creatives to continue speaking and creating during times like these. They will not silence us. We will fight back. The revolution will never be televised. The revolution needs you, needs us together.

Tituba was an enslaved native woman who was among the first three persons to be accused of witchcraft in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692. Though I use her name in this piece, no direct correlation between the characters and what is known of Tituba’s actual history is true. Learn more about her history here

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THE TLDR

Hey! I’m Alina. I’m a Black lesbian writer and poet from Chicago. I am currently on the exciting, yet trying, adventure of writing my first full-length novel that I aim to get traditionally published!

Project Disco a.k.a The Last Dance in the Disco Inferno tells the story of reclusive former starlet Elaine ‘Dayna’ Sims, spending the past three decades hiding from the glitter and grit of her past, when she’s unexpectedly approached by ambitious curator Tori Robinson, on her own costly rebrand undertaking, to archive Elaine’s life for a new exhibition. A dangerous dance of memory and mirrors begins as ghosts of Elaine’s disco era resurface, and the deep shadows of New York City threaten Tori’s exhibition. Are the secrets they’ve kept to protect their reputations worth more than the cost of the truth? For this final performance, they must decide to preserve the legacy of a public persona or reveal the truths behind the curtain.

In the disco inferno, the truth is the only thing that doesn’t burn.

I’ve been in the midst of revision for Project Disco for the past 3 months, and WOW is this a different experience from writing a first draft. I learned quickly that revision is where the magic happens, it’s where the mold begins to bend and fold into the structure you’ve envisioned all along. I had a clear vision of how I wanted to revise the first three chapters of my manuscript as soon as I wrote THE END on the first draft. The story expanded so much by the end of the first draft that I knew I had a clearer direction for how I needed to introduce characters and conflicts in the beginning, but it still felt so intimidating! I felt the task at hand was too large for me to take on.

“Art happens in revisions” — Leigh Bardugo

As I was working on those beginning chapters, I was reading a book on editing called The Artful Edit: On The Practice of Editing Yourself by Susan Bell, it was the right book at the right time. It examined structural and thematic editorial collaboration done with Max Perkins and writer F. Scott Fitzgerald for The Great Gatsby. I didn’t know that the majority of the chapters would focus on their collaboration, but I decided to rewatch the 2013 film adaptation simultaneously. I was able to visualize, along with the written examples, how certain editorial choices of the story enhanced elements of the plot structure and character arcs that were not there before Max Perkins’s editorial touch.

Now I’m obsessively, more than before, examining books and films’ openings and story structures. I’ve become so fascinated with how beneficial a detailed and passionate editor’s eye can be on a writer’s work.

“If you stuff yourself full of poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines, music, you automatically explode every morning like Old Faithful. I have never had a dry spell in my life, mainly because I feed myself well, to the point of bursting.” —Ray Bradbury

With the reassurance and promise to myself that I can take my time with this manuscript, that there isn’t a metaphorical gun to my head to get this perfect in one go, I dove in and revamped my ACT I outline. Fleshing out with details and changes I knew I wanted to include, some new chapters and some deleted and meshed together, it all started forming sharper edges to its mold. Now having finished writing/revising ACT I, I can see it’s sooo much stronger, and that much closer to the story I know it’s meant to be.

Now to completely re-outline ACT II. (spoiler, it’s giving me a temporary aneurysm...to be shared in next Revision Reflections)

Read about my process and how I was able to reach THE END on my first draft.

Project Disco Book Themes: BLACK LESBIANS, found family, disco fever, city of broken dreams, preservation and memory of Black queer stories, LGBTQ+ joy and revolution.

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