Lex Sonne / Writing Coach

Last year was the first time I had the opportunity to work with clients who had the goal of pursuing an MFA in creative writing. Both were fantastic, dedicated writers, and I knew they'd land where they deserved to study. That said, I couldn't imagine the joy I would feel when I was informed of their acceptance letters. I was transported back to 2006 when I started my MFA journey - one of the most productive and happiest times of my life.
I want to thank them again for trusting me with their stories and essays and wish them the very best as they continue to experience the world and put their version of it on the page.
(I'll keep their names private here so they can celebrate when and how they prefer.)

Kentucky. 8:07 pm. 7.31.23
What's the weather, I ask my clients. Where's the light coming from? What emotion is showing in the characters' faces? Heighten the drama. Exaggerate.
I wrote a descriptive piece my senior year of high school. I sat on the same porch I'm sitting at now at nearly the same time of day. I sat for an hour and wrote and then edited that night. I remember describing the ornamental grass that separates the yard from the field. Something about the flowering tops resembling streetlamps.
How many times have I described a scene? How many times have I described a scene that was actually read by other people? Fifty? Two hundred? A thousand?
I have no clue.
But the question I ask myself now twenty-three years later... The question is, why did I enjoy sitting on this porch describing the gloaming?
Because I was good at it? Because I liked the A and the praise from my teacher?
Sure. I can't deny that.
But what's deeper?
It had to do with the passage of time. It was the meditative state writing provided. It was an hour here and an hour there where my soul was allowed to breathe. It was my canvas. It was simple and elemental. The act fit the shape and color of my soul.
And now I sit repeating the same act.
If I told you how many pages...
Only writers understand...
The scenes...
The pages...
There is light still. The black walnut leaves hang in dark bunches like trees near sand. But there is no sand. There are only rolling hills. There is only a person trying to connect once again with the divine.
There is light still.

Trick or Treat: Free 1st Class
DM for details
lexsonnewriting.com

Write. Teach. Write. Talk to some people. See where you're walking. Teach. Write.

- 26th Session via Zoom -