Do You Even Art?

I love how chaotic and interesting an artist’s workspace is.

There’s usually paint splatters.

Ink-blotched paper curls on tables.

Pallets of color display subtle shades.

There are other pieces of artwork, bursts of color, knickknacks, and things.

I love the look of a fully utilized studio. I love seeing dried paint on the wood floors and canvases leaning against the walls and furniture. I love that the furniture is usually unique and often old – hand-me-down or just eclectic.

There is something completely serene when entering an artist’s atmosphere. Everything you carried in slides off your back and settles to the floor. You’ll have to pick it up again before you leave, but for a few moments, you don’t feel its weight.

I would like a space like this. Not that I’m terribly artistic. I just want the atmosphere for meditation.

This has been,


Poetry, Raw


I once had a dream
That was so dark
A Titan came
To poison the Earth,
Hitler drove
A big black hearse,
And I was trapped
In this damned verse.

I once had a dream
That was so black
The devil himself
Said to send it back.
Mecha monsters
Blue and red
Battled over Earth
And to the death.

In this dream
A slice of yellow cake,
An evil scientist,
And a ride I’ll never take.
I watched the planet
Spreading black,
The Titan and
His staff of death.

He looked at me
And I at him.
This was the end.

This has been,


PS: A slice of yellow cake??? What, was I hungry or something?


Why Are You Here?

I once met up with a fellow writer during my early publishing years. We connected at a local meet-and-greet. We traded books as was familiar with these sorts of events and the conversation continued into email – so old-time, I know. We proposed a time and place. I came equipped with my positive reviews of his book, prepared to discuss and praise.

I’m not sure why he was there.

It didn’t take me long to realize all he wanted to talk about were his own ideas and aspirations.

He must not have had many writer friends, because the bookish communities develop a type of code of conduct. You learn not to tout yourself over much and to be a sounding board when necessary. There’s common respect among persons even across genres and age groups.

I’ve learned to file these encounters away politely and move along. There are so many more intriguing persons to devote my time to. And trust me, I do not mind one bit that you would like to tell me about yourself. I love to listen.

Just don’t be a narc.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin


The Great Quarantine

Wait, we’re STILL in quarantine?

By this time last year, the entire world was experiencing some form of dread and fear of the unknown while shutting themselves up in their homes and staring at the television screen with sleep-deprived eyes.

We didn’t know what was out there. After shows like Bird Box, Containment, Virus, and even the strange one that specifically focused on adults and killed them or turned them into zombie-like blood-suckers, fresh in our minds, we felt an edge of terror wondering if this would be our final hour.

Daybreak – that’s the one with the kids surviving in a Lord of the Flies style. Took a heck of a lot of googling to find it.

I haven’t been sick for an entire year. Not a single cold or fever. Imagine all the germs we’re protecting ourselves from by sanitizing and masking up – or SUIT UP! as I like to say. I suppose that is something to be thankful for. And we didn’t lose our jobs which is itself a blessing.

But we’re still here, aren’t we? We’re still living this hellish nightmare of an invisible murderer. Let’s face it – there are no answers, and looking to government to “save” us like some cosmic Superman is childish. No one has the answers. Even this vaccine is still in trial stage. You know it. I know it. We all subconsciously hold our breath when someone we know gets the shot, like we’re waiting for hell to lay down its cards and we’ve just lost.

But you know, my body hasn’t felt this tranquil in years. I don’t have office stress. I sleep more. I’m spending more time with my husband – and I STILL like being around him. I’ll bet a lot of families are enjoying the same. I’m sure it’s hard with kids. But I bet it’s also nice. I bet relationships are growing stronger in ways you won’t realize until much later. I wonder if this will cultivate a grateful generation – just grateful to have friends and be connected, go to school, sit in class, and some day sit in an office or behind a register just grateful for what they have.

This is my hope. Let’s see what we gained. It might not come to harvest for years, but keep watering the seeds of your labor.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin


All Things Good and Mortal

Life isn’t fair.

But love and joy and a lifetime of memories are good.

No one can know themselves until they are faced with mortality. I’m not talking about one’s personal mortality. I think most of us are braver than we realize.

I’m talking about the mortality of the people closest to us. We know death is cause and effect. We understand the cycle of life and the inevitability at the end of existence. But when faced with reality is the moment we come to know just what we are made of.

And we fight this ridiculous battle. When IS it time to let go? How much time do we feel we deserve at the end of it all? Is it selfish to hold on? Is it as scary as it seems to go? What does the end look like? Does it hurt? What really lies on the other side?

I was born and raised in an unassuming modern Christian home. We didn’t use labels. My Lutheran family decided we were Lutheran. My Catholic family decided we were Catholic. But we really weren’t either. We just lived this faith thing like it was fact. I suppose most of the time we took it for granted. We got some good theology along the way and some bad theology, too – which simply means to say, we’re very not perfect.

But growing up with faith for a better afterlife brings comfort. The only thing I do question is what will it be like, not whether it will be there or not. I accept that a lot of loved ones have ended up there – hopeful more than I realize. I wasn’t terribly concerned with grief.

Until the call came for my last, living grandparent.

Is it harder because I understand I’ll never get to pop up for a lunch visit again on this Earth? Does it hurt more because I feel the stretch of time and it seems like an eternity without her? Or is it simply that I’ve had more time to love her than my other grands and therefore more love to lose?

Something will take us all. This is natural progression. It’s also a blessing. Sin keeps us from God and the only way to be whole with Him again is through death. This isn’t a worship of death and decay, but a hope of redemption once corrupt nature takes its course. Faith doesn’t make it any easier to bear loss. It just offers hope.

And hope is a wonderful thing.

This has been,