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Be Like a Bird: A Ramadan Reflection

I stared. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the frozen figure. Anyone walking across the wooden bridge past me would’ve avoided the weird Muslimah caught in a trance. But I didn’t care, knowing that I could be witnessing something straight out of National Geographic, minus the British commentator. I waited, holding my breath, not wanting to miss the slightest movement to prove my suspicion. It had to be what I thought it was.

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Back to Writing

To my dismay, I didn’t have another ready-made story idea burning a hole in my pocket. And when I thought of a few (really good ones, actually), a malicious voice always overrode my enthusiasm: This idea requires too much research… That one has a good premise but where would it go from there? And worst of all, You did it once, but you know you can’t do it again. The voice paralyzed me for years. 

Then I remembered my red spiral notebook.

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“A woman with a good bit of life behind her is able to absorb lessons and teach them to others with years’ worth of examples and stories that bring the learning to life. She is able to teach with both an authoritative presence that helps her guide others through the rough waters of self-reflection and a knowing tranquility that is the cozy spiritual equivalent of being 'squishy,' as my granddaughter raves about my middle-age pudge.” Anse Najiyah Maxfield

Students of a Certain Age

When I first began studying at the Ribaat Academic Institute, back before there even really was a Ribaat, I sat down and cried. Not because I was so overwhelmed with gratitude for the opportunity to study seriously in my own home. Not because I was so spiritually moved by the Companions in the pilot class that I just couldn’t contain my tears. And not because I enjoyed the exercise of heart and mind that was the final exam. No. I cried because all the other students were in their twenties…maybe thirties…and I was the only one beginning my studies at 50 years old.

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Talk Amongst Yourselves: How Writing Conferences Can Keep You Going

Let’s face it: writing is a lonely business. Some writers thrive on that solitude, soaking up the silence, communing with nature, or staying up all night while the muse is playful and sleeping all morning. Other writers experience that solitude as an energy slump – a necessary part of the craft but only necessary enough

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Bridges!

Are you tired? Do your bones, heart and sinew ache with hurt for humanity? Are you making furtive glances over at the Muslim corner, wondering how to approach, how to help? Are you a Muslim peeking out of your silo wondering where to start? Have we all finally united in our human hesitation to reach

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