*Intro: The past four days, I have facilitated a Winter Writing Retreat in Northern Michigan at a location that holds a special magic with magical women. Writing. Sharing. Laughing. Crying. Together, we've shared both familiar adventures and new. The snow was deep, almost as deep as the writing we shared. As each woman opened veins with their pen, we were brought together as only writers can be in such a short time together. I love each and every woman who was at this retreat, and as they shared, my rage built against the people in their lives who caused them pain, who made them doubt their worth, and who did their worst to make them small. On a cold afternoon following a sharing session, I stomped my way down an ice covered path to write in the full-sized teepee. Fire blazing inside. Comfortable seats. Wind blowing against the canvas. Smoke escaped upwards as my rage built inside of me against the specific monsters who have hurt these women, and the monsters currently hiding in p...
