On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt.

Here’s how it all got started, back story, details and all. The short version is:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word. (On your blog or in the comments).
2. Link back here and invite others to join in {you can grab the button code in my blog footer}.
3. Go leave some comment props for the five minute artist who linked up before you.

It’s a great way to catch your breath at the end of a long week.


OK, here’s the prompt, give me your best five minutes on the word:



She had a seat open next to her and I slipped into it like a palm into the hand of a friend. She wears her dark hair and freckles like so many layers of familiar welcome. Like a note card or gift snuck into your purse, she will warm you from the inside.  She makes room for me. Like she always does. Like pulling her chair to one side, shuffling her bag under her seat, calling me between work and daycare, remembering to write cards, saying the words of encouragement and pulling bits and pieces of her day to offer like so much broken bread for the weary women who mother on in between a thousand other deadlines.

She makes room for her friends in her life.

Deliberately, purposefully, tenderly and with generosity.

Like her handwriting, her loops of love curve out between creased edges of years shared back and forth until they are dog-eared with familiarity. She plans and reminds you that planning is good because when else will you just exhale the excuses and pick up the phone and call the woman who’s been weighing heavy on your mind for the better part of a long week.

There is nothing small about choosing to connect.

She will look at you over a hamburger with jalepenos so hot they have you coughing your way toward the ice water before you hear how she is suggesting you grow stronger. She is quietly telling you that there are new ways to be brave. And you already knew it but you didn’t want to know and it’s over the sweet potato fries that are not what you thought they would be that you learn you can be better at what you love.

You can love better.

You can write braver.

And she can do this because she’s along for the journey. She’s part of the team and we can none of us do brave things when we turn around and discover we’re the only ones who’ve got our backs. We need people. We need more than the voices in our own heads. We need cards and notes and cursive handwriting that peels back the sticky confusion and reminds us of the label that only really matters. That sisterhood of grace.


PS: If you’re reading in an email, just click over and come join us.