We're hosting a writing workshop in Hepworth, Ontario, Canada! Join us on March 1, 2020 for a workshop dedicated to writing and healing.
Not meant for fingers or your branding pain, my skin turned inward that day...
Submit your stories of migration and/or your sense of place, of home or lack of, and your empathy to the plight of migrants around the world.
We're pleased to announce the release of Issue 6 of the Dreamers Magazine, a "healing writing" special edition. Get your copy now before we run out!
I used to teach. I will always be a 'daughter of', though Mom and Dad are now gone. I will always be a wife and mother. I write too.
Congratulations to the winners of the 2019 Dreamers Flash Fiction and Nonfiction Contest. In a flash story, it’s important to make every word count...
Early in my training I was a great admirer of Sigmund Freud. He was all over my books and magazines, peering out from black and white photographs and renderings.
Jimmy was never in a hurry to go home after school, but today was an exception. He raced through the spring melt, flew through the door, kicked...
Count backwards from 100. I reach 97, then I’m gone. Off to dreamland, where sometimes dreams become nightmares that become reality.
When I was a little kid, my mom would sit on my bed and play with my hair or tickle my back as she tucked me in at night.
He fell from fatherhood, and said the fall was slow, like water through wood. He said he didn’t know. That’s all.
We’ve come a long way since the days of painting stories on cave walls. Just as storytellers have evolved over the centuries, so have their tools...
The man lying on the hospital bed knows that he is dying. Beside him, the heart monitor stutters, falters, returns to a steady pace once more, each time the rhythm slower.
In the bathwater I see rose petals falling on a little girl in pigtails & sundress reaching for your manicured hand In the mirror I see raindrops
Zen of Instruction You say, “Hey, you know, that makes a lot of good sense!” I feel gratified.
She was already talking about me before I was born. She made the decision that I would be named Jacqueline. She would peek through the bars of my crib and blow me goodnight kisses.
I know how it feels to be overwhelmed by the darkness and to hide in the warmth of its claws. It can all be shifted in the moment...
Dreamers Creative Writing is dedicated to writing that is from the heart.
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