Listen. Discern. Respond.
Following the Magic from Easter Bunnies to Crystal Bowls
First order of business—sharing gratitude
A warm welcome to the six new subscribers who joined this week—and eleven so far this month!—and to all who are here. Thank you for coming along on this journey with me, and with each other. We are, after all, MANY PATHS Connected.
Lately, my mind’s been playing with Easter Bunnies, birthdays, and the creative force behind it all. I’ve also been wrangling the second draft of book two in my crime fiction series, steadily querying agents for book one, and—saving the best for last—reflecting on my fabulous sound bath. At first, it all seemed like a strange mix. But underneath, a common thread emerged: Listen. Discern. Respond.
Let’s dive in.
When I think of Easter, I don’t immediately think of the religious holiday. For me, it’s all about the elusive floppy-eared rabbit, magical egg hunts, shiny green (fake) grass, spring sunshine, and the little light blue jacket my mother made for me when I was five.
I’ve always said we went to the Methodist church twice a year—Easter and Christmas—but I don’t remember going much after the year of the blue jacket, which I still have tucked away in my keepsakes. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not unhappy that religion was more of an afterthought in our family. It spared me from having to wrestle with the manipulations or harms those teachings can sometimes carry.
But I wasn’t encouraged to explore spirituality either—left to discover an omnipresent, creative energy all on my own. While I couldn’t put it into words back then, I could feel something taking over whenever I was hooked in creative expression—certainly through art, writing, or music, but also in building forts, studying house floor plans or interior decor, or when pondering the sky or stars. Anything that seemed much bigger than myself.
Decades later, I have a clearer sense of this Presence—and that it’s infinite. I’m aligned with it, made of it, aware that this ceaseless energy flows through everything, seen and unseen. It’s a substance that waits to manifest through my direction, taking shape in the creative process according to my thought or vision. I can never be separated from it.
And the best part? I’m learning how to listen deeply and use this energy to bring forward whatever I can imagine. An infinite field of potentiality, waiting to come into form.
Right now, this is where writing comes in. It might seem to some that I’m at odds writing crime fiction while also exploring spiritual themes. I wondered that myself at first—if I could really write about both and further build my career as an author.
But then I realized: the ideas and words all come from the same place—one Source, one Creative Energy. Whether I’m writing about murder or mystery, seeking or revelation, that energy doesn’t judge the form. It just flows. And if I stay true to that current—allowing it to flow without forcing it into boxes—I can write whatever wants to come through. The genres may differ, but the spark is the same.
This week I finished reading—and re-reading, and re-reading—the first draft of book two in my Detective Nick Bradner series, along with all of my notes and increasingly detailed outlines, spread across two notebooks and one long Word doc.
The deeper I dove in, the more connected I felt—to the story, to the characters, and to the creative source flowing within me. As I read and studied my own work, I was also listening—closely. Part of that listening was about discernment—figuring out how to gather all of these creative tentacles and shape them into a more cohesive plot, along with a clear plan for tackling the second draft.
I’m a plotter. I work best from outlines. That’s where I can scratch out a scene or chapter, map out actions and reactions, and trace the arcs of both character and story before drafting a single word. Honestly, I’m still not sure there’s an easy way to pull together this new outline, complete with fresh details and plot twists. It’s going to take more time.
But at least I have a plan to get there: more research on all manner of things, fleshing out new characters, nailing down subplots, and getting clear on the themes that have surfaced—some planned, some emerging all on their own. I’ll likely be reordering chapters and action to meet the key elements of storytelling like the hook, the inciting incident, major plot points, and the climax. Or in my writing, two climaxes—because the first one doesn’t quite finish the job.
It’s important to remember that this part—the digging into what’s behind the story, adding color and texture, the craft of writing fiction—is just as vital to the process. It’s “discernment in action” and part of birthing something meaningful from my soul.
Coincidental Birthdays?
While reading my draft this week, I realized that April 14th marked my main character Nick Bradner’s birthday. It’s also my mother’s birthday—something I intentionally chose. She would have turned 100 this year, had she lived past 95. Still, the centennial marker feels significant when I imagine life in 1925 in her midwestern Oklahoma. Though not the same, Nick’s family—and their story—stretches back over one hundred years, blazing an historic trail as they connected the trains from the Midwest to Seattle.
My mother, one of my brothers, and I share a fascination with trains, so the personal thread weaving through the creative story is also no accident. The famous writing tip, “write what you know,” is often where I start—though I don’t fully subscribe to this advice. Because curiosity about the unknown will carry the day…every time.
As I pull together this second draft of Murder in Capitol Hill, I’m also querying literary agents for Murder in Uptown. I’ve been steadily doing this each week since the beginning of the year. It’s a time-consuming process—researching each prospective agent, and pulling together all the materials they ask for. And every agent requests something different.
So far, I’ve received one request for a full manuscript, the rest have been rejections—some with a personal touch. It’s all good, and necessary. I believe the right worthy agent is out there—how they come about remains unseen.
But all this effort, looking to strangers to give me a stamp of literary approval, has led me to consider establishing my own publishing imprint, rather than continuing down the coveted road of traditional publishing. It would be even more work—a dramatic understatement—but I have some experience in this arena, having operated a bookstore and worked with many publishers.
There wouldn’t be a lack of offerings from my own house, let alone the satisfaction of becoming an avenue for others in the publication of their creations. Not only do I have a finished manuscript for Murder in Uptown, I also have a couple of independently published books I’d like to refresh and reissue. Updated covers, graphics, and modernized language would breathe new life into them.
One of these books is a collection of meditations that sold well at my bookstore and beyond. I also have a spiritual memoir that was almost published traditionally—twice—before the 2008 financial crash created consternation on the part of the publisher. In the end, they decided not to take on new titles.
Countless other books, events, and projects swirl in my mind, all waiting to come into being. The point is: I’m listening, discerning, and responding to the creative nudges.
Time will tell. But it won’t be too long before it runs out—in this lifetime, anyway—so I’d better make some decisions soon. LOL
Treat Yourself to a Sound Bath
I attended my first sound bath at Seattle Sound Temple, a secluded studio in Fremont where jewel-toned walls met high trellis beams. A cascade of crystal bowls—in as many soft colors as you can imagine—cascaded down from one wall onto the floor, creating a pool of potential, with a space in the center for Karen, our host and practitioner.
As soon as I walked in, she greeted me with warmth and authority, asking if I’d like to be saged with rose water before entering the sanctuary. Yes, please, I said. She then handed me a blank card and pen, inviting me to write down my intention for the evening—a personal thought, kept private.
As the other eleven attendees received their saging, I became mesmerized by the bowls—all shapes, colors, and sizes. Candles were already nestled among them, flickering and reflecting their light. Mysterious large gongs and other instruments hovered above the bowls, as did symbols of spiritual understanding. Ganesha, a Hindu god known as the remover of obstacles, was a favorite presence in and around the studio—a subtle hint that it’s okay to release whatever is blocking the soul’s complete fulfillment.
My well-padded mat included a pillow at what I considered to be the foot. Placing one’s head there allows for the crown chakra to be fully exposed to the sound. Not one, but two woven blankets were provided as well as an eye covering for complete immersion into myself.
For more than an hour, I was treated to the most soothing, thoughtful, soulful, rejuvenating bath of sound. Tones that stretched into infinity, along with light pings, pangs, and pongs, were all part of the experience.
When the bath was over, the sun had set, and the candles especially illuminated the space, the bowls, and Karen—dressed in white—at the center, like some otherworldly ritual.
And like my edict for Many Paths Bookstore back in the day, intended to be a destination experience for the seeker, Seattle Sound Temple fully understood how essential it is to create an experience for their clients—not one that tells you what to do or feel, but one spacious enough to allow you to have the experience you need.
To have your own response.
And the experience I received on a beautiful Tuesday evening was wrapped in complete joy. It gave me a felt sense of connection—one that got me thinking about this energy that’s available to all of us. After the sound bath, I found myself thinking bigger, imagining more, and poking the sleeping bear, which prompted me to ask:
What if?
What if writing—whether detective fiction or spiritual essays—is only the tip of the iceberg? What if re(fire)ment (as I call retirement) is really an inferno of new possibilities? What if there’s an unchartered path waiting just beyond the next brave step?
Maybe the Easter Bunny does sprinkle pastel gifts of surprise for us to discover, after all.
These reflections—whether sparked by a sound bath or summoned through the creative process—remind me how vital it is to tune into the deeper wisdom within. It’s always available to anyone willing to listen, and that’s the key.
The mantra is simple, yet everything: Listen. Discern. Respond.
Creative Spirit wants to create. So open the channel. Let it through.
À bientôt.
Final thoughts…
As I continue to explore the world of publishing, I’m reaching out to my community for support and connections. If you know someone who might be open to a conversation about the business of publishing, I’d love to hear from you. You can respond here on Substack, or connect via LinkedIn, Bluesky, or Facebook. Thank you so much!
This week, I’m looking forward to:
Joining a conversation group on Pam Grout’s E-squared (mentioned in previous post)
Returning to Seattle Sound Temple to pick up a Sansula—and learning more about how to play the bowls
Interviewing web designers for my new website (preview below)
