Members gain access to my private library of writing worksheets and fun extras.
I also often share discounts on small-group workshops and self-paced courses. New material is continually added, so be sure to check back.
You won't miss a thing if you sign up for my newsletter!
Whenever I think of an Adytum, I picture the Pythia at Delphi, steam rising from the floor and under which the fires of the Sibyl burn. The veiled Sibyl sits perched upon a stone as stories of the past, present, and future unfold before her. They travel through her, into our hearts.
The work in that sacred space proved secret, with only the end product of the oracular tale released for all to consider and, in the end, act upon. Imagine the predictions uttered from the Pythia that never left the Adytum. Some proved incomplete. Some, a provocation to war. Others yet, simple tales to be kept close and never told again after the utterance of the Sibyl breathed into them the necessary life. Sometimes, everyone would hear the story of what rose up because it called to our humanity.
Whew, that’s pretty theatrical. But probably not too far off.
The ancient Greeks used to call the innermost sanctum where only Sibyls and their priestesses were allowed The Adytum. In a literary context, we’re cracking open the Adytum of the heart, as Charlotte Brontë put it in her masterpiece, Villette. This is an innermost sanctuary where writers can gather to unpack the craft of storytelling, to let stories find us, and let ourselves become part of a story's lineage by the act of learning to tell it.
It is all about discovering the magic of storytelling. The zagavory — word magic — from Slavic lore.
Storytelling is an act of bravery. Let’s enter the depths of our brave hearts together.