Asheville Strong: Riding the Waves of Change Through Art and Writing

ASHEVILLE STRONG

Riding the Waves of Change Through Art and Writing

Hello Readers and Creatives,

I hope you’re all writing, painting, and getting outside in this beautiful fall. It’s been a while since I last posted on the blog, and I have two main reasons why:

First, I’m knee-deep in writing and revising a spooky middle-grade book. It’s going great! So much fun to write that I get completely caught up in it—and, well, ignore everything else, like laundry and that stack of half-read books.

Second, Hurricane Helene devastated our town over a month ago, and we’re dealing with a painfully slow recovery here in Asheville. Our fence and heating/cooling system were damaged, and just yesterday, our insurance company finally came out to inspect. 

The aftermath of Helene has left a wake of emotions I’m still figuring out. The devastation has been so hard to process—abrupt changes in landscape, in lives, in routines. I find myself saddened by the loss, the confusion, the sheer weight of it all. I’m also surprised to feel a bit of shame for not being as strong as I thought I’d be during all of this. Usually, I can pick myself up and keep going. But this time was different; I’m still finding my balance.

The forced pause from “normal life” has been overwhelming and has made me lean into my art and writing in ways I hadn’t before. Art has become an anchor. Each brushstroke and pencil line seems to carry a piece of the shock, the sadness, and allows me to release these emotions that feel so tangled up. When I draw, paint, or write, I’m not just creating images or crafting words—I’m processing, integrating, making sense of this new inner landscape.

Writing especially seems to move those stagnant energies, helping me explore the complex layers of my own thoughts and emotions. It feels a lot like what Helene did to the landscape here: threw it all around, stirred up things long buried, laid everything bare. The landscape is raw, and maybe I’m a reflection of that process—stripped down, seeing parts of myself in the light that maybe I’d kept in the dark.

Admitting fear isn’t easy. I’ve always been the brave one, the “elephant handler, lifeguard, firefighter, prison psychology teacher”—at least, in one season or another of my life. But now? Right now, I’m just me. Scared, sad, and still finding my way.

Being an introvert means I don’t have a large circle of friends, but I do have ART! And honestly, art is just what I need. Each piece I create, each brushstroke, and each line I write is a small step toward healing and grounding myself amid the strange aftermath of Helene.

So, here’s to sharing this journey with you all—of not just recovery, but also finding deeper self-understanding and connection to the world. Here’s to learning vulnerability without shame, to finding our own ways through, whether by art, by writing, or by whatever brings us back to our balance points. If you’re feeling rattled too, know you’re not alone. And hey, maybe together, we can even find a little light in all this mess.

Write~on,

Angie

As always, if you'd like to be interviewed, contact me.