Author Archives: Jaclynn Loibl

I send my mind on a sabbatical, open its bank, and browse the files. I pick up this one every few months—it’s of a night in northern Washington where I lay back on a plastic-strapped lawn chair, one of those I now see in ‘90s retro meme posts, and snuggled up with a blanket. I’veContinue reading “A Memory Made Sky”

In my back pocket, I have a ripcord—a one-way pass to dialing it in. To slack, to slap hands and say, “Bruh,” before dropping my loose-noodle body down and grabbing a sweating glass of something cold. Permission to not. Who am I to not give it? And to take it. I am taking it tonight,Continue reading “Except This”

I’m seated on the couch, pace the kitchen, take cups of water to Evelyn and her friend at the swingset, and grind beans for coffee. There’s a power-line static in my chest and mind; its adrenaline is a sit, stand, sit, walk, and sit again rhythm. I’m a hamster whose owners just landed in REM.Continue reading “All Out, All the Time”

Taking it easy on the page—like coasting in the final thirty feet of a roller coaster track—when writing is no longer a behavior I want. To reach higher, to push myself, I need to turn the shock device up a notch, to deliberately produce spasms and twitches that zap away the comfort that was. ToContinue reading “The Pleaser’s Rebellion: Writing with Vigor”

From my front porch coffee spot, I can hear more than see the construction workers’ antics over at Keith’s. A scream resembling Tarzan’s call when mobilizing from vine to vine—or a midair utterance after a panicky cliff dive—echoes through the trees. The yowl is loud, jagged, slicing through our shared country road and past theContinue reading “The Web of Belongingness”

Is that the same lady with a baby caught on camera at the Mariners’ game last night? I ask myself this about the woman in the lower row — she’s in the shot when left-handed batters are up swinging, just behind our team’s dugout. In her arms, she’s rocking, a blanket draped over the baby.Continue reading “A Mediocre Life”

“Why do you have to write?” Evelyn asks, trying to understand what punishment might befall me if I don’t. For her, “have to” means minus ones or twos—strikes against her 30-minute morning TV time. Internal motivation, commitment to self, and discipline aren’t yet in her psychological vocabulary. I’m reading Love in the Time of Cholera.Continue reading “Finding the Sweet Spot”

I dug up a four-inch high sassafras plant from the edge of our yard. Anyone with the app Seek can basically be a botanist, entomologist, and plant detective all in one. It’s handy! I’ve identified at least a hundred plants and bugs during my wanderings around the yard and on hikes. One maple-looking sapling turnedContinue reading “Our Eight-Legged Roomie”

I’m reaching a deeper sense of peace. It’s like slipping farther beneath the surface of water—colder, darker, a chill wrapping around you. There’s a thrill to it, but it’s also unsettling. Unsettling because I start judging myself for having the experience at all: You’re faking it. You’re putting on a show. And just like that,Continue reading “Concrete Calm”