A Living Book on Michigan Avenue

November 21, 2025

What can one say about a museum experience that doesn't merely present history but invites you into it, one that engages the visitor through creative, physical interaction; that ignites every sense; that carries the imagination forward long after the moment; that gives texture and dimension to the lives of writers past and present; and that profoundly reminds us that we ourselves are story?

The American Writers Museum, behind the rotating door on the second floor of The Art Deco Building on Chicago's Michigan Avenue, serves as a threshold to a larger vision. In this participatory museum, literature becomes tactile. Imagine adjusting a display, selecting a scent that evokes a story, or even choosing a color that represents a theme. The lineage of American writing unfolds through color, sound, scent, movement, and memory, inviting you to contribute to its narrative. Within this space, they present a remarkable temporary exhibit: American Prophets: Writing, Religion & Culture.

I had the honor of representing Rachel Pollack and her award-winning, genre-spanning work. Beside her artifacts — her Persephone statue,the candlesticks where each Friday she would ignite Shabbat prayers, handwritten fragments, and photographs — I felt the resonance of her devotion to myth, magic, and story. Her fierce spiritual imagination shaped everything she touched.

At the exhibit's opening soiree, the gentle clink of glasses and occasional clack and tap from a vintage typewriter underscored the buzz of lively conversation. I overheard a snippet from a nearby group discussing the fabric of storytelling. Someone exclaimed, 'There is no life without story.' It was a delight meeting the other honored authors and representatives. Kudos to the excellent AWM team for creating a space where even reclusive, introverted writers could comfortably mingle with the museum's founders, board members, trustees, supporters, and each other.

Where else would you find, gathered around Jack Kevorkian's typewriter, a biographer from the Pacific Northwest, Black cultural playwrights, a Pixar animator, a promising young videographer, a music legend, a Cherokee language steward and author, and a passionate bookseller with over thirty years dedicated to the trade?

Only two places come to mind: a museum dedicated to the written word...and, of course, a book.

Sit down at your keyboard. Pick up your pen. Add your voice to the lineage.    

Make magic.

Inkvolution

 

Inkvolution

The first inks were born of fire and earth. Long before bottled pigment and sleek cartridges, people made do with what they had. They mixed soot, charcoal, ash, minerals, plants, and even the residue of flame itself. The earliest carbon pigment ink is distinguished by its deep black color and faint sheen. The ancient Egyptians and Chinese were already producing it by 2500 BCE, blending fine soot, or lampblack, with a water-soluble binder such as animal glue or gum arabic from the acacia tree. The result was a rich black that clung to papyrus and silk. It was a voice made visible.

Later came iron gall ink, the long-reigning monarch of European writing from the Middle Ages through the nineteenth century. This formula relied on quiet chemistry: tannic acid from oak galls mixed with ferrous sulfate. When the two met, they produced a deep blue-black that gradually turned into a warm, rusty brown. Gum arabic again served as the binder, keeping the pigment in suspension and helping it stick to the page. The ink was durable and nearly indelible. This durability is why so many of our oldest manuscripts still survive.

Across the world, other cultures turned to the resources of their own landscapes. Sepia ink from cephalopods provided early writers with a dark, blue-black hue and a subtle shimmer. Celtic and Pict warriors crushed woad leaves to create a vivid blue pigment for body paint. American colonists simmered black walnuts with vinegar and gum arabic to produce a deep, earthy ink. The Maya mixed indigo with a special clay to create Maya Blue, a color so stable it still resists fading after centuries. Mineral pigments, such as red ochre and malachite, produced vibrant reds and greens. This proves that creativity has always been bound to the land itself.

Recently, I decided to make my own batch of oak gall ink by following the same steps ancient scribes practiced. Crushing the galls, steeping them, and watching the liquid grow dark felt like more than a craft project. It was like an ancient memory returning through my hands. As I stirred, a recognition rose within me. I became aware that something deep and old was awakening, as if generations of makers stood beside me, guiding the process.

In Tarot, Wands are the suit of fire. They symbolize creation, inspiration, and the first spark of an idea. Pentacles, by contrast, belong to the element of earth and represent craft, labor, and the tangible work of bringing a vision into form. The first inks, born of flame and soil, exist in that intersection. Fire transforms wood into charcoal and soot. Earth provides minerals, resins, galls, and clay that make the substance whole. Together, they show the eternal dialogue between inspiration and manifestation.

Each time I work with ink, I feel that meeting of forces. The stroke of a pen becomes a meditation on balance. It is a moment between the invisible spark of imagination and the physical mark it leaves behind. To write, to draw, to create something lasting—these acts honor both the flame and the ground that sustains it.

It is humbling to realize that these same ingredients—drawn from tree, mineral, and fire—have carried human thought across millennia. Each time I dip a pen into that dark, living ink, I sense a thread extending through time. It connects me to everyone who has ever tried to keep an idea from vanishing into the air.

Creativity & Gratitude

 

My creative world has been full lately, in the best possible way. I’ve returned to exchanging pen pal letters, finding something deeply grounding in the slower rhythm of handwriting and the quiet joy of connection through paper and ink. Between letters, I sketch, often sparked by biopics that linger with me long after the credits roll—each activity feeding into the next.

Research and writing shape my days as I juggle several projects. These efforts have connected me with remarkable artists and authors in many genres. Our conversations reveal how vibrant and generous the creative community is. Soon, I'll travel to Chicago to meet some of these people in person and finally share some real, unhurried time together—an experience I eagerly anticipate.

Away from the page, life keeps its own steady rhythm. Piper’s walks and playdates bring bursts of joy, while Lulu’s long cuddle sessions remind me how much comfort there is in stillness. Both rescues continue to blossom in their own ways; witnessing their growing trust and confidence gently balances the energy of my creative pursuits.

All these moments create a season defined by gratitude, expressed through creativity and connection for what is and what will be.