Norway 5: Stavanger + Lisa Oliver Success Vid + Latonia Nelson: Poetry Heals

Norway was the perfect place to regain my bruised self-esteem from two (wince, and some months) years of querying literary agents and publishers about the first of the three books I’ve written (read more about my novels here). That interlude of fun and adventure gifted me the space to kindle enthusiasm for the wild terrain of self-publishing. As I continue to learn the ropes, so far the best I can say is that there are endless ways to do it, and none offer guarantees. Male to male paranormal romance writer Lisa Oliver’s candid videos are a lifeline—her willingness to chart her own course is exactly the kind of encouragement I need. I posted one of her videos in an earlier post. In this one, which I love so much that I’ve watched it more than once, she urges writers to go define success in bold new ways. By the way, IMHO she’s totally insta-fame-gorgeous!…

Stavanger was like the rest of Norway — nonstop gorgeous.

(Note: all posts about our visit to Norway are here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here.)

As if it wasn’t enough for it to be filled with lush landscapes, fjords, and creative street art, did I already mention that their tap water is pure and tastes like it’s from a Shangri-La spring? The air is fresh and each extra long day of our springtime visit included a panorama of all four seasons. The trick was to stuff a light silk scarf into my pocket, dress in layers, and always carry an umbrella in a daypack that also stored clothing I donned and peeled off as the temps dictated.

The view from where we stayed was typical with boats and water, this lovely sunset around 11pm… 

We arrived on the rainy half of a late Sunday. There were lots of international restaurants. Businesses were mostly closed, including this area that bordered the historic section of town, as you can see by the wooden slats on the buildings…

Like Oslo and Kristiansand, Stavanger boasts an impressive share of street art…

Now onto today’s guest blog post by poet/artist/blogger Latonia Nelson. A proud mother of four, a devoted nurse, and the voice behind Treasurable Life, her blog is dedicated to mental health awareness and healing. As a survivor and storyteller, she writes to give voice to trauma, resilience, and the power of reclaiming one’s truth.

Just as Norway helped me reclaim my creative spark, Latonia’s writing reminds me how storytelling can heal the deepest wounds. I’ve posted before here and here and here about the family-inflicted traumas I’ve dealt with. In my case, blogging has been a life saver and so has letting my family of friends know. As for blood relatives, not so much. Unfortunately, from what I hear, this is often the case. People will fight tooth and nail to keep their idealized fantasies and their precious status quos intact.

Now for a sampling of Latonia’s work…

When the Pages Burn, the Truth Speaks by Latonia Nelson

Something is haunting about standing in the fire. Not around it. Not near it. In it.
Flames licking at the words you thought would save you, embers dancing like forgotten prayers rising to a ceiling of dark sky. The air smells like endings, but also like the beginning of something no one can put back in chains.

I stand here, mic in one hand, a burning book in the other.
The book? That’s the script they tried to write for me. The “be quiet” story. The “stay small” version. The “don’t upset them” chapters. Every lie they told me about who I am, every limit they placed on my voice, every warning whispered to make me second-guess my fire, it’s all in these pages. And I’m watching it turn to ash.

The raven by my side isn’t here for decoration. It’s here as a witness. Because some truths are too sharp to go unrecorded. This bird has seen the nights I bled for my survival, the mornings I rose anyway. It’s heard my voice crack into silence and then come back stronger. It knows that I didn’t just find my voice, I forged it in the dark, under the weight of the things no one wanted to hear.

And tonight, I’m not reading from their script. I’m speaking from the ashes.

If you feel like you’ve been living in someone else’s story, hear me:
You are allowed to set it on fire.
You are allowed to tear out the pages that keep you caged. You are allowed to speak even if your voice shakes, even if the world would rather you stay silent.

Because the truth is, the moment you stop playing the role they cast you in, you stop being a character and you become the author.

And baby, nothing burns brighter than a woman who knows her own words.

Ashes Don’t Lie by Latonia Nelson

They told me to whisper,
but the fire in me roared.
They told me to follow,
but I became the sword.

They fed me their stories,
but my soul wouldn’t comply.
So I lit the match,
and learned ashes don’t lie.

  Until next time, friends, this is Treasurable Life.

Also, can I have the link to the blog where you are posting my blogs?   

Unpacking the Pain, Honoring the Journey: A Story of Survival and Soul by Latonia Nelson

She didn’t come to be cute.
She came to be cleansing.

Look at her.

One hand gripping the mic, the other holding a book on fire, not burning in chaos, but burning with clarity. The smoke doesn’t choke her. The feathers don’t distract her. The flames don’t scare her. They testified to her.

This woman is what happens when the world tries to bury you, but instead, you bloom through the smoke.

This Is What Power Looks Like

It’s not loud for the sake of volume.
It’s not quiet to be polite.
It’s the kind of power that burns lies to ash while still speaking in love.

Because here’s the truth, too many of us have been raised to believe that our fire is too much.

Too passionate.
Too opinionated.
Too emotional.
Too loud.
Too real.

But baby, when you’ve lived through what some of us have lived through, silence is the real sin. What you don’t say can kill your spirit faster than any weapon.

The Black Feather, The Raven, and the Flame

The crow at the altar knows.
The black feathers know.
Your ancestors know.

They know you didn’t just arrive here bold; you had to survive being buried, dismissed, betrayed, and doubted. And now that you’ve risen? You don’t owe anyone a softer version of your truth.

You are not a whisper.
You are a wild gospel.

This Isn’t Rebellion, It’s Restoration

This is what it looks like when a woman chooses to stop pretending.
This is what it looks like when you reclaim your narrative.
When you say, “I will no longer shrink to fit their comfort.”

You don’t just speak, you prophesy.
You don’t just create, you consecrate

To every woman holding her mic with shaking hands, wondering if her story matters…

To every soul who’s been told to sit down and stay small…

To every voice that’s been muted out of fear…

Let them hear you. Let them see the flame. Let them watch you rise.

Because this is She Is Fire
where I bring it raw, stay aware, and always deliver the truth.

And if my voice shakes the room, so be it.
Sometimes the truth needs to come wrapped in flames.

— She Is Fire

Have you found healing through art, writing, or travel? I’d love to hear your story.