I have a writing ritual where I reflect with every full moon, not just on the nature around me, but on the wild, untamed stories we carry in ourselves. These posts are moments to pause, to reflect, and to honor the raw vitality of both the world outside and the worlds we create: in art, in story, in the brave act of baring ourselves to the light. They’re about the power of nature, humming in the flow of the river and the roots of plants, but also the power of our bodies, our voices, and our courage to be seen.
I spotted the full moon on the ride home from a burlesque show, just as it was climbing up over the river. It caught me by surprise, big and bold, hanging there like a lantern over the water. Ah, time to write the next full moon post.
Then it hit me: April’s moon is the Pink Moon.
And I laughed out loud in the car, because honestly, I had just spent the whole evening admiring pink moons on stage. Pink moons shimmering under the lights, unapologetic and joyful in their full, round glory.
The show was Booklover’s Burlesque, a clever, gorgeous blend of literature and performance. Some performers read passages from literature and poems, then others literally peel back the layers through costumes, choreography, character. Every detail is inspired by the text. Booklover’s Burlesque matches stories to striptease in the most playful, empowering way. Genres shift from gothic to sci-fi, fairy tales to classics, but the mission stays the same: celebrate words, bodies, and the freedom to express both.
This time, the show centered on Banned Books. We heard from The Color Purple and Alice in Wonderland. Then, as the words settled into the air, the performers took the stage, embodying the stories through dance, tease, and sheer joy. I watched as characters leapt off the page, shedding their layers with humor and heat, until all that remained was bare skin and bold spirit.
It struck me, sitting there, how close this is to what I try to do in my own work. Painting Celia, and my yet-to-be-officially-titled second book, are about laying it bare. Vulnerability. Desire. Creation without shame. My characters wrestle with when to cover up and when to reveal themselves, sometimes quite literally. Watching the dancers was witnessing the same bravery I try to write into every page.
The pink moon feels like the perfect emblem for it all: bold, blushing, impossible to ignore. A full moon, yes, and a full cheek, too. There’s a primal defiance in celebrating what others might try to censor, whether that’s a body in motion or a story that tells the truth.
So here’s my invitation, under this full moon: Read the banned books. Support the voices someone, somewhere, is working hard to silence. And while you’re at it, maybe let yourself show a little more cheek, literal or otherwise.
