My name is Emma Tamplin and I am a student at Belmont University, studying Sociology and English Literature. I am in the process of pursuing various goals in creative writing, documentary photography, and (most prominently as of late) applying to graduate school. I hope to earn a PhD in Sociology to explore my life-long interest in culture, religion, thought, and literature.
This is where I share some of my writing and photographic work. I have experience in Editorial, creative, & sociological writing; portrait, journalistic, & lifestyle photography. Please visit my contently page for my published works.
I got to spend the past couple of weeks with the Poes waiting for baby Ellis to arrive (who, by the way was 13 days late). Waiting took its toll and impatience became a real live & burning thing. But oh how worth the wait she was. I Love the Poes and am so grateful that they gave me the opportunity to witness and document the birth of their first daughter. I mark it as one of the better and more important things I have done.
Be expecting a collaborative video within the next few weeks.
Short grasps of a hope so bright we see ourselves in the mirage.
Dreams so lucid they follow and linger along with the sun as it rises and sets.
still, even having met an awe-provoking glory, we wear shoes and cut our hair.
We build homes and use their air conditioners and call handy men to fix those air conditioners when they stop working.
We ask favors of people around us, and we laugh at their jokes. We know of a comfortable demeanor of which all will take part- Accepted graces inside walls built by fear.
Then we pray and worship and know to have deeper words in our back pocket so that the forces of normalcy don’t keep us down and damned with the other normals.
These new words are true more often than they are not, and they come from the places the faces if reality take us to. They are words of testimony & love & faith and of balance & discovery & wisdom. These words come to us in waves of impractical thought and lonely realizations of all the missing pieces. We write them down in the hopes that one day our back pockets will hold the exact pieces that help us to understand why we lose things that can’t be replaced. Words that give us breath after a lifetime of running out of oxygen. In the hope that one day the words will sweep us away from normalcy. Away from our air conditioners, and into a greatness we now only recognize as a puzzle missing so many pieces. So that the words in our back pockets may invite the Lord to swing below and take us away.
I’m putting these very words in my back pocket, as I write them in my air-conditioned home. Although, I don’t know how they are going to fit. I have tried the fabric’s flexibility with my analytical fear of not knowing what is ahead and the stitches are beginning to rip.