“Womenisms” is a word I invented (part feminism, part witticism, part orgasm?) for a woman who would have loved it: my muse, Byrne Miller.

She was a modern dance pioneer, a free spirit, a fierce but unconventional romantic and a risk-taker. I was lucky enough to meet her when I was in my twenties, stuck in an abusive relationship, searching for my independence in a strange place called the Deep South. She was an ex-pat from Manhattan, in her 80s, fighting to hang on to her independence. She loved to laugh, she loved to dance and she loved an audience.

Not a day goes by that I don’t remember a saying of Byrne’s or wish that I could tell her one I’ve heard from another woman. So think of this blog as an invitation to get to know her sense of humor, her take on love and life.

I’m writing from an antique teak desk in a room that overlooks the Beaufort River. It was once her bedroom, where she shared secrets and advice. Not just with me, but with dozens of women she called her adopted daughters. It’s all in a memoir that I’m writing about my time with her. I have no idea what title will settle as the right one, so for now I’m calling it the Byrne Miller Project.

Feel free to dance out loud.