What helps me write while I am living a writers life:

Curiosity helps. Wanting to notice, to observe, to question is like an intention for the day. It’s saying, I’m going to gather what I can from whatever I find growing today.

Stillness helps. Feeling still is the surest way to recover from anxiety about not writing enough, writing that sucks, writing you’re sure is brilliant but will never be published. Stillness is a ritual. To still the body and to rest while still is like laying on your back next to your bestie and staring into the big sky. You can’t help but feel all is okay. Such relaxation allows you to notice the strong evidence- in this moment, you are okay.

Love helps. A heart-felt, open-hearted way of living life helps me write. I no longer flinch at the bad actors I’m writing about. I am not afraid of them. I see them as opportunities for me to explore shadowy ways of living. All experiences are valid. I want to feel all of this shadowy horror through story. Humans, my ancestors, have lived through horror. Their ways of knowing are unknown by me, but I know the scale of human experiences includes war, murder, rape, violence, love, sacrifice, honour, respect. I am not punishing myself. I am not attempting to gain anyone’s favour. I’m doing what I think love does. Through the experience of love we come to know what it is and what it isn’t and how our species is affected by love’s discipline, by reciprocal relationships, by respect, by holding space for the sacred. To tell the story of love is to infuse love into the current of our existence. Currents: Water. Wind. Energy.

Although I rarely allow them anymore, deadlines for producing a specific piece of writing for a specific audience help build momentum for writing. I only allow them as a last resort– a final part of the writing process . I experience life. I notice things. I write pieces of text. I dream. I write pieces of text. One day I notice what I’ve been writing. I see a thread from one idea to the next. I sit down to write- new blank page- and the words fall into sentences and arrange into paragraphs.

Singing helps. I don’t sing while writing. I sing while walking or doing dishes or paddling the canoe. Hearing myself sing helps me get used to the sound of my voice. When I read work aloud, I hear the rhythm when it flows and when it’s stopped.

Experiencing Life. I try to be present to the experience I am in. Deep noticing and observing while in participation with life helps to build momentum towards reflection. Reflection is more about making connections between ideas and experiences and less about trying to remember, specifically, what happened. “Making Connections” is a key element of Maxine Greene’s pedagogical philosophy, Aesthetic Education. I see making connections as a process of noticing the emergence of something, not creating towards a pre-determined outcome.

A note on form: I have noticed the six points I’ve made above all have an impact on the forms my writing takes. I often “braid” or “weave” seemingly disconnected ideas together. Sometimes I write a flow of consciousness. Sometimes I want my writing to sound like a symphony. Deadlines can bring unity and cohesion to my work. I stress at transitions in the final stages of my writing. Is sense-making possible?

Note about photo: Taken from The Cabin at Cabin Falls. A place of wonder. A place of peace. A place of transformation.