Fall has arrived on the Northern California coast. The mornings are damp from the overnight fog, the wild blackberries are ripening on the brambles, and large flocks of migrating shorebirds are passing through, feasting in the mudflats one day and gone the next.
This is my favorite time of the year, when it’s cool enough to wear long sleeves, but not cold enough for a jacket. I love the moody skies reflected in the marsh, the pops of reds and oranges in the trees along LK Wood Boulevard, and the honking Canada Geese flying overhead on their way to warmer weather.
Fall is also a time for harvesting, for celebrating the bounty of all that we’ve planted, and for remembering what really matters. So often we rush through everything, so focused on “done and next” that we don’t pause to celebrate, to honor, to step back and really recognize all of the big and small things we’ve experienced along the way. We don’t applaud our hard work, revel in the surprises that appeared, or tender ourselves for the things that didn’t work out.
Taking the time to reflect is an opportunity to say, “WOW!!! Look what I did!” and, “I learned so much from that experience.” It’s a chance to see how far we’ve come, to feel proud, joyful, confident, to remember who we are and how we contribute to our world.
Meanwhile, my six month writing workshop, The Art of Storytelling From the Page to the Stage with Nina Wise, began this week. Our Zoom class is small, six women and one man, most of us have worked with Nina before. After introductions, Nina read a few excerpts from published writers about why they write. And then we did a twenty minute free writing exercise with the prompt Why Do You Write?
Free writing isn’t about spelling or grammar or even making sense. It’s about being curious, following an idea to see where it goes. And if you get stuck you just start again with the initial prompt. Often, the best ideas come after you’ve written for a while and cleared out the obvious responses, and you don’t think you have anything more to say.
As Nina was explaining the process of free writing, I was thinking of all of the reasons why I write, and something caught in my throat. I started to cry. I felt like I was about to open a big new door, and I was surprised, not because I felt the vulnerability, but because we hadn’t even started writing yet.
I wiped my eyes and, instead of diving right into the emotions that were coming up, I started listing the obvious reasons, “I write because it helps me make sense of things. I write to share my stories. I write because I’m good at it.” But the tears came again when I wrote, “I write to be seen and heard. To know that my voice matters.” I’d never articulated this before, but it felt so deeply true. I sat with the tears and kept writing.
“I write to go deep, to know more, to ask more questions. I write to go in so that I can bring it out. I have something to say. I have a clear strong voice. I matter.”
I put my pen down and just breathed for a minute. I dried my eyes and started again.
“Writing is my best gift. And I’m ready to work more on the craft, learn what I don’t know. I write because I love choosing the perfect word, finding the rhythm of a sentence, and rearranging paragraphs to make the most sense. I love the editing process as much as the writing, fine tuning, making things clearer, more detailed.”
And then I was done. I had nothing else to say. But we still had FIVE MORE MINUTES.
I turned to a clean page in my notebook and started again. “I write because my first grade teacher, Mrs. Phillips, said I had good handwriting.” I loved this detail. “I love the feel of my pen gliding across wide lined paper, and how wonderful it feels when I am in the flow of it all.”
“I write because parts of my story are your story-even if the characters and details are different, the themes are the same. I can articulate what others feel but maybe have no words for. I write because it’s fun. I write as a release.”
One of the reasons for the exercise, besides getting in touch with why you do this thing you love, is so that, when the voices appear that doubt your abilities, or your work, your subconscious can let it go because you are so clear about why are doing it.
After class, I kept thinking about Mrs. Phillips, and how writing is my way to be seen and heard. It has brought up all kinds of memories from when I was six and seven, before and after my brother, Lenny’s death. I thought I had told all of the stories, but now I am sensing there are more.
But, after that first class, I avoided sitting down to write. I just wasn’t ready to do a deep dive. But then, on Tuesday, I had a talk with myself about creating a writing practice. To just show up and not put big expectations on myself about what to write.
So I invited myself to do a twenty minute free writing. I pulled two random post its from my wall for a prompt. It really didn’t matter what the prompt was—I just started writing. Nothing profound or even interesting, really, but I wrote. And when the twenty minutes were up, I could feel the tension was gone. And I decided that this would be the beginning of a daily practice.
To make more space for this new writing practice, I’ll be sending out the Heart Sparks once a month for a while. If you want to connect in between, please do!
From my curious writer’s heart to yours,
AND, I invite you to get curious about why you do what you love to do. Find a quiet spot where you won’t be interrupted and grab your writing materials—pen and paper, computer, whatever. Set a timer for 20 minutes and, at the top of the page, write, WHY DO I ________? and fill in the blank with the thing that you love to do. And just start writing. I _____ because…..
If you get stuck, simply start again with that opening sentence. See what happens. Allow yourself to be uncensored. If something causes you to tighten up in your body or you feel like crying, just breathe and stay curious, with no judgment. After the 20 minutes, go back and read what you wrote and see what interests you, surprises you, sparks more curiosity. I’d love to hear what you discover!
