SHAKE YOUR SNOW GLOBE: GETTING–AND STAYING–INSPIRED IN THE NEW YEAR

With a lift, a flip, and a shake, a silence ends. The magical fluff leaves its placid floor and floats to the top of the globe. A flip back and suddenly the globe is animated. Glitter sparkles in a riot of flurries, vibrant and alive. Snow heaves up from the floor, an uprising, a stirring. Something meaningful has happened, something wonder-filled. 

Each flutter a morsel, a magnet drawing the eye. Then it falls, it settles, once again resting at Santa’s feet. And yet something delightful is stuck to Santa’s sleeve. A kernel of something resides on his shoulder. 

That’s what inspiration feels like to me. A shaken snow globe. When new learning tickles my brain, puts a buzz in my belly, I feel turned upside-down. I feel shook up–every snowflake an idea, an insight, a perspective. I become aware that I may have been, in many ways, sedentary, silent, and still for too long, and now I am newly alert, present, agitated. 

A new year can do this for us, can shake us up, cause us to pause. We reflect on what we accomplished in the past year. We dream about possibilities in the year ahead. We feel excited; the new year feels full of promise. 

The question becomes, how does one hold onto the fresh feeling of a new year?

I’m sharing all that inspires me. Further, I’ve reached out to several people via a social media poll and have annotated some fresh perspectives. Read on to discover strategies to keep that glittery, buzzing, humming feeling year round.

Identify Your Snow Globe: What Shakes You Up?

A Change In Environment

I live in the ‘burbs. It’s a nice life; I cannot complain. But it is anesthetizing so I spend time in both rural and city spaces. The location of our suburb has been rather genius in that we can get to three very different cities quickly. 

Chicago tickles my brain. From the minute I get my car parked or step off the train, I’m on alert. The noise hits me first. Loud, underground rumbles as I work my way through the subterranean train station, emerging to street level where cars honk, sirens blast, work equipment squeals and beeps. It’s so loud it takes my vision a minute to catch up, to notice street signs upon which I am suddenly dependent, to take in the buildings that wall me into a space, to notice traffic patterns and direction. Once I’m on the move, the smells attack. Exhaust from passing cars, garlic from an open restaurant door, the mineral smell of snow on concrete and musty boulevards with floundering grassy patches and clumps of decaying leaves.

What is the story of the woman in the white fur, walking her fluffy white dog? She’s carrying a McDonald’s bag, and as she crosses the intersection opposite me, I witness her crouching into a protected doorway. She’s talking to someone. She stands, McDonald’s bag now gone, and walks on. As she leaves, I see a homeless person, sitting up, opening the bag, pulling out food. 

On the street I see a cyclist, a large pack on his back, a delivery service. He skillfully weaves in and out of traffic. He hops up on the sidewalk, wheels his bike inside a doorway with a stealth that belies understanding, and delivers his package. This is a job that doesn’t exist in my suburban world. 

Yes, I do the touristy gaping upward, my eye drawn to steel and glass, geometry and symmetry, pillars and pointed peaks.

And then there’s the homes. Don’t think me creepy, but if the sun has set, and I can see into kitchens and living rooms, I will take that eye-full. I’m fascinated by how other people live their lives, how they decorate their city space, what they do or have to make an urban life work. 

The city challenges me; it demands my full attention. That mindfulness, that I just don’t need at home, activates my brain and fires my imagination. Is there a story of a wealthy woman knowing (Related to? Divorced from?) the homeless person in the doorway? What role could a bike messenger play in her life were they to become characters in a novel or short story? Ideas spark.

Rural landscapes have the same impact. When I head out to open spaces, let the clean air, pastoral landscapes, brilliant starry skies soak into my being, I am similarly stimulated. It has a slightly different flavor.

People who travel agree that a change in environment can inspire. My social media poll showed that travel, seeing other parts of the world, new environments, unfamiliar wildlife, experiencing other cultures all provide a drive and a stimulation. A fresh perspective that all, not just writers, need to stay motivated in their work and personal lives. 

But we can’t always get away, so what else can help us get and stay inspired?

Friends: The Most Popular Answer In My Inspiration Poll

Christine DeSmet is a multi-award winning writer, author of cozy mysteries and screenplays, and a former teacher of mine. She talks about the value of support. In this she means the support that can be provided by other writers and the support provided by readers. Support that she says, “…brings me to tears”. Support that keeps her pressing forward, and as she always wrote in the feedback she provided to me, moving “onward”. 

Exciting announcement! Enroll RIGHT NOW in a course offered by this talented teacher– see my inspiration list below.

Kim Suhr, author, award winner, and writing studio director commented similarly. A writing community inspires her. She referenced the sound and action of other busy writers as though it is contagious, spurring one to match enthusiasm. This is an area where I could grow. Many of us writers are isolated and could benefit from collaboration and a supportive community. Check out Kim’s offerings to find your community.

Friends in fields such as nursing and in health services also highly rated the importance of friendship in providing an example, a source of strength, a listening ear. Some in editing fields talked about the power of surrounding oneself with positive people to help you carry your positivity deeper into the new year.

Family as inspiration: The Second Most Popular Answer In My Inspiration Poll

Peggy Joque Williams, blogger and author of soon-to-be-out book, Courting the Sun, uses her family history to stay inspired. She researches genealogy and has taken a deep dive into understanding King Louis XIV’s Filles du Roi, a program that sent young women to Canada to start a new life, two of whom were related to Peggy. Her fiction novel is loosely based on what she has learned. 

Similarly, I have been fascinated with the generations that came before me.

As my friend Michelle stated in the inspiration poll, “…upstream and downstream generations are the best way to benchmark yourself.” Similarly, Teresa, who works in product development, stated that her parents, who immigrated to the United States from Poland with nothing, inspire her because they built such a beautiful life for her and her sister.

Passion (including anger): Maryclaire Torinus, author, and former chaplain at Home and Hospice Advantage, uses passion as fuel. She was driven to tell the story of a corporate hospice company that “used dying patients as a business to generate wealth.” Latching onto a story that you deeply believe needs to be told certainly puts fire in the belly. She said, “Writing for justice is a powerful motivator.” Follow the link to purchase her book.

What story do you need to tell? How can passion drive your work?

NOTICE WHAT STICKS TO YOUR SLEEVE

As you tip-toe, prance, stomp, or storm your way into the new year, I invite you to do what must be done to flip your snow globe. To shake the fluff that’s fallen to your feet. Do you need a community to create the flip? Do you need to step out of your comfort zone? Feed your senses with something new? Be one with nature? Explore your history?

And as the year presses on, and that new year feeling fades, notice the bits of glitter that landed on your sleeve (write it down in your journal). It’s resting there with a twinkle, waiting for you to notice. An idea, a promising kernel.

I leave you with this, a list of all things that inspire me and/or came out of my poll.

More Ideas for Staying Inspired:

1. Take a class. I highly recommend this one:

Write a novel “now” with author/coach for free 

Christine DeSmet, author and long-time novel instructor and coach at University of Wisconsin-Madison, is offering a free self-guided novel-writing challenge and course through her newsletter.  

Called “You’re An Author Now,” it encourages writers to write fast. The course focuses on tips on how to do fast novel writing and do it well. 

Christine says January and February are better “novel-in-a-month” times to dive into a novel than the usual November challenge for many writers. The big holidays are over and there’s energy and time to write fast.  

The free course will continue throughout every month of the year and not stop in February. 

To receive Christine’s newsletter, subscribe for free at her website, www.ChristineDeSmet.com. 

You’ll also find writing “Quick Fix” tips at her website. ** I strongly recommend checking this out.

2. Mindset. Several folks mentioned staying positive, surrounding yourself with positive people, being grateful, seeing growth in failure. 
3. Other art modalities–Let yourself be moved by other creatives. 
4. Visit an art museum; go to art fairs. 
5. Go to libraries and bookstores. Look at art books, photography books. 
6. Read nonfiction about people who inspire you. I read an article about a woman who went to medical school in her forties and started her own medical clinic in her 50’s. It changed my brain.
7. Look at fabric swatches, wall paper, paint names, nail polish names.
8. Dig through your journals. Look for ideas that should not be left behind.
9. Look at your camera roll. What tickles?
10. Take a lot of pictures on your walks and adventures to new spaces. Take pictures of things others probably wouldn’t notice. Writers are observers.
11. Learn from kids. This one may be personal to me as a teacher, but kids inspire me to think differently.
12. If you’re lucky enough to have them, let your adult children push you. They believe in you and have your best interests at heart.
13. Enter contests. I’ve entered a few and placed in a few. The due dates and contest parameters push me and help me be a better editor. I entered NYC Midnight’s short story challenge and made it through three rounds. The random prompts took me outside my comfort zone, and for $50 I was left with three completed short stories with excellent feedback from three different judges EACH round. Worth every penny. (Now to do something with those stories.)

LET’S DIG INTO SOME ROOT CAUSES

Writers, artists—all kinds of creative people—mention this mystical figure called a muse. While the poet in me loves the idea of a fairy sprinkling inspiration, a seductive person filling one with the desire to write, or a supernatural presence spurring the writer onward, I think this figure is damning. We have no control over a fairy. A supernatural can’t be told to arrive when we’re ready to write. And what does one do when it randomly flits away? 

What more likely happened?

1. The writing muscle got cold. Yep, it’s a muscle. Life is busy, filled with tension, stress and mundane tasks that steal our attention. Our brain crowds. We tend to those people and things that need us. And just like the runner who hasn’t had a good workout in a while, the muscle gets cold. 

When there’s finally an opportunity to run again, troubling thoughts creep in…running will make me sore, I’m going to breathe hard, I don’t feel like sweating. Sound a bit like diving back into writing? Where was I? What voice was I in? How do I get my imagination back there?

2. The purpose for the piece (or the action of writing) got lost. As we doubt our skill, run into roadblocks, or get tired, we also begin to question our why. Why was I writing this? Where is my point? What purpose will this serve when I’m done? And worst of all—It’s probably not that good, anyway. Which leads back to #1-the muscle goes cold.

3. We edit while drafting. This is a big no-no. The very task of editing requires one to be critical.

This is a completely different function from creating. Creating is building something up (even if it isn’t just right), expanding, expressing. The two functions don’t coexist well in the brain. Editing invites negative self-talk. You know what I mean—This sounds horrible. You aren’t expressing this right. What made you think you could write in the first place?

So how does one fix it?

IF IT ISN’T THE FAULT OF THE MUSE, THEN WHAT DO I DO?

I know the feeling of sitting down to write when the flow just isn’t there. The words aren’t zinging from my fingers to the page. I’m not in the zone. It happens. I want to walk away, and sometimes, when I’m really uptight, stepping away for a little bit is the right move. But not for long.

This helps:

• Write the whole time you’ve set aside for yourself. (Yes, you are setting aside time to write. Did you forget that?) Even if you feel blocked. Keep your fingers moving whether typing or writing. Even if it’s awful, off-topic, repetitive, drivel, absolute and complete hogwash. Keep going.

• Don’t delete, erase, or scribble out–just leave it be. Let’s deactivate the critical part of the brain and invite creative functions in. (Obsessing about an error or poor turn of phrase? Highlight it as a promise to yourself. Then move on.)

• Don’t use AI apps when you draft; you’re setting yourself up for a distraction while creating. Sometimes happy accidents, word play, voice and humor are lost. Nothing is more pedestrian than content created while drafting in an application. Use the apps later to assess your analytics.

• Remember who the Brain Boss is. (It’s you. Did you forget that, too?) Shut down the voice in your head that says you can’t write, that you’re no good. She’s damaging. And let’s face it, she’s a liar. Shove her in a corner for now. You can get her out when it’s time to edit–she’ll be more useful then.

• Don’t think too much; just flow. See what bubbles up. (See blog 2 on writing process. ;))

• Revisit your purpose. Consider beginning by writing it down. Why did you start journaling in the first place? Why were you crafting memoir? What theme were you driving toward? What purpose did you need your content to serve? 

Having some early, written thoughts, stemming from a place of ideals, can be inspiring to look back on when you’re stuck.

LET’S TALK ABOUT PERMISSION

Are you blocked because you need permission? Here’s something I’ve noticed. Some writers I know tip-toe around a truth, an experience, a past. Maybe that’s healthy. The mind tends to protect itself when it’s too soon to look full-face at trauma. 

But what about when it’s time to tell your story. You’re ready. But you need permission. (Humans are like that.) The first leap can be hard. 

I’ve hidden entire back story in the metaphor of a poem. The reader sees a surface meaning. Only I know I’ve said something larger. It’s a good place to begin.

Sometimes we have writer’s block because we haven’t given ourselves permission to say what needs to be said, to tell our story. We come up with work-arounds (like metaphors), or we avoid entirely.

Consider this. You could type it or write it. It’s just words. They’re on a piece of paper, a document. And all the words can be scribbled out. All can be deleted. Until you’re ready. You can print a document then burn it. It’s fine.

Or the story can be shared. Because sharing our stories gives others permission to share theirs.

So. Permission. It’s granted. (You didn’t really need it. It’s your story. ;)) Go ahead. 

WRITER’S BLOCK IS TRUTH (but you’re the boss)

 You’re not crazy, and you’re probably not lazy. 

So, what’s the solution? Get busy, but without judgement to flood the amygdala. No self-recrimination. Work your way out of it. As Picasso said, “May the muse find you working.” 

And if you’re working, if the muscle is warm, you don’t need a muse.

Blog #2 The Writing Process: SHHH! It’s Personal

When process writing came into education, a collective ahhhhh could be heard across the land. Students had previously been required to write, with perfection, on the spot. They had to imagine their structure, synthesize their thoughts, and pour it all onto the page, in ink, in one go. It’s no wonder some people of a certain generation may be paralyzed with fear when asked to write. 

Now we acknowledge there’s a process to writing. One might begin by brainstorming several ideas. Some ideas may be rejected, some cultivated and nurtured (perhaps rejected later). With some distilled ideas, a format to the piece could reveal itself. Next, the author may begin to draft, leaning into their ideas, moving steadily on. 

In an ideal world, the writer may confer with another, take advantage of a willing friend or family member.  It isn’t (supposed to be) until this moment that we turn on the critical thinking part of the process, and do the hard work of revising our content, developing our setting or characters more fully, dig in on the sensory details to bring our words to life. Finally, we are ready to tidy up, put the finishing touches on commas, periods, tense and so on. Alas, we have something to publish.

Right?

Hmmm… Let’s acknowledge that the process as suggested here is so much better than forced perfection. It’s kinder, more humane. It acknowledges the many functions of the brain when we write. It accepts that there are numerous ways to produce a final result. 

But this is where the personal part comes in. The secret. 

What if you’re not linear? What if the process itself becomes a hinderance as one binds themselves to it in a forced way? What if you start to question yourself because your process is not the same as a writer you admire? What if my crazy process means I’m insane?

What if, like me, you saw a presentation at a writing conference titled, “Outlining is for Everyone” but you couldn’t decide what parts of a story belonged on the top line, which should be indented, sub-headed, bullet-pointed and so on?

I took to social media, and asked creative people I know to describe their process. Most didn’t want to talk about it. It was a public format, after all. Who would see it? Who would judge?

And process is hard to explain. It’s messy. And that makes us feel vulnerable. 

Psst…here’s something else I picked up on. I sense a bit of superstition among some creatives. Like, if I share my process, will it no longer work for me? What if process is a muse, easily frightened away? Maybe I need to hide and protect my creative process.

True Confession: I don’t feel good about my process, and surely would not have answered my own post. I am not confident it has yielded the best results. Maybe you feel that, too. 

LESSONS FROM A REAL PRO

I once read an article about Ann Pachett where she shared that she rewrote one book four times, each time changing the narrator. She finally settled on one of her narrators and eventually completed the book, Taft.

This was stunning information to me. She’s a genius writer, as far as I’m concerned. A graduate of University of Iowa’s Writer’s Workshop. Surely, she wouldn’t need to draft so many times? This buoyed me. 

True, it was only her second novel. Yet, even the published, the beloved, the famous, the successful don’t know, for sure, how a text is going to turn out, regardless of process.

I finished writing a novel recently. With a full-time job and raising kids, taking novel writing courses and attending writing conferences, it took years to complete. And through it all, I kept muttering to myself, next time I’ll have a better process. I’ll be more efficient. But will I?

WRITER CONFESSIONS

An MFA graduate and accomplished writer of articles, as well as college professor, Amy, writes about anything, anywhere. “I just never know what’s going to resonate or reveal itself.” And so, she returns to her notebook often. She also acknowledges the importance of time away. By taking breaks from her notebook, she can come back to it with a fresh perspective when she returns. This is wise advice. 

Sometimes when we’re stuck, we criticize our skill when, in fact, we just need to step away. Upon return, writers may see something golden that they missed before. When I’m stuck, I often go for a run. The blood flow and the time away make a big difference.

Amy also referenced Anne Lamott and her text Bird by Bird. Of this, she said her process “gets messy” and she “embraces that”. 

I had heard of Lamott’s book many times and was delighted to have it become the subject of my annotations this week. Lamott works to give structure to a muddled process. She crafts language to answer the dreaded student question: How? How do I get started? How do I proceed? How do I get it all down in a way that anyone would care to read?

Lamott advises the writer to just go. Just do. Open the journal, the notebook, the laptop—at the same time every day to train your brain to be creative at that moment in time.

Testimonial: This works. Just like other things you’ve trained your body to do at the same time every day, like waking just before the alarm goes off, the brain can be trained to have a creative period of the day.

Lamott advises a free flow. Write everything you can think of related to the topic you wish to write about. Eventually you’ll slow down, or “finish mining this particular vein” (5). 

I love that language choice, BTW, because that’s what it feels like to me. Mining. And finishing out a vein.

She suggests moving on to details, or as she aptly puts it, “scratch around” for those details (5). 

Bird by Bird is a clinic on great verb choice, honestly. Here’s another one—”squint at an image that is forming in your mind” (6).

Lamott promises, and I do too, that you will, “begin to string words together like beads to tell a story.” (7)

WHAT ABOUT VISUAL ARTISTS? WHAT’S THEIR PROCESS LIKE?

Do artists wade through a process like writers? My friend, Paul Moran, is an iconic, beloved high school art teacher and college professor, beloved by many, including my two girls. He said, “I respond when things occur to me, but not right away.” He likes to let things “percolate” (so do I). 

At the same time, he doesn’t “hold it still.” Sounds like a tricky dance to me. So, he works on a drawing or painting, but when he catches himself trying to “get it right” he recognizes that this thinking, “is the worst thing I can do.” And I love how he says this because I continually say this to my students—quit trying to get it right; first, just get it down. “You become an editor of the flow,” Paul explains. And that’s not good. 

It’s using the wrong part of the brain and will interfere with what your body can do more organically.

I think he may be tip-toeing into what happens with writer’s block. Do we block our flow when we are thinking too much about being good? Do we muck up the organic first thoughts when we are focusing on the end result? I think so; I’m sure I’ve been stuck in this place. And Lamott agrees. 

Early in the school year, her students ask her how to get an agent or ask if publishers will take their manuscript without one. She describes this as, “…kind of wanting to write. But really wanting to publish” (12). Thinking about the end result, thinking about the final product, getting the affirmation that you’ve done well, actually gets in the way of doing good writing. 

BACK TO WRITER CONFESSIONS

I have a multi-talented relative. (Well, let’s face it, I have a lot of those.) Emerson sings beautifully, crochets amazing things, is a college librarian, and yes, a writer. He keeps a notebook with him or uses an app on his phone. Sometimes scenes or a poem pops into his mind and he has to get it down. He’s a working parent of two after all. Ideas are easily lost. After jotting, he’ll connect it back to a story he’s working on, or see the idea through to a fully formed poem. Like Amy, he used the word “mess” to describe his process. 

Lily, a former student now English major, who created her own literary zine, shared that she’s been enjoying research before she writes. She’ll come across a historical figure or incident and see a story buried there. Next a deep dive of reading and documentary viewing ensues. Next, she’ll try a first-person approach to writing about, say, the figure she’s tempted by and tease out emotion. Interestingly, she catches the voice before she thinks about a structure. 

Sounds to me like she needs to hear a character speak to her first—I love that!

Later, she can see scenes and phrases, and like Lamott’s thoughts about beads being strung, she stitches something together.

Check out Lilly’s recently published short story in Grim and Gilded.

Finally, my high school classmate turned lawyer and professor, Alexandra, told me that she also pushes out as much as she can on a given topic of writing “stream of conscious” style. Like Amy, she leaves it for a time, but not until it’s about 80% there. Then she returns to fix it.

And I loved this language about her process of cleaning up her writing—she called it a “nip and tuck”.  Other sage advice from Alexandra? She “keeps [drafts} under advisement”, accepting that a piece of writing hasn’t found a home yet (Is this for a blog? Is this for a memoir?). It isn’t for the trash! It isn’t terrible! It’s under advisement—love that and I advise you to steal that thinking. 

Check out Alexandra’s Blog here.

See what we learn when brave writers and artists confess? We are not alone in feeling that our process isn’t tidy or efficient enough. And there’s no cause to judge.

LAMOTT AND MESSINESS

In my annotations of Bird by Bird, I wrote hmmm… next to this, “…process is the same for pretty much everyone I know.” I thought I disagreed. But the more I dig, and the more I craft this blog (see blog 1), the more I realize what she means. 

Some people outline. Some percolate for a very long time then belch something out that is nearly perfect. Some web. Some just go, write, do, until they peter out. I construct multiple plot lines on a white board or on large sketching paper (yes, I draw the plot line AND color code). For some reason the larger format helps me see things, and I feel strangely inspired. 

All quite different, right?

And yet everyone seems to get an idea, work to keep it hot, get it down and rework it later.

There’s a personal feeling about process, something private, but also special. Perhaps it’s an extension of ourselves. I journey into how our minds work. And like all things personal, maybe we worry we will be judged.

I return to my whiteboard multiple times as I draft, allowing for gut feelings when I know my characters better and can hear in my mind what really needs to happen to and for them. I pull up a second white board to flesh out a character or repair a plot flaw. I write at my laptop then switch to a journal when I am stuck. Who knows why switching modalities works, but it does!

Another great thing about whiteboards? They erase (metaphor intended). 

PERSISTENCE PAYS

Lamott says, “It is a matter of persistence, faith and hard work.” No matter the process, we must persist. We must believe that we have something to say and that we have the capacity to say it. “…you own what happened to you” adds Lamott. No one else does. You’re the only one who can tell your story. And your story matters to someone else. 

Buy into the hard work. Even when (especially when) the process is frustrating. Sitting around waiting for the muse is not the way to go (and not the same as percolating). 

Find that moment of time in your day when you can train your brain—this is your time, this is your creative moment. 

Then get out of the way and let the words begin. 

Be sure to go to my Homepage to see this week’s writing prompt and “What I’ll be sipping” page. Because, wine, writing, wellness…what else do we need?

Blog 1-Find your words with journaling. It’s more important than you think.

It’s my inaugural post on writing, wine and wellness, and I’ve decided to start at the beginning. An empty journal. A siren’s call. Or a lighthouse in a storm…come to shore…come to shore.

Color, patterns, graphics, textiles. A pristine, wordless journal shouts possibility. Anything could go down. A fresh idea outlined. A poem jotted and massaged. Poignant words or phrases stored for future use. 

Maybe just flow, stream of consciousness, or a pressed flower plucked during a nature walk.

 And so many to choose from. Spiraled journals that lay flat; stapled or stitched journals with gold lined pages. Journals with thick, hand crafted paper, or a hodgepodge of recycled pages. Even journals where every page has been painted. All of them inspire me. All beckon–get busy. Create.

Why journaling?

There are so many obvious reasons for journaling. Some are as simple as listing and organizing your to-do’s for the day. Others are as complex as a coping mechanism for trauma. Journaling stimulates creativity, provides a record of your history, reframes your thinking, records your gratitudes, declutters your mind. Yet so many of us do not do it. We’re missing out.

True Confession: I don’t journal in the traditional sense of keeping a diary. 

Why not? I think of my life as too ordinary to record. Further, I’ve raised children in my house. What if they discovered Mom’s inner thinking? Scary. And maybe some hurts deep down are too ugly to bring to the page.

Journaling takes courage; it makes us vulnerable. Which is something I’m learning to embrace. Because something out of the ordinary happened to me.  

At fifty-three, weighing in at 114 pounds, running 16 miles a week, eating largely mediterranean, and boasting a cholesterol total of 189, I had a heart attack. Ninety-nine percent blockage in the left aorta. This brought on a nasty case of PTSD that I could not explain beyond saying, I could have died. 

I’m a smart girl. I got myself to a therapist. She worked with me for months, then recommended I start journaling about my experience. 

Hmmm…well, I wasn’t sure I wanted to write it down. She had already gotten me to the point where I could talk the whole experience through without a panic attack. Still, she insisted. So I researched.

What comes first? The thinking, then the words, or the words, then the thinking?

I always thought writing was a way for one to get their  thoughts down on paper–thoughts being the driving force. I’m learning that the process is actually the reverse. 

I was taking notes on a great book titled, A Writer’s Coach: The Complete Guide to Writing Strategies That Work, by Jack Hart. He explained that writing requires the brain to analyze, to think about cause and effect. 

…writing requires the brain to analyze…and this leads to whole new understandings.

And here’s the magic–analyzing cause and effect leads to whole new understandings, never conceived by the writer before. Hart referenced another book called Thinking on Paper by Howard and Barton and blew my mind with the quote, “We do not so much as send our thoughts in pursuit of words as use words to pursue our thoughts.”

What? (Read the quote again! I promise, it’s worth it.)

Apply that thinking to stress, confusion, frustration, anxiety, depression, trauma. So often these big emotions flood our brain. We can’t sift, sort, or prioritize our thoughts and feelings. 

Jumping In

So I started journaling. Me being me, I didn’t craft  it diary style. I happened to be teaching my students the elements of memoir at the time and was guiding them through memoirs of their own. I followed my own teaching and crafted a fully-structured memoir. Which was completely unnecessary, but the structure helped me hide a little bit. Baby steps.

Here’s the slides I shared with my students if you’d like to learn more.

If you’re braver than me, just let your experience come onto paper in any ‘ole way. It’s just as effective and maybe more honest.

It took a few weeks, each writing session a tangle in my mind of how I wanted to share my story, but also what I wanted (needed) to say. 

As I fought through the drafts, I’ll be darned if Jack Hart wasn’t right. The writing pushed me to think about the cause and effect of it all. And wholly new and different revelations came through.

 I thought my panic was caused by a fear that heart attacks had become an inevitable part of my existence; it would surely happen again and my life would be threatened. I would never be a grandma, never experience the golden years of retirement, never see my kids marry. And absolutely, those fears were real.

My fear was about my new identity.

But what my writing told me, after my words chased down my thinking, was that my fear was about my new identity. And anger over the loss of what I used to know and understand about the world versus how I now knew the world to be. Ignorant bliss was gone, and I was hurt. Everything I had done to take care of myself had not worked. I had lost confidence in my body and didn’t trust my mind. I already knew that so much of the world and our experiences as humans are beyond control, so I had been carefully managing the things that were in my control. Oops. That doesn’t always work either. And that is scary. 

By getting down to that kernel, that insight, I had something I could work on, something more to bring out in therapy and that took my healing to a new level. Iearned about radical acceptance (but that’s a topic for a different blog) and found peace.

All thanks to writing my truth. It’s on page 12 of this Creative Wisconsin magazine  if you’re interested. 

Journal with me: An invitation

I invite you to join me. Grab a journal that calls to you, or one that’s simply handy. Open the notes app on your phone. Heck, flip over the crumpled napkin on the table (if your house is like mine). Journal. Get wrecked by the siren’s call. Find your lighthouse. Find words. Get down all that your body will allow. Hide behind a structure like me if you need to, or just let it flow helter skelter. 

 If you’re open to it, not only might you have an interesting start to a piece of writing, you’ll understand yourself a little better too. To get started, scroll down on the homepage for today’s prompt.

Afterward, you might need a little wine, so below the prompt, check out what wine I’m sipping this week.

Writing, wine, and wellness. What else do we need? 😉

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