Why Write?

My writing practice is unconventional. Or maybe it’s not. I don’t really know how or why others write.

Do other writers have to wade through volumes of inner dialogue to find the words that want to be expressed? Do other writers yearn to write but find themselves doing something else, anything else, instead? Do other writers find themselves cycling through periods of silence before returning to generative expression again? How do other writers pull themselves back after a fallow period?

I’ve read a lot about writing as a practice over the years, alternately intimidated and inspired by Natalie Goldberg, Annie Dillard, Julia Cameron, Mary Oliver, Wendell Berry and others. Consistent practice is a theme that arises, well, consistently.

I am currently working on returning to consistent writing practice. For a spell, I had let consistency lapse in deference to listening and responding to what my heart and mind were actually asking for on any given day. This undisciplined, agenda-less time and space was novel for me, and it was restorative and generative in a pretty profound way. More on that another time…  

As spring arrives, it feels clear that it is time to return to consistent practice. There is something waiting to be born. I don’t yet know what it is but I know that it will only be discovered through patient attention, the kind of attention that is honed and focused by consistent journaling.

For me, everything begins in a journal.

I have had periods of my life when I would browse the beautiful journals in boutique shops and book shops. Scanning the covers for evocative beautiful images that invited the right blend of depth and whimsy. If the cover could do it, perhaps the words that I formed inside would too. And then, after I had spent too much money on the carefully selected journal, it would sit idle for weeks or months because I was sure I would not be able to write anything worthy of its holding. Eventually, in a moment of weakness, or maybe it was courage, I would pick it up and begin.

For the last few years, I have been collecting the remnants of partially used grade school notebooks from around the house and turning them into journals.  When the journal has been filled with musings, poems, and drawings, I put it in a drawer until we have a bonfire, usually at the summer and winter solstice. Knowing the journals will be burned reminds me of their impermanence and keeps me committed to the process.

The most important part of the process for me is the noticing that precedes the noting.

Every once in a while, a noticing feels worthy of sharing. That is when I move to the computer and the noting becomes honed, revised, and, sometimes, shared. The following piece emerged as I was wrestling with myself about sitting down to write during a workshop at Inn Along the Way a few weeks ago. At the time it just served to get the words flowing. Now, after reflection and revision, it wants to be shared with you.

Why Write?

Because of the way the blue and orange and red line up on the horizon to salute the passing day and greet the arriving night.

Because of the way the words betray the illusion of loneliness and sending me running toward you with arms wide open, words tumbling out.

Because of the way our meeting forges the most profound connection, uniting us here where noticing and imagination meet.

Because if the love wasn’t expressed, it would sit inside and simmer until the moisture was all gone and it had become dry and barren.

Because sharing makes the moment real, keeps the movement fluid and the possibilities alive.

Because finding the words makes this life more vivid, allowing me to see, touch, and feel the texture of of it and make it more alive for you too.

Because the muse tells me to.

I write because it is what I am meant to do.

My current journal, reclaimed from a 1998 journal the night before the workshop. Burning the old cover and the pages filled with names, phone numbers, and to-do lists in order to bring new life to the blank pages that remained was very satisfying.