On Not Writing
the dilemma of the writer who isn't writing
Dear Dream Geographers,
In my drafts file is a post with the working title of “Cookie Monster Dolly Parton,” and while the title still makes me laugh and I know it came from a dream of—yep—Cookie Monster with a Dolly Parton wig and costume on—I can’t for the life of me remember where I was going to go with that musing.
Maybe something on the magic of strange juxtapositions.
Maybe it’s a writing prompt: make a list of children’s characters and a list of pop culture icons; what happens when their powers combine? Where might you take this hybrid character? What kind of poem wants to be written featuring said hybrid (or both characters)?
Rainbow Bright Chappell Roan
Snuffleupagus Jerry Seinfeld
Powerpuff Cyndi Lauper
Anyway. It’s pleasantly contradictory that I’m sharing a prompt with you when I haven’t felt prompted to write lately (she writes, which begs the question: what do we mean by writing?).
What Counts as Writing
What does a writer mean when they say they’ve been “writing”? Some possibilities:
They’re writing on a regular schedule (whatever that means for them)
The writing feels productive, a project is moving forward
They’re actively submitting and publishing work
They’re editing or revising work
They’re researching (broadly defined)
They’re reading adjacent work
Even if a writer is doing all of the above (and kudos to you if that’s you!), there’s a fair chance a part of their mind is telling them: yeah, but you’re not doing enough.
What Doesn’t Count as Writing?
If everything on the above list counts as “writing,” what does it mean to say one isn’t writing? If I am (and I am)
journalling every morning,
creating a newsletter instead of a poem or essay
poking into projects infrequently, changing a word or two here or there
taking walks and thinking about manuscripts
reading broadly, for pleasure
am I writing? If those things count, then sure. I’m maintaining an active writing practice.
What’s the Catch?
I don’t feel like I’m actively writing because my writing schedule isn’t what it used to be. I used to write 2-3 mornings a week (sometimes more), for 2-3 hours at a time (sometimes more). I often felt captured by the projects at hand, easily swung into that magic state of flow.
I marveled at the shape of manuscripts on the horizon. I felt connected, inspired, fluid, immersed.
I don’t often feel that way these days. Some of the reasons are global (it can be hard to prioritize one’s creative practice when bombarded with atrocities), some of the reasons local (other creative, personal, and professional tasks pull me away). And sometimes, other activities—yoga, a walk in nature, designing a class—bring me that same sweet sense of connected inspiration, of fluid thought.
Hot Take: Does it Matter?
Maybe I’m letting myself off easy, but I’m over feeling guilty about not writing. I think often of a quote I read in The Sun years and years ago, which I think was originally from Natalie Goldberg about worry being like “riding a horse on top of a horse.” To me, that’s what fretting about whether one is writing (enough) is like: stacking a horse on top of another one and trying to ride.
It doesn’t work.
Over the years, I’ve read (and given) a lot of advice about writing and it usually comes down to: time in the seat. As two colleagues and I used to say to each other, you’ve gotta do the thing to do the thing.
You’ve gotta write to write. Period. End of story.
And people will pile on the ways to make it happen: write at your kids’ soccer games, write before bed or the moment you get up, write on your notes app, in a journal you carry everywhere, set yourself a writing date, get a writing buddy.
I think that’s all well and good and it’s important to find the strategies that serve you best. But I am here to say: it’s okay not to write—and not to have a “good” reason to not do it.
You can read countless hot takes on the importance of pushing back against productivity culture and the necessity of rest and the power of incubating ideas and cultivating slowness and, like the advice for writing, I think this is all well and good.
But my point is that getting caught up in the questions of am I writing enough, should I be writing, should I feel okay about not writing, or even how is not writing in ultimate service to writing—all these woulds and coulds and shoulds—in the end they are all distractions from the core question Mary Oliver put to us so beautifully: What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
What will you do?
If changing (or pausing) your writing practice calls to you, try to do it with intention. I suggest starting by getting into more frequent conversation with your intuition. I find that when I do set aside time to write or create, if I do what most calls to me, I have a better go of it. Working against my own inclinations has never served me well (even if it is sometimes necessary).
And be nice to yourself. When I was at the Vermont Studio Center in 2011, one of the directors said something to us on the first day along the lines of: no one cares what you do here. Harsh, maybe not entirely true, but also freeing—what will you do when no one is looking?
I’ll add: if no one cares what you create, you might as well relish the process—which might look like pleasure some days, basking in the flow of imagination. It might look like grit, powering through your own resistance and distraction to get words on the page. You can also relish the nap taken over the poem written (without guilt!). I know I do.1
And my favorite adage: Take the work seriously but not yourself.
Dynamic Duo Special for HeartSprout - Now through 4/15!
With only two rooms left for HeartSprout: A Retreat for the Creative Spirit, we are running a special deal for folks signing up with (or willing to be paired with) a roommate! Sign up for a shared room by April 15, and you’ll get an extra $25 off the early bird price. Save your (and your pal’s) spot here today!
In-Person Opportunities on the Horizon:
Writing with the Wheel of the Year: Thursday, April 16 | 6:30-7:30pm | $32 | at The Literary (Champaign, IL) In this generative and exploratory class, we’ll create our own wheels of the year and discuss how to connect with nature by being more attentive to seasonal shifts. From there we’ll draw on memory, natural materials, and nature-themed oracle cards to use writing as a way to reconnect with the wild within as well as the wild without. Bring a journal and a favorite writing utensil. There will be a little drawing, but no artistic skill required.
Ritual & Release: Channeling Eco-Grief, April 19, 1-3pm, Busey Woods, Urbana, IL: I’m partnering with Julie Shubach of Ripples Expressive Arts to offer this opportunity to express our eco-grief in community, transmuting it into connection and action. This event is free, though there’s a suggested donation of $10; profits will be donated to the Urbana Parks District.
Most of the time. The Guilt Monster is a hard one to shake off.
You're doing it!