Sit With It

A busy-day, holiday, approach to writing

Photo by Clint Patterson on Unsplash

No time to sit and write these days?

A general feeling of restlessness? So much to do, yet nothing to settle on? Or your mind is so busy with Other Things that to sit and write feels overwhelming?

Don’t write.

Just sit. Put your feet up.

Leave your laptop in another room. Stare into the fire. The tree, a candle-flame.

If you do start to think about the story/poem/picturebook/memoir/fill-in-the-blank that you’re working on, don’t think about your immediate “problem” with it. (Because, yes, there is always some immediate thing calling to you from the empty pages.)

Instead let your mind roam. Feel the work as a whole.

And then, if it unravels to pieces in front of you, let that happen. If the pieces want to be gathered, do that. One by one, slowly.

If you mind goes utterly blank, know that it’s a good thing.

~~~

My boys used to play a game they came up with as they kneeled on the floor in front of the fireplace. They’d peer through the heavy glass door, and each in turn would announce which log was “his” log. “That’s it!” one would say, and the other would point out a different log. “That one’s mine!” The third would claim another. Then they’d watch without talking. There was no winning and losing. I don’t remember them arguing over any one particular log; it wasn’t like that.

I think about that “game” at times now, with my woodstove in my home. And I’ll find myself—with no deliberate thought—claiming and watching a log, watching the workings of the black and red and orange. The blue deep in the flame. The glow before the black crumbles and cracks open. The encroaching grey. Sometimes I’ve watched long enough for the grey sift of ash to replace the log. That doesn’t happen often enough; I don’t have that sort of time. If my boys even knew that I remember this game, think about it, “play” it to any extent, they’d have a chuckle.

But something happens with the no-accounting of such time. Something restorative.

That’s enough.

~~~

It’s real, in my writing life, that after days and even weeks of “working” through or into a question about a story, an answer comes. Out of nowhere.

When I say “out of nowhere” it sounds as if I am not taking into account the walks I’ve taken, the middle-of-the-night thoughts that have turned to the story, or the day dreaming. Maybe it feels like “out of nowhere” because in doing those things and others, I’m not necessarily focused or mulling over the story. In truth, most of those times I’m not. But it’s tucked away in some back-drawer of my mind, and I don’t have to consciously think. It’s there, and it does get worked through. And then—out of nowhere—it happens.

Take the time to jot notes or a diagram. Some scribble to remember. Then get back to the fire or the child tugging at your elbow—if they haven’t given up!—or the dog-that-ate-the-dreidel. And be with them, be with what you love, because such times are for gathering stories.

~~~

I’m now signing off for two weeks, or until January 1, because I have learned that I need that and so do you! Please though, don’t hesitate to leave a comment or a question, as I enjoy finding time for community here on The Unschool and am happy to respond and/or see others’ responses. Let’s keep the conversation open.

During the two weeks, I hope to complete a new approach to the indexes. Now that we’re about to begin a fourth year it’d be good to bring them altogether, and to create a series of collections so you can work with different forms/genres and craft elements to create your own “mini-courses” to work through.

Any suggestions? Bring ’em on —

Wishing all of you, your families and loved ones, Peace & Goodwill for All!

Photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash