Write as You Hike

--kinetic work

Campsite with Mount Baker—recuperating volcano

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I began to write a sub-title, to let you know that it might not be “hiking” per se that works for you, but something like. But “kinetic work” says it, and we can ponder and share the possibilities of re-creating at home.

Know that I am working on the post about “writing time and promotion time,” but it’s taking its own time. You’ve offered some excellent points, and there’s no quick response if I’m going to address thoroughly. Watch for it in the coming week.

We headed up to Mount Baker this past week, pitching our tent in the exact place we did two years ago, an incredible spot right between Baker and the wonder of Mount Shuksan.

I can’t write when I hike. But hiking often becomes time for me to work on plotting. And this recent “walk” was rich. I’d hit the 40 page point in the new novel just before leaving. It’s been slow these past weeks and months. I’ve done what I don’t like to do and re-written and tossed and started over—the result of reneging on my decision to never again apply for a grant; I needed a solid opening piece to send as part of my application. Grant-writing can be a dead-end STOP for me in my work; I go on with trepidation. But I have gone on, got the thing in and done, and shoved to the far-gotten corner of my mind

I suspect we all have particular points in lengthy projects: for me it’s 40 pages, and 100 pages that I need to strive for and pass, always with a cognizant nod to “done that.”

The first is a result of abandoning many projects just shy of 40 pages as a young writer, and the second is the push to get past two digits—a mental thing.

Although you may have some other activity that works for you, hiking—for me—brings on a particular head-space. One of the most outstanding elements of that space is the NEED for intense concentration on where my feet are, especially if going through shale or rounded rocks, when the likelihood of twisting an ankle is reality.

Some years ago, on a neighbourhood walk, I slipped on ice, and broke an elbow. It’s never healed properly, and has made me cautious; I now watch my feet as I go, and what is under them.

This means that for the first while in a hike, my mind is focused on nothing else. When I’m passing beautiful things, bits and spreads of landscape that I know will catch my eye—if I give them full attention—I stop. Then I look.

I can’t just look as I go.

Is this analogous to writing? It is. It’s about finding your way through first draft, with rhythm and focus.

Story-mind wake up

This hike was supposed to have been four days, but with the haze from nearby fires we cut it short by one day.

The first day was only several hours of movement. And it wasn’t until the second that my story-mind began to wake up. This is typical, with a day of clearing before I can access that space or mode.

A good question would be: how might we replicate this at home?

On the second day, I began with that initial stage of focus on one-foot-after-another. We were hiking UP. My breathing had to take time to settle in.

I can end up doing this odd humming thing once my breathing acclimates. And a rhythm takes hold then, a sense of pace. Once I’ve settled into that, thoughts begin to come.

The strange thing is how from one year to the next I almost forget how this happens. I do remember to bring my phone, a small notepad, even just a few sheets of paper and pen, but the details, the timing, always feels new.

Even though my mind is still with my feet, once I find that rhythm and the headspace of not talking—though I like the camaraderie of my friend—thoughts do begin to come. I don’t stop to jot them down immediately; I let them flow.

This time, a word came to me as thematic, a word I’ve not associated with this project before now, but it made sudden clear sense. Yes! Then a number of characters who’ve just “landed” in the story began to connect with that thematic word… and I could see why they’ve pushed their way in. At last! (One character I was thinking to toss.)

Eventually, as my mind goes deeper and deeper into the work, I know it’s time to stop the movement and scribble the notes. I did this a number of times throughout the hike.

And rinse and repeat

Though I added nothing to my manuscript, that day felt to be stuffed with the richness of a good work day.

Notably, the following day, it was as if my mind could let in a bit more. I went home with notes that will keep me working for weeks.

First, the feet and focus.

Second, the breathing.

Third, rhythm.

Next, ideas flowing.

And after that, a renewed awareness of surroundings, even people passing on the trail (which led me to write this piece a couple days after returning home). It’s as if all senses are heightened, and awareness cracking open. (Even if I’m in a state of asking so many questions.)

Surely nature does something for curiosity.

The question of ‘How to replicate this at home?’ — or can we?

I haven’t tried this—to replicate—beyond the insanity of the 3 Day Novel Contest.

The 3 Day Novel contest looms just beyond the corner—Labour Day weekend.

In my first year on Substack, I did an entire series of posts on this contest. Check out the 2021 Index. Those 72 hours can become a different kind of “retreat.” Different from the hiking-thought I’ve been speaking to here. But worthy of note.

In fact a pre-hike to sift through plotting could work well with the 3 Day contest; you’re allowed to pull together a full outline before the contest begins (midnight Friday).

That aside, you might take the elements of the hike process one by one, and re-create.

Find an area in your community that is either forested or natural, up and down—to get breathing and rhythm in place—and go walk it.

If you’re a rock-climber, you might dedicate a time to going for a climb, out- or indoors.

Or find some repetitive and focused movement: ice-skating, inline skating—again, out of doors if able to do so. Maybe swimming.

What works for you, with the base of “focus and rhythm”? What can you do for a sustained amount of time?

As notes, it usually takes me until the second day of a hike to really budge thoughts, and get them flowing. And even then, it’s a good hour to hour and half before it gets real movement.

Other

What pastimes feel as if they are re-setting your thought-process?

Puzzle-making comes to mind. (Individuals can have strong feelings about puzzle-making—some find it deadly boring! I don’t do puzzle often, but when I do, I’m surprised by how handling those little pieces of cardboard “clears” my mind in a unique way. Work long enough at a puzzle, and I’m focused on colours and shapes in a way that doesn’t happen otherwise.

Crafting, drawing, painting — I’ll admit that if I have a writing project that’s needing work and time, and is at a ‘happening’ point, then I can become impatient with re-focusing on something else; I’d rather be writing.

But I’d be interested in your experience.

What about driving distance—highway driving?

Or certain types of cleaning/housework. I remember Margaret Atwood speaking at a conference decades ago, and sharing how she had to buy a front-loading washer (rare at that time) so she could sit and watch the swishing laundry when her writing was blocked…

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Share thoughts—

Before you begin, you might experiment with writing out your questions/problems with the story.

Also you might just leave the question of writing alone. Commit to not writing, not thinking about writing. Commit to clearing, mentally, emotionally, in every way.

Just MOVE. Go dancing every evening for a week! (Or at home!) Do active house-cleaning. House-painting. Let yourself off the hook for Thinking and Writing.

But if ideas come, go with… Be open. And leave it at that.

There’s a lot to be said for letting go.

You know: if it’s yours, it’ll come to you.

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A heartfelt Thank you to those who support the Unschool for Writers by reading, leaving notes, creating conversation, by asking questions, or by subscribing, and choosing to “go paid”—some of you for multiple years now even.

Your commitment and faith in this work means much to me.

Looking west, at the close of a good hiking-writing day — yes, that’s snow.

Peace—

Alison