The Waves of Writing
the writer, the reader, the observer, the innovator, the dreamer
Well, I didn’t forget about you. Like most introverts I just didn’t know how to walk back into the room again once I left. (ha!) And too, I haven’t been writing much so it felt like there wasn’t much to share. AND, I’ve been sick like everyone else and their kids. BUT, here we are, at last. On the mend and writing on.
There are waves to this thing.
Moments where the channel is open for words to flow as easily as waves and breath. Moments where all you can do is open the page and write a quote from someone else because all other words left you. Writing will be different every single time. Just like waves. There are dark sides. Light, airy and foamy sides. Some have lull and rhythm. Some create chaos and kick up dirt. You’ll write like the magical salt crystals in the air when you look at the sun a certain way, and you’ll write like a storm.
And all is well. I used to be afraid that poetry would leave me, that it would stall out, just because I couldn’t think of anything to say. BUT COME ON! HOW could something leave me when it’s so deeply apart of me? It’s just a moment. Sometimes I am the writer, the reader, the observer, the innovator, the dreamer. All waves prepare me for the reason I do the thing in the first place. To connect. To heal.
For the last two months I’ve done what works, without question. I’ve really enjoyed journaling in the “scar” writing style. One paragraph in one line. There’s no pressure to it. And sometimes I need to write without needing to make sense of it. The pages end up looking like scars down the middle, and I picture that as that particular “scar” leaving my heart ♥️ , imprinted on the page.
Although, there was one day I was DETERMINED to write a poem. Out of dirt and dust if I had to. So I went to where I always find something to say. The birds. I sat outside and listened. Forty-five minutes of song and interpretation. I wrote what I saw and heard and let the observationist have the floor.
She’s perched on the evergreen
suspended almost between
ground and eather of song.
The others are at their loudest in chatter
and calls and whatever else birds do with their voices.
She hasn't said a word.
I wonder how she views the world,
through the holly, through an eye of a bird.
Silent are her wings
and her words.
and at the moment-- besides recording this one--
so are mine.
-nIf you don’t know what to write, remember it doesn’t have to be new every single time. It doesn’t have to be fancy or flashy. Your writing is concerned only with one thing- the condition of your heart. Do what works. Observe yourself and the world and write about it.
Here’s what I wrote when I thought I was going to be all alone without poetry.
(ugh, that ego is so dramatic!!)
Poetry, don’t leave me.
Don’t be afraid of a blank page.
Do not be afraid or judging of your voice.
Remember, it is not only your voice, but Gods. A divine whisper of what life has to say. A Holy utterance of Truth and Beauty. It is a gift I am most grateful and I feel it’s lull. I know it has not left me, but I have refrained my date with inspiration. I have left the table…and I must return to my seat. For no one will read my words if I do not write them. So why fear that they will, if I do?
These ink marks are for no one but me. The pure act of making them has a healing effect like no other and I am made lighter before the ink dries. My wrists stiffen and ache if I do not write poetry. It is a Self expression I cannot get to otherwise. I must trust my emotions, my instincts, my intuition. The Divine within me. There’s a melody in here, unplayed and unsung and inherently mine. I must play it, or give it space, or chances to be played. How many songs must never breathe! I refuse to be unsung.
Air will reach these depths whether published or dust or read by one. I know You read them. You are the altar and the gift. To seek something to bring you is…impossible. You are the altar AND the gift. There is nothing out there that can give my words more life than in here- in these blank pages, by merely being exhaled.
Let me know what writing style has been working for you or calling to you the most! Or maybe what wave you’re in? Leave a note in the comments.
Much love friends!
-n
I love how honest this is. I go through those same waves – sometimes the words come in a torrent, sometimes it's a struggle to find a single one. And that "scar" writing style sounds so cathartic! It's all about finding what works for you in the moment. Thanks for the reminder that it's okay to let the writing ebb and flow.
Exactly what I needed to hear, Nicole. Just beautiful. Words and focus have been rather elusive lately, for me. Writing gratitude, free write morning pages, and brain dumps have been my go-tos.