Things I do instead of writing.
A top-down view of a seat at a table with a bright orange folder, a little envelope with “poetry” stamped on it, and a blue pen.
Hello writer-friend.
It’s one of the shortest days of the year. Here in Toronto, everyone’s hands are chapped and eyes are puffy. The sky is the colour of wet cement.
In our team meeting last week, we talked about what kind of elastics we are — the one that’s been stretched out for too long and has completely lost its form? The tangled ball in the junk drawer you’ll never pull apart?
It’s December and we are all floppy elastics.
In my blogging class this fall, we talked about using lists as blog posts, and I made a list of things I do instead of writing. I didn’t think about it again, but I found it this week and wondered if there’s a gift here — a gentle fist-bump from my December heart to yours, a reminder that you’re not alone in your resistance and your fallow times. Here it is.
Things I Do Instead of Writing.
Dishes.
Pack journal for the subway ride and then act like it isn’t there.
Pick up my phone. Read the news. Close the news. Pick it up again and keep reading.
Tell myself I’ll be more clear-headed tomorrow.
Google whether Taylor Swift is still with that guy.
Wonder what Taylor Swift and that guy fight about.
Open a book and feel it wrap its arms around me and think — I’ll never be able to write like that.
Emails. Emails. Emails.
Worry about my brother, my parents, my godparents, the Middle East, the climate, the future, microplastics, my fibre intake, bees, the lack of shelter spaces in my city, the lack of shelter spaces anywhere, AI, the income gap, my houseplants.
Water my houseplants.
Tell myself — someone out there hates your writing. Someone is reading your blog right now and absolutely hating it.
Brush my teeth.
Brush my dog’s teeth.
Worry about my dog.
Find a typo on our website. Wonder how many more there are. Start looking. Stop.
Tell myself — if you were a real writer you’d be writing right now.
Feel guilty.
Feel like a fraud.
Emails.
Dishes.
Why am I writing any of this?
Why do we write at all?
I think it’s just this: Because we can.
Because there are a thousand paths away from writing and one path back, and it’s this one — word after word.
Because we don’t know how long we’ll have to figure out what we need to say on this earth, but we do have today.
Because Emily Dickinson wrote, “I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.”
Because the days are short, and I need things that shine.
And I do have things to say. And so do you. And we get to say them, and we should.
Also — none of us have this figured out.
If anyone says they do, they’re lying. We muddle along, keeping each other company, and doing our best. We start and stop and turn around a few times before finding our way forward. That’s the definition of a creative life. Breakthroughs and breaks, and lots of emails and dishes in between.
Hi. I’m with you here.
If you’re feeling disconnected from writing, you’re in good company. And we can find our way back together.
Fireside (our brand new membership site) is coming along sooooo beautifully.
On January 5th, we’ll be launching our membership site and we could not be more excited. We’re all in elf-mode, preparing treats, fine-tuning plans and making everything gorgeous.
Curious? You can read about it here, and hear me awkwardly talking about some of what we have planned here. :)
We would love to have you join us on this adventure.
We also have our mainstay: Cozy Small Group Workshops (online and in person)
If you’re looking for something more intimate, we’ve still got room in some workshops this winter, including Lift Off, our poetry workshop for people who don’t consider themselves poets, Keep Your Pen Moving, which is a gentle kick-start back to our creative voices, and our BIPOC stay-at-home writing retreat.
Push Weekend
This whole program will be included in our new membership program, so if you sign up for Fireside, you’ll get this for freeeeee.
But, if you want to check our Push Weekend without joining Fireside, you are welcome to do that too.
A poem for you
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer knows about love. And sadness. And the path between them
It’s a hard month to write through.
But here we are, connecting on this screen, despite the demands gnawing at our edges.
Here you are. You opened this email, and I met you here, unguarded and willing. Your turn now. One word and then another. Let’s keep doing this.
In it with you,
