Turns out, the wonder never left.
A top-down view of an open unlined journal with a teal ribbon down the middle, resting on a wooden tabletop.
Lately I’ve been wondering why I write.
In the beginning, like everyone, I wrote simply to feel the hum of my soul flowing out of my body. I wrote to climb the mountain of the letter A, and then soar down the interlocking hills of a letter B. In the beginning, there was no audience, no one’s gaze to rearrange myself for.
But things get complicated, don’t they?
I handed that big letter A to a teacher, and she said it could be better. I learned that her approval was necessary.
Then, like many of us, I became extremely concerned with the happiness of the people around me, and started walking careful word-circles around them. I wanted to be so good.
Can you relate to any of this?
For some of us, this leads us to a fervent desire to publish, find an agent, be accepted and celebrated by the literary establishment.
For some of us, it leads to a journey towards titles — MFA, bestseller, the name in the index of the magazine.
For some of us, it hooks into the buzz of internet recognition, a focus on likes and comments and numbers.
All of this is normal.
All of this can even be wonderful.
But it’s not the why.
For me, focusing on audience muddies that first pure instinct. It fills my engine with inefficient fuel. It works — it gets my pen moving, but it disconnects me from where I truly want to go, and how I want to feel on my way there.
This year I want to write in that first way.
Turns out, the wonder never left. When I slow down, I can still climb an A like a mountain. I can still feel how every word is a lifeboat, helping me pull out of the chaos of distractions and griefs, to catch my breath and look around with new eyes.
It turns out I can lose the wonder and then find it again, over and over. It never really leaves.
So here’s to our many returns. Here’s to travelling away from those tender first instincts and then back again, over and over. Here’s to you, finding your own path back there, in your own way.
If you’re looking for some good company on that journey, we’re here.
Our sweet new membership site is open for registration until Thursday.
It is so unbelievably lovely in there. I can’t believe what a warm and generous community is springing up to fill this new online space.
Curious what’s included? Here’s a video.
Registrations close January 15th, and then we‘ll open them back up for a spring cohort in May. Click here to learn more.
We have room in a few more of our cozy winter workshops.
We have an online Saturday morning poetry workshop with space, as well as three one-day workshops with spots remaining:
Sexy Pens (in person) on March 1st
Keep Your Pen Moving (in person) on March 28th
BIPOC Stay-At-Home-Writing Retreat (online) on March 29th
A poem for you
A poem about contentment, by the ever soulful Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer.
It’s worth saying…
That all this all, this community, this practice, this way of being in hospitality with the world, is also a primary source of wonder for me.
I can get lost in emails and to-do lists. I can get numb and frustrated at how much work it all takes. And then I step back and see it — really see it — the tender way that people support each other here, the thousands of moments we get to witness words acting like salves on sore muscles, and I’m right back in the wonder.
If you’re still reading here, you’re part of that. Thank you for helping us build something that brings us home.
In it with you,
