The week I was a writer

Rekindling the magic of writing without an agenda

“have I forgotten writing
as the place
I can redeem myself…

did I forget
that writing could
make me live again”

—Olga Ravn from My Work

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A very belated Happy New Year to you!

This week I’m settling in at home after spending most of January in San Diego. (Short story: it was a work-related thing for my other half.) The opportunity surfaced last fall somewhat unexpectedly, and while it meant we had to clean up Christmas sooner than usual—decorations were back in the attic by the 27th—it also meant I was able to walk on the beach every other day and breathe in the sea air.

While this was not truly a vacation (I was still working and my son was on a school break), it provided some novelty and rejuvenation at the end of a demanding season. In many ways, it also helped me practice how I plan to move forward with my writing this year.

This might sound strange coming from, well, a writer, but in 2024 I’m hoping to be a writer again. More specifically, I’m longing to return to the heart and soul of my work.

After spending 2020-2022 deep in the trenches of writing a memoir, 2023 was a bit of a reset where I didn’t do a whole lot of writing. Now, after a summer of white space (start with Part 1, then listen to Part 2 if you haven’t already) the much-needed spaciousness I created has opened a small portal for a kind of creative vitality I haven’t felt in a long time. And I’m fiercely trying to protect it.

It started with a single week in early December. My calendar was clear. Freelance work was minimal. There was an ease and openness to my days, and I filled it with doing one of the most gratifying things I can think of: typing up scraps from my notebook.

This is the notebook I keep for odds and ends. Poems, journal entries, random notes, essay ideas. I’d started this process in the spring, adding check marks to pages that I’d typed up and found a home for in my digital files, but this was the week I completed it.

I should emphasize that this was all typing and no editing. When typing up a poem, for instance, I often don’t stop and consider line breaks. Sometimes what will become a poem begins as nothing more than a paragraph completely devoid of grammar. For me, this isn’t the moment to stop and linger. It’s time to get everything down so I’ll have something to work with later on.

Monday was particularly energizing. I was refreshed and spent several hours at my desk in the morning. Tuesday, as predicted, was a slog. I wasn’t trying to replicate the previous day’s progress, but I thought I could at least manage something. No. Instead, I read, watched television, went for a walk, and pulled out the wrapping paper … basically fiddled around the house doing domestic things because my brain, even to type existing words, wasn’t having it.

Wednesday was once again uplifting. Another three hours spent typing, and then I came to the end of my notebook pages and felt immensely satisfied. The experience reminded me how much I’ve missed this kind of freedom of movement. This shifting between tabs—an essay in Google Docs, a list of poems in Scrivener, just jumping back and forth. Nothing I have to do, just things to play with.

We know that creativity ebbs and flows. It makes sense that after three intense years of being immersed in a particular kind of work, I’d need a significant pause in mind, body, and spirit. I was also tending to a lot of physical aspects of my well-being, and deep writing was less accessible most days.

Now, I’ve been able to spend some time to doing writerly things like typing up scraps, polishing essays and poems to send to journals, and exploring ideas beyond the long scope of a book. It feels akin to stretching, or coming out of hibernation. And like most things about seasonal creative living, the process is slow and steady.

One of the reminders I’ve loved this winter is that even though the Gregorian calendar starts anew each January, the earth doesn’t bother with any of that. From a cyclical standpoint, it’s still a fallow season. January is for deep rest, sap returns to the trees in February, and in March we’ll see the eager signs of spring.

I imagine many of you are also feeling your way through it all, and I’m right alongside you doing the same.

Until next time,
Nicole

📚 Reading

—Do you ever revisit a book you started months earlier, but it wasn’t the right time? That was me and Our Missing Hearts by Celeste Ng. I loved Little Fires Everywhere and was eager to read her latest novel, but I happened to bring it home from the library with a stack of other books. I read about thirty pages and knew I wanted to keep going, but I didn’t want to rush myself. Back it went. One of the first things we did after getting to San Diego was pick up a non-resident library card, and I happened to catch Our Missing Hearts on one of the shelves. Now was the time! I’m not actually sure how much I can say about this book without giving away the story. I suppose I’ll say this: It was beautifully written and felt so stitched together, but the ending was hard. Not because it wasn’t the right one, but because I fell in love with one of the characters and I didn’t want the ending for them. Ah, the heartbreak!

—I also revisited Stag’s Leap, where Sharon olds chronicles her divorce in verse. One poem in particular, about a past summer at the beach house, was so striking in the ways memory itself pulls us into its undertow despite what might be happening in the present.

🎧 Listening

—I’m one of those people who is always curious about celebrity memoirs but doesn’t always make time to read them. Enter, Celebrity Memoir Book Club, my new favorite show where two fast-talking hosts (who both work in publishing) read all the books so I don’t have to.

—Glennon Doyle on rethinking social media and hustle culture.

—I didn’t attend the Eras Tour, but found this episode of The Daily, The Year of Taylor Swift, fascinating.

🍳 Eating

—I cooked simply in our Airbnb and I’ve been eating out more than usual, but these are the recipes I’ve bookmarked to settle me back into the kitchen again: broiled miso salmon, easy pinto beans, and grain-free granola to enjoy with yogurt or homemade nut milk.