A Relaxed Writer Is A Strong Writer
A Journalist’s Diary
Writing is a relaxation tool — under the right circumstances. I’ve written about overcoming a disrupted writing routine and sorting out the mental chaos.
When my brain realizes a writing project — small or big — makes progress, I can feel tension, stress, and unrest that often have little to do with the writing in front of me, ease, just as research suggests might happen.
A line about approaching photography with less lofty expectations, which I read recently, helped me realize that a more relaxed approach to writing enables me to squeeze those calming effects out of the writing process more often.
Besides expanding on that thought, today’s post also includes an update on my short stories that show how progress and relaxation can go hand in hand.
Finally, I’ll share a new observation journal entry that, in a way, is also about letting go.
Loosey-Goosey but in a Good Way
I’ve long accepted to let go of expectations in photography. Letting it come to you feels like a wiser approach than chasing images.
Counting steps between making pictures, as I wrote more than a year ago, robbed me of the “photowalk experience,” a time when I can let my mind wander and help my intuition take the reins.
A year before that realization, I enjoyed how “a simple kind of inspiration” led to quality time with a camera in my hand.
I’m finally beginning to translate that for the writing I do.
Photography and writing are journeys that developed very similarly for me. I started in an innocent place that allowed me to enjoy the activity, leading to the desire to learn and grow. That education, however, introduced expectations, stress, and frustrations. The key to finding my way back to enjoyment is to loosen up and trust that I intuitively make the right decisions and grow without trying to force the matter.
If I worked through a photographic checklist that includes everything I want to improve, keep in mind, and notice in past work or external studies, I would neither enjoy the work nor get very far.
If I relax and let my intuition work, the joy returns and I notice in editing (maybe even while photographing) baby steps of progress.
The writer in me is a tougher nut to crack. I’ve often wished I could simply pour 1,000 words into a document within a few minutes and let go. That would make it easier in a world where efficiency rules us.
The more I learned about writing and my writerly self, the more difficult it became to just start. Making that first sentence appear on the screen involved quieting the mind and sorting a thousand pieces of information.
Maintaining this blog helps. Seeing and feeling the changes in my photography helps, and what also helps are the discoveries I’m making because I started a more creative writing project.
I began writing an observation journal again, which I see as a place where I can force myself to write what my senses receive without overcomplicating things.
I continue to make time for short exploratory writing sessions. 20-minute bursts of writing where I tell myself to ignore the perfectionist devil on my shoulder and write down what’s on my mind.
Loosening up helps. Regardless of what writing you do, try to let it come to you.
Relaxation Requires Order
The biggest problem with letting it come to you, besides that devil on my shoulder, is the chaos of material that quickly accumulates, especially with larger projects.
For some people, easy solutions can help.
I recently heard an anecdote about how a German comedian (Heinz Erhardt, born in 1909, died in 1979) quieted his mind by using colored paper. The white page in the typewriter freaked him out. The blue, pink, or green of the (awful quality) paper he turned to calmed his mind because the color meant there was already something on the page.
For me, keeping handwriting a part of my writing helps. But going digital continues to be a blessing.
I finalized the overview and timeline for the backstory of my short stories. The screenshot of that overview I shared last time is now more detailed and cleaner. Most importantly, it’s clearer in my mind because of the digital order.
And I feel it’s because of that order that it’s easier to write from a relaxed starting point. At least, that’s the thought that crossed my mind when I had finished the cleaned-up overview of all characters, locations, and events. I can see the stories building in my mind at last.
Giving In
The train sounds quiet tonight. Or maybe it’s the tiredness that drowns out the engine noise more than usual. I’m not the only one who’s done with the day.
Turning my head slightly, the disheveled hair blocks the young girl’s face. She’s wearing a black sweater; a denim blue backpack sits on her lap. She leans her head on her mother’s shoulder.
In her early 40s, mom’s hair is more orderly, organized into a bun, and of a similar dark blonde color to her daughter’s.
A white knitted bag rests on her light beige pants. Her dark beige Nikes move slightly once in a while. Her eyes look exhausted while she holds her daughter’s hand and gently comforts her with slow pats across the back of her hand.
The woman’s younger kid sits opposite the two. All I can see is the same hair color (equally lengthy), a navy jacket, and very bright jeans. The boy is lively, constantly in motion.
As the announcement for my stop echoes through the cabin, the exhausted family prepares to exit the train.
The daughter lifts her head and slowly shakes it a few times to control the hair. Surprise: what I assumed to be a teenage girl turns out to be the husband. Ups. In my defense — even after seeing his face, I needed a few seconds to make that determination.
His tiredness could be sadness or pain, maybe? He reaches for a pair of crutches while gifting his son a big smile. The tiredness I perceived seemed gone from both faces as they headed for the exit.
