April 13, 2009

When I started writing, I lived on an Iowa farm, in a county known nationwide as the “black dirt capital of the world.” Record crops were grown there, in the most nutrient-dense soil in the country.

Then I moved to Texas five years ago. I have tried for two years to grow something–anything–in my front yard. I water faithfully, but after a few weeks, the bushes curl up and die, the flowers shrivel, and the firm succulents go squishy.

What passes for “dirt” here is a bit of leached-out clay embedded with rocks and gravel. There is almost no soil at all, and certainly none of it is black. Not even brown. Just sort of dingy gray. Over the weekend, I asked the advice of the older man across the street, a retired wheat farmer from Nebraska whose vegetable gardens were green and lush.

“Compost your yard,” he said. “Get bags and bags of compost, make some raised beds, and give your plants something to grow on.”

Something to Grow On

When he said that, I realized he was talking about more than my dried-up yard, although he didn’t know it…  I was twenty-seven years old when I took the Institute’s writing course. I’d had twenty-seven years of experiences to write about, twenty-seven years of books read and absorbed. I also had three small children, so ideas were unfolding before my very eyes on a daily basis. I had more ideas than I had time to write down, much less develop.

Fast forward thirty years to arid Texas. I’ve had 35 books published, plus scores of articles and some short stories. My inner reservoir of ideas feels a lot like my gray hard rocky soil out front. Some days I feel like I am about as successful growing stories as I am at growing flowers.

I think my writing life needs composting.

Artist Dates

One of the things Julia Cameron advises in The Artist’s Way is to take a weekly “artist date.” It’s for feeding your mind with images and experiences you need as a writer. Weekly nurturing experiences restock the pond that perhaps you’ve fished from for years. An over-fished pond leaves us with diminished resources. Our work dries up. The pond needs to be restocked. You do that with artist dates.

“An artist date is a block of time, perhaps two hours weekly, especially set aside and committed to nurturing your creative consciousness, your inner artist. In its most primary form, the artist date is an excursion, a play date that you pre-plan and defend against all interlopers.” You go alone–no spouses, friends, or children.

She suggests things like a visit to a great junk store, a solo trip to the beach, an old movie seen alone, a visit to an aquarium or art gallery. A long walk, sitting to watching a sunrise or sunset, going bowling, a concert: all such experiences qualify.

Crop Analysis

Are you expecting a bumper crop of writing to come from soil that was depleted some time ago? Is the fruit of your writing labor smaller than it used to be? It could be that it’s time to do some composting.

What are some of your favorite ways to feed and nurture your creative side? I’m most interested in those ways that are inexpensive or free, with the easiest access. What do you do to fit creative composting into your writing life?

4 Comments »

1. 

   You are so right about the soil running out of nutrients, just like our writing garden. I often feel like I will never be able to come up with a great new original idea. Everything I think of has been done before, many times. But I also know from experience that a great idea comes from pushing two very different things together and seeing a spark. For me, the nurturing is about all the things you mention – time out alone, feeding the muse. I love movies, good books, music, wandering around places I’ve never been before … the key thing when doing any of these is to fully be in the moment, instead of feeling guilty about not being at home, writing!

   Comment by Sherryl — April 13, 2009 @ 5:34 pm

2. 

   Sherryl, that’s one thing I didn’t mention–but should have! Get rid of the guilt over taking time to nurture the muse!!!! It FEELS like such a luxury, something not productive because you’re not accumulating pages. And yet, that day you wander in the museum or go to the movie may produce that very idea that produces a stack of pages later.

   Comment by Kristi Holl — April 13, 2009 @ 6:29 pm

3. 

   The hardest thing is fighting the guilt about leaving my family for awhile. I planned a trip to my mom’s farm with just my writing critique group because it is a very restful and secluded place (not to mention free), but I had just decided to maybe back out of the whole idea because I feel so guilty about going alone. Maybe it’s because I still have younger children, but I really struggle with that, even when I just go to the library.

   Comment by Beth Mac — April 14, 2009 @ 6:53 pm

4. 

   Beth, you’ve hit on a very important topic–guilt! We women are wired for it, and women with small children are the most prone. I know I STILL tend to prioritize my day according to guilt. (Which thing left undone will make me feel the most guilty?) The one thing that helped with my guilt when the kids were young was to focus (and write down) how I felt returning from those little free excursions. (Mine were often no more than having my husband babysit during naptime on Sunday and taking a book or journal down to sit by the stream that ran through our cornfield.) But I felt so rejuvenated by so little, and I was a better mom and more patient because of it. You nurturing your inner writer will make you a happier mom, and that benefits EVERYbody.

   Comment by Kristi Holl — April 15, 2009 @ 5:44 am

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