Waterwheel Review publishes three pieces of writing each month, September through May, with accompanying companion pieces selected or solicited by the editors.
“We hope authors will take advantage of our refusal to define what we publish, and send us un-name-able bits and pieces. A fiction that has no shape but feels complete and leaves a hole in your stomach; a nonfiction layered in obvious lies; a recipe that works like a poem.
If you’re looking for a home for a sonnet or a realist short story, or any piece that happens to wear a traditional outfit, we want to see it.
If the writing is fresh, artful, and engaging, if we’re moved (to cry, to clench a fist, to laugh), we want it.”
Years ago I heard Nobel Prize winning Irish poet Seamus Heaney give a lecture at the University of Washington. In the middle of this very academic speech, he paused, threw up both his hands and said, “Oh, just write for the joy of it” and then dipped back into the lecture.
I don’t remember anything else from the talk, but Heaney’s sudden burst of inspiration stayed with me because it really captured an essential element in being creative.
Whether you are cooking a great meal, growing a beautiful garden, writing a poem or singing in the community choir, you likely feel a deep sense of satisfaction and a joyfulness that comes with being creative.
Creativity draws on the best of human nature: perception, imagination, intellect, inspiration, courage, intuition, and empathy. The urge to create asks us to bask in the experience of the world, to see, feel, taste, hear, and smell the magnificence around us. It allows us to celebrate, with a spirit of gratefulness, every aspect of our lives and the beauty and complexity the world offers.
It can help us make meaning from our sufferings. Being creative also breaks us free from our ruts and habits allowing us to look at the world anew. We are able to tell a story that touches others, envision a unique way of solving a problem or offer counsel with fresh clarity, even if we have struggled with the same material or ideas a hundred times before. Embracing our creativity allows us to tap a deeper, more insightful way of knowing beyond our conscious mind and thoughts.
In looking for your own ways of being creative you can start by celebrating your uniqueness. There never was, nor ever will be, anyone exactly like you. In exploring your uniqueness is there a central preoccupation, an interest or passion that runs through your life? There can also be more than one.
If you can’t name it right now, think of something that you are fascinated by again and again. The possibilities are infinite; from needlework to rock climbing, from bird watching to playing the piano, from English country dancing to writing haiku, from gardening to giving foot massages. Look for what brings you joy and then begin taking actions to embrace your creativity and enjoy the process. One small step a day will set you down the creative path to increased happiness and fulfillment.
Excerpted from “How Being Creative Makes Us Happy” on Suzanne’s Blog. Please go to Creativity Goes Wild and scroll to June 3, 2022 to read the entire article.
Suzanne Murray is a gifted creativity and writing coach, soul-based life coach, writer and poet, EFT practitioner and intuitive healer committed to empowering others to find the freedom to ignite their creative fire, unleash their imagination and engage their creative expression in every area of their lives
“Never would I ever,” Or “Never will I ever,” Or “Never could I ever,” Or “Never can I ever,” Or “Never should I ever,” Or “Never have I ever,”
You cannot help but marvel At what an eternity “Never” is. At what a commitment “Never” is. At what a delusion “Never” is.
Few such utterances can hold true, When a single exception renders them moot.
Most such utterances harbor doubts. We just cannot help ourselves in our passions.
Who among us say these things? Why, everyone, of course.
Who among us mean these things? Well, everyone, of course.
But who among us are truthful about “Nevers”? Well, some of us are… Or, intend to be, at least, At the time, that is, For the most part, anyway.
So, take heed at the notion of “Never.” Its purpose is rigid, But its use is fluid.
Lest you think “Never” always means forever, Never should you ever.
Ken Delpit, in moments of introspection, grapples with intentions versus realities. “Nevers” and “Alwayses,” generally well-meaning pronouncements, are sly co-conspirators in life. They come in lots of flavors. They come in myriad weights. They come with varying degrees of truth…, or not. They can be purveyors of principle, and they can be agents of deception, including of self. Ken is happy to have found free-writing for exploring such ponderables, not so much for finding answers, but more for discovering questions.
We tell stories. But before we tell them, we hold them, think them, sometimes, we thank them. We recall and carry and live with them in our bodies. We embody them. Sometimes, they embody us.
Some of our stories are built from sandbox and rhyme-singing childhoods. Others, built from bullies beneath the monkey bars. Many are the stories told to us, about us, some true, though most are not. And still others, the most difficult ones, are born from experiences.
Someone one asked how long it took to write my memoir. 55 years. Yes. All of my years, because I lived through the experiences first. The truth is that we don’t just live through our experiences. We also don’t “get through” or “get over” the tough stuff—grief, loss, trauma.
They live in us.
If we’re lucky and wield pens, we push them out and onto the page. This might be why many of us write: Not with the goal of publishing, but to make sense of the past, to understand and know ourselves.
We live in flesh and filament built on our stories. Once written, the stories are not necessarily purged and all returns to normal. (What is normal after all?) Perhaps, our wound is re-opened and we’ve released a bit of poison or pleasure. And, much like caring for any opened gash, we should rinse, cleanse, and heal the body.
Sometimes the wound has lived so long, it’s layered in scar tissue: fibrous cells and collagen rushing to the injury—trauma, surgery, disease—building, no, over-building a thick wall of protection.
Some days I think I’m made only of scar tissue.
I try to remember that this tissue started as necessity, perhaps even survival.
Scar tissue forms in one direction, limiting movement, which, again, offers protection. After a time, joints and flesh stiffen, and now, on top of injury, there is new pain and discomfort. If left unattended, we wade through life much like mummies tightly swathed and cocooned, and, inaccessible. Inaccessible to rich experiences.
Scar tissue is not only a physical response. I believe scar tissue exists spiritually and emotionally too. Whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, the same principles apply. If we cannot move properly, we become a barrier in our own existence. We cannot extend, stretch, touch vulnerability and beauty. There comes the moment scar tissue no longer serves but hinders our human experience.
To heal, you need to work through scar tissue. If you’ve experienced the joy of breaking apart scar tissue with a physical therapist, you’ll respect the tearing it takes repairing, regaining adequate range of motion in the body. Or close to adequate.
My grandmother used to say, “The way in which you heal determines the quality of your future life.”
I should have listened to grandma more.
Writing is much like a physical therapist, breaking emotional scar tissue. The page offers safe and trusted space, (like a therapist’s office) taking us through our limited range, moving through stiffness and discomfort. Eventually we find ease. We also find that where there are wounds and scars, there is permanent alteration. In our joints. In our hearts.
We also become our own therapists in our writing practice and, because of this, we must approach our writing life with mindfulness. We must learn to care for the writer.
I combine at-desk rituals that I’ve woven into my writing life. Here’s a few you might consider, and remember, check with your doctor/therapist/guide. These are not meant as prescriptions nor replacements for medical or emotional treatment. Any type of wellness/fitness advice should be taken into consideration with your individual and medical/emotional limits:
STRETCH ten minutes every hour you sit at your desk.
STRETCH your neck and your piriformis. We carry tension in these two areas, and you can easily incorporate seated stretches. Find simple, kind movements and do them. Do them often.
NOTE: The piriformis is a flat gluteal muscle. Think where the thigh bone inserts into the hip bone. Many with piriformis flare ups experience sciatica as well.
SECOND NOTE: When we say something (or someone) is a pain in the neck or a pain in the butt, well, there’s much truth to this. If it (or they) bring you stress, it (or they) may also encourage physical pain in your body.
THIRD NOTE: It’s fun to say, “That’s (you’re) a pain in my piriformis.” Sometimes just saying that phrase relieves stress.
END ON A HIGH. Hemmingway offered this writing advice to avoid writing yourself out. Stop your writing at a place of high interest. My END ON A HIGH relates to writing something light, something easy on the heart towards the end of your practice. The deeper and darker you write, the more important this might become.
You can also END ON A HIGH listening to lovely music. (I prefer cellos). Or dancing. Or walking in nature. Or reading someone else’s lighter work. Or watching comedy. Or . . . you get the idea.
In Jewish culture, it is customary to place a bit of honey on the letters of the alef-bet when a child first learns Hebrew. The child licks the honey, associating the sweetness of letters with the delight of learning. As writers, we can model other cultural practices of gentleness and delightfulness in learning and rewarding.
I’m aware these ideas push against the more frequent writerly advice, “Sit. Write. And write some more.” For many writers, the process might be more than producing a poem, an essay, a book. Writing sometimes feels like birthing or surgery. So caring for oneself as if recovering becomes critical if we want to continue writing (and healing).
This is no easy feat for many of us. I’m no different. For the last twenty-plus years, I’ve been a decent caretaker, just not for myself. I’ve spent most of my life punishing my body—starvation, extreme fitness, binging, purging, and other forms of subtle torture. Maybe this was my attempt to release my most haunting stories. Maybe I thought I could starve out my memories. Or beat them down.
Even as I offer writer-care suggestions, I should add, go gentle on yourself as you discover how to do this. The harder you’ve lived, perhaps the nicer you must be. I’m not sure. I’m still learning.
I’m a memoirist, poet, and essayist. In addition to writing, I mentor high school girls in the juvenile system and teach poetry for those in recovery.
In my spare time, I co-host a radio program, Writer to Writer, offering a space for writers with tips on craft and life.
I’m also a decorated and disabled War Veteran, a Jew, a gardener, a mother, a worrier, and more.
I have a passion for sharing difficult stories about vulnerability woven with mysticism.
I’ve earned two MFAs, one in creative nonfiction, the other in poetry. I live in Idaho with my sons, my Newfie, and my Calico.
My poems and essays have appeared in Narratively, The Rumpus, Entropy Literary Magazine, War, Literature & the Arts, The Limberlost Review, and a handful of anthologies. I’ve co-edited a forthcoming anthology of poems, when there are nine, a tribute to the life and achievements of Ruth Bader Ginsburg (Moon Tide Press, June 2022).
I’ll be offering free workshops that revolve around caring for the writer. These will begin in July. Find out more at my website, Rebecca Evans, Writer, in the Musings and Movement section.
Note from Marlene:
“The Write Spot: Writing as a Path to Healing” offers more ideas for self-care when writing about difficult topics. Available at your local bookseller and as both paperback and ebooks from Amazon.
I like the idea of looking at familair things with a new perspective.
This writing idea is from Kathryn Petruccelli:
Look at something in your environment, perhaps something you’ve seen many times before, that you think you know well.
It could be a piece of art hanging in your house, or a plant on your windowsill.
Get close and look again. Re-see it.
After you’ve spent some time with it, create a list of metaphors—things it looks like, or reminds you of.
Don’t be too attached to logic, be free with your associations.
Maybe the comparisons will get wild as you go along.
At some point, break the pattern of the list and slow things down by going deeper into description for one metaphor (extend it and explain it in more detail), or by making a statement—a simple subject-verb sentence—that reflects on or summarizes what you’ve said so far.
Note from Marlene: Use your list as seeds for future writing.
Rebecca Evans taught an amazing class about writing monologues, which sent me on a search for “monologue submissions.” Scroll down for information on Rebecca’s June 16, 2022 writing workshop.
“The detour that leads to an unexpected adventure. The vacation where everything goes wrong. The annoying stranger who turns into an amazing guide. Forward Theater is looking for original scripts about travel, whether to places far away or destinations close to home. Even a trip across the street can expand your horizons.
Here is your chance to create a tale of the connection, joy, fear, beauty, exploration, and discovery that can only happen when you get out in this world.
As you consider what to write, please be as creative as possible. It can take the form of comedy, spoken word, drama, farce, autobiography, or pure fiction. Our goal is to produce a wildly diverse evening of theater, so let your imagination run free!”
Deadline: October 1, 2022.
Guidelines for 2023 Monologue Festival Out in This World
THE ROSETHEATRE COMPANYseeks short comedic monologues for the creation of a curated digital film & audio series titled IN CHARACTER.
Selected monologues will be produced and released by The Rose for use across digital platforms, including audible, Instagram, and You Tube channels.
We’re looking for compelling, well-told and entertaining first-person stories. Non-traditional pieces (stand-up, literary, poems, music, sketch, spoken-word) are welcome provided they meet The GUIDELINES.
