Category: writing process

When the words won’t come, I take my work for …

When the words won’t come, I take my work for a walk. Literally, I put pages in my pocket and take a hike in an unfamiliar place. The idea is that both me and my writing could use the stretch of a new environment. Put your hand on it every day, no matter what, is my philosophy….Most important is faith. Stay close to the story and, ultimately, it will return to you.

When the writing is slow or when I’m between p…

When the writing is slow or when I’m between projects, I pull on my boots and head to an art museum. Museums dilate us. Our job is to stay open and look…. What happens as we look depends entirely on the looker and what is being looked at. But something inevitably happens—you love it and look more deeply, you hate it and wonder why, you remember something, your mood shifts, an image emerges, a line of thinking starts to lead you in an unexpected direction….

Sometimes, if things aren’t going well, I’ll s…

Sometimes, if things aren’t going well, I’ll start reading a book that I both truly admire and, for whatever reasons, can’t get engaged with. After reading for a while, my mind gets pitched into the perfect state for a new creative act. It feels cleansed.

I listen to arpeggios when I need help moving …

I listen to arpeggios when I need help moving along in my writing. An arpeggio is a musical chord drawn out, note by note, ascending or descending, like a spinning wheel of notes. Arpeggios slow down time, letting our ears isolate and identify each note in a chord….Writers know how to arpeggio. We isolate certain components—setting, character, conflict, theme—and get these notes moving at a tempo. We repeat with slight variations. We complicate. We put these notes into conversation with one another, make them interact.

When I can’t write, I write. I write without e…

When I can’t write, I write. I write without expectation. I sit down and make the tips of my fingers touch the cool keys of my laptop, feel the connection, and let the words fall out without judgment. I ask. I explore. I release. I figure I can throw it all away anyway. I write for nothing more than relief. I don’t worry about being stuck in my writing because it is the writing itself that unsticks me.

I mostly write at night when the world around …

I mostly write at night when the world around me is quiet. It’s like getting ahead on a lonesome highway. When I cannot make any headway, a long walk usually helps—best of all with music. For every novel I create a corresponding playlist with hundreds of songs. A musical compass I listen to during my wanderings through town or on train rides, to then come up with scenes or think about ones where I am stuck.

Since there are so few opportunities to experi…

Since there are so few opportunities to experience a feeling of freedom in my life, I do not allow rules and regulations to dictate my writing—it’s one thing I can control. I’ve always been a striver, and it just hasn’t brought me the satisfaction I thought it would. Also, my livelihood has never depended on a publication record. So, I’m trying to be done with striving when I have the ability to make that choice. Listen, I am middle-aged, I’m not trying to be a big deal, why should I make writing poems, something I love (and how many things do you really get to love in this life?), into another opportunity to suffer? I write when I can, wherever I am, and I am trying to accept this commitment to lawlessness.

A few times a year, usually in the dead of win…

A few times a year, usually in the dead of winter, I’m overcome by a remarkably strong urge to simply disappear. I pack up my cats and computer, climb in the car, and head to my family’s summerhouse in Rhode Island, which I am fortunate to have, and where I often remain for weeks on end. Once there, I am absurdly habit-forming: I write from nine to three; take long, music-fueled walks along the river; write again from five to seven; and finally reward myself with red wine, dinner, and whatever TV show I’m currently immersed in. I wear clothes from high school and stop shaving my legs; often, I won’t see another human being for days. I try to give myself permission to falter, to squander whole mornings, and I find that after a few days, almost unfailingly, the words start to well up.

—Ursula K. Le Guin, from a 1988 interview, col…

—Ursula K. Le Guin, from a 1988 interview, collected in Ursula K. Le Guin: The Last Interview: and Other Conversations (Melville House, 2019)

I wrote [the book] in bits and pieces over a y…

I wrote [the book] in bits and pieces over a year, and then stitched it together into a coherent collection in a few weeks, which is usually how I work with poetry….Much of it was written from a state of pain—psychic, emotional grief, a time in my life that involved a fair amount of evolution and ‘lying fallow,’ as my friend put it. At times I found it difficult to write about an experience I was still in the middle of, which is why I had to wait to iron out the narrative until things felt more settled.