Did the mammoth ever marvel
at the stardust in his bones?
September, 25, 2022—new moon in Libra—three days past the equinox—during a thunderstorm
Hello lovelies!
Today I’ll start with a hand-on-heart “Thank you!” to everyone who emailed, texted, or commented in response to my last letter. I appreciate you.
I’m awash in your kindness and sending the overflow onward to anyone here who could use a restorative word, a gentle touch, a smile of solidarity.
On writing when life keeps firing curveballs
In my last letter I mentioned, “…even writing isn’t the salvation it usually is.” Many of you emailed and told me you’ve experienced this unsettling dilemma, or something like it, when your life got complicated. There’s no question the disorientation is real.
And. (There’s almost always an “and.”)
We are makers—creative beings. The creative urge still happens. Exhaustion and curveballs and chaos may stop us from saying hello, but it still taps us on the shoulder.
The way we usually write may not feel like salvation, but writing in some form can still be exploration, sometimes illumination, sometimes it simply scratches the itch.
So, what’s with the mammoth?
Because of all that has been happening—the many curveballs life has lobbed at me recently—I have been thinking more about death, incapacity, longevity, legacy and time. (Hence mammoths, stardust, and marveling.)
Because my creative self keeps insistently lashing her big, floofy tail in my face, I’ve been moved (annoyed?) into scribbling notes.
Not journaling, or writing to process in the ways that I might have six months ago, but capturing snapshots, or one-sentence journal entries, or maybe the bones of a Zuihitsu. (A beautiful, somewhat indefinable Japanese poetry form. I appreciate how Jenny Xie describes it. “The zuihitsu form is a welcome reprieve from the will: an invitation to clear space for the drift of the mind and observe how it gets assailed by thought, feeling, loosened memories.”)
“Did the mammoth ever marvel at the stardust in his bones?” is a question I scribbled, along with several others, in my current working notebook—a collage of sentences, observations, poem drafts, random quotes, and anything else that grabs my volatile, fatigued, rice-paper-thin attention.
Some days it feels as if this scrawled collection of oddments is what holds me together. It’s not the act of writing holding me together. It’s that these creative moments live on in the unlined pages of my turquoise notebook.
They continue to exist.
I can come back to them.
I don’t have to keep them in my overworked memory.
I haven’t lost them to the chaos and worry.
I haven’t lost these bits of my creative self.
I haven’t lost the spark that makes me, me.
not
lost.
saved between
blue on smooth
creamy earth.
seeded.
ready to
rise whenever
sunlight
and spaciousness
come home.
That’s the real benefit of this new, bare-bones writing practice. Tugged, pulled, torn and worn as I’m feeling, the bone-deep important parts of me are still here responding to inspiration, wonder, awe and all the big feelings bubbling to the surface these days.
What about you?
If life is tossing you curveballs, why not try distilling your creative practice to its essence?
You could try a notebook like mine, or fill one with simple one-minute doodles or sketches. Maybe an audio file where you record thoughts, ideas, bits of songs or music (your own or someone else’s)? Perhaps white board or wall you fill with images, words, quotes, feathers, or bits of flowers? What do you think? I’ll bet you have lots more ideas!
Do what feels easy and kind. Simple. Gentle. Try to make sure it’s something that leaves you with at least as much energy as you had when you began–however much or little that is.
For me, scribbling a sentence into my notebook several times each day isn’t depleting. If writing more feels OK, I’ll do that, but most of the time I stop at a sentence or two. It’s enough.
Also, it can be tempting to turn this into “Self-Care” but I encourage you to resist. While I’m a fan of caring for ourselves exquisitely, “Self-Care” as a modern practice (or industry) can carry a ton of cultural and social baggage, most labeled “should,” and “should” is rarely simple.
Creative practices flex and grow and change with the person wielding them. What we’re talking about here is throwing your creative self a lifeline. Keep it simple and kind.
If this letter brought a little something nourishing to your day, maybe you’d like to
I’ll let you know in my next letter if the mammoth makes it into a poem.
With simple, kind appreciation,
Tracie
P.S. The roving, exploring, respite of the writing circles continues on 1st and 3rd Saturdays and 2nd and 4th Wednesdays. We’re a small, supportive circle of women who write and share and laugh and cry and generally find relief and belonging. Come write with us! All the details are at: https://tracienichols.com/writing-circles/
P.P.S. Here’s the article about Zuihitsu in the Asian American Writers’ Workshop where I read Jenny Xie’s definition.