{via etsy by BasicDesign}
Whenever I’m frustrated with writing — so frustrated that my lips curl, my cheeks pulsate and the tension seems to twist inside my organs (yes, it’s that dramatic) — I forget about its power.
I’m too annoyed.
In fact, I visit this sullen space often. The space where you check your email, blog reader, Instagram, Twitter and random websites so you don’t have to write. The space where furrowed brows, grimaces and antsy limbs reside.
Sure, it looks like you’re writing. Your Word document is open, your journal ajar. But your mind is everywhere else but the screen or paper.
Recently I read two beautiful pieces that’ve softened the tension and reminded me of the power of writing. Of writing’s ability to come to our rescue when we need it most.
In her gorgeous book, A Field Guide to Now, author Christina Rosalie reveals writing’s healing powers:
…I’ve been so focused on keeping my head down, my feet going, one in front of the other, that I’ve forgotten that I can write myself out of this mess. I am someone who needs creative purpose with the same urgency that I need air, and it’s this that I’ve let dissolve like sugar in the torrent of need rushing at me. But if I can wake up and write daily until I feel like I have a reason to be writing again, then I can write myself a raft. I can write oars. I can write buoyant water.
In addition to rafts, oars and buoyant waters, we can also write ourselves a different reality. We can change our surroundings with a story or even just several sentences.
As author Sarah Selecky writes in her beautiful blog post:
If you can’t change something about where you are, then change your where when you write.
If you live in Costa Rica right now but you miss snowboarding in the Rockies, write a scene about the mountains in winter. Take time to describe the colour of the snow, and the colour of the shadows.
If you live in Toronto right now but you miss being near the Pacific, write about the ocean. Go there in your mind. Describe the sound your feet make as you walk on the pebbled beach.
If you live in Rome right now but you miss the cherry blossom festivals of Japan, go back to Japan on the page. Write about the smell of those trees when they are all in bloom.
Because isn’t this one of the very best and most underestimated benefits to being a writer? You’re in charge of your reality when you’re writing. You can be anywhere you want to be. You can create the day you want by building a scene around it.
Go for it. Indulge a little. And if it’s not lovely where you are today, then just go somewhere lovely anyway – write yourself there.
It’s funny how quickly we can forget the many gifts writing offers when frustration festers. That’s why I love coming across such powerful reminders.
It’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one who stumbles. And it’s comforting to know that I can get back up at any time, walk over to my computer (or pick up my notebook) and write exactly what I need.