When to Walk Away
“Epiphanies aren’t lightning bolts. They are a hummed note, a prayer mumbled constantly, brought to the surface given the right conditions.”
— Stephanie Danler, Stray
Some of the scenes in my memoir are set in Thailand, and I spent most of a recent writing session adding sensory details, and I’m sure you can imagine how nostalgic this made for me for the trip.
But I wasn’t getting below the surface and I knew it. There were plenty of descriptions of meals, serene beaches, and the bustling streets of Bangkok, but emotion was absent from the paragraphs I tinkered with. I felt the familiar discomfort in my body, like when I know it just needs to move and shake something out.
I saved my draft and left.
Downstairs, I started working on dinner, chopping peppers and onions for turkey chili, and after only fifteen minutes puttering around the kitchen, the missing insight I was circling around upstairs arrived in mind as I stirred my pot with a long wooden spoon.
Of course, I ran to the computer and typed it up before forgetting.
Sometimes we need a change of scenery.
Literally, you must lift your legs from the chair and unclench your fingers from the pen. Walking away during your writing process isn’t about giving up on the story, but about honoring the movement required to bring ideas and connections through the body and eventually onto the page.
Sometimes to go deeper on the page, we need to be somewhere else.
Stir a sauce.
Knit a scarf.
Weed the garden.
Whatever you do, busy your hands or move your body. Creativity often flows, miraculously, from there.
