Practices for Good Writing

by Victor Klimoski

In a recent column, Dr. Sanjay Guptam offered six practices to maintain a healthy brain as we age. They offer as well a regimen for writers intent on developing and sustaining a writing practice. Wishing is not enough; developing “writing muscle” is essential. What follows, then, is my adaption of Guptam’s protocol.

Take A Hike.

It is striking how many working writers take walks. Some speak of it as a time to clear their heads or give an outing to something they are writing or just letting new space set them free. I would add that it is not just a matter of walking. Rather, it is walking alert to wonder. “Wonder walking” entails silencing the chatter in our heads and setting our curiosity free. Be eager to see and hear something that might stop you in your tracks or, for a brief moment, shift your perspective.

Drink Water.

Water is a universal prescription in any physical regimen. The wonders of hydration are nearly cultic. In this instance, I focus on the intentional act of drinking – pausing activity, watching the water fill the glass or bottle, being grateful for the vessel itself as you raise it to your lips. This is an act of mindfulness at its best that reconnects us to our common beginnings even as it teaches us gratitude for all that sustains us.

Try Something New.

Experimentation can be delightful if approached with a sense of discovery. We all like our patterns because they are predictable and safe. In the gap that risk opens, however, lies the potential of coming upon a new way of doing or saying something. Over time, we become more adaptable. We realize that a disturbance in our daily routines is an invitation to be curious. And curiosity almost always opens a door.

Chill.

Most of us would be surprised at how much tension we carry in our bodies. Anxiety and worry have a cost especially when we ignore their presence. To chill is to free the body to do what the body knows best. We breathe deeply. We let muscles slacken. We still the roar of competing thoughts that runs rampant in our heads. A chilled person is here, in this moment, fully present to it and what it brings.

Find Purpose.

Sometimes you hear or read how a person has had a galvanizing purpose in life since they were six years old. We sigh, knowing that is not our case, that we have sort of gone along with life as it happened, doing what we can or must. The temptation to assume that purpose has to be magnificent to be valid is self-defeating. Most of the time, the challenge is to discover the purpose we have been about. Reflecting on the decisions we have made, the reasons behind those decisions, the values to which we return again and again all help us recognize our purpose. Once we do that, we can live into it more intentionally, not comparing it to others but mining its opportunities, lessons, and gifts.

Be A Learner.

Learning is fundamental to survival physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. If the directive to writers is to write what they know, then deepening the pool of experience from which they draw ideas is nearly a prime directive. There is no set way to gain more experience. But it begins by paying attention to our questions, to what catches our eye, to conversations in which we are fully engaged. Read, watch movies, listen to TED talks, try a new hobby – anything that beckons you to a new place where the vista is broader.

These six activities, of course, are more interdependent than exclusive. We find purpose as we continue to learn, and we often learn best when we try something new. The way new learning takes root often comes in those moments of solitude, like on a walk, when we cultivate attentiveness to what surrounds us, listening to it speak. Ordinary daily rituals, like drinking water, strengthen our mindfulness of the intricacy of even the smallest, seemingly insignificant acts. And chilling out enables us to open ourselves to the light, whatever its source, and letting it flood us with what we need to know – to be at peace, to live engaged with life, and yes, to write from the center of our being.

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Victor Klimoski, Ph.D. is the former Director of Lifelong Learning at Saint John’s School of Theology lifelong teacher. He holds a doctorate in adult education from the University of Minnesota and works extensively as a group facilitator and project consultant. He is also author of a number of poetry collections, most recently Revisited, Gleanings (contributing editor), Margin Notes and Lamentation for the Written Word.