Your Writing Vows 💍🖋️

My eldest daughter got married last weekend! 

In a moving ceremony I witnessed her and her fiancé, now husband, declare their vows to each other with heartfelt, life affirming words they intend to live by all their lives long. I teared up, felt my heart flutter, and breathed in the depth of their intentions.

Pledging your love and life to someone is potent, and it gives birth—figuratively and sometimes literally—to a third vital energy, something only those two joined forces can create.

The ceremony got me thinking of writing vows—not the act of writing vows but making vows to the writing itself. I’ve often suggested we think of our writing in terms of a friendly or romantic relationship, one we make time for, nurture, negotiate with, and trust thoroughly even when times get tough. A relationship we devote ourselves to. When a quality of devotion is present within artistic pursuits, the process is made more fulfilling than the product or outcome.

Have you ever made vows to your writing? Vows are different from promises, which depend on future fulfillment. Promises always come later. Vows take place in the here and now, they are expected to be embodied, to be lived out, “from this day forward.” A future is implied here as well, but the devotional action starts now.

Having one foot in and one foot out—whether in a human relationship or a writing one— seems to limit the depths of possibilities that arise from the gifts of commitment. What would it take for you to fully commit to your writing? Right here. Right now. Even by phrasing the question with what would it take or what will it take we’re naturally deferring to the future. Isn’t that interesting? But what if we didn’t defer or delay until some condition is met? What if the vow was now? Which vows can you offer your writing in this moment?

• I vow to cherish my urge to write.

• I vow to honor that urge by providing time and space, internally and externally, to write.

• I vow to honor and appreciate whatever I write, have written, or will write.

• I vow to write from a place of love and wisdom rather than fear and insecurity.

Many years ago, in the late 90s, Jan Phillips’ “Artist’s Creed,” which is included in her book, Marry Your Muse: Making a Lasting Commitment to Your Creativity, helped me to deepen my commitment to writing. Her list of beliefs moved me closer to taking up writing vows. The Creed begins with: “I believe I am worth the time it takes to create whatever I feel called to create.” The rest of it can be found and downloaded here.

Now, as I feel inspired to renew my writing vows, I’m also asking myself what my deepest writing urges are in the context of what I feel is most significant for me to have written before this life as “April" is done. These thoughts have led to a collaboration with fellow writer and “story nurse,” Sabrina Görlitz, on a free series of webinars we’re calling Stories to Live & Die For: Writing, Living, and Dying with Your Whole Heart .

I know that those of you reading this blog take your writing seriously enough, but today I ask you to strengthen your relationship with your writing by making a deeper commitment by creating your own writing vows. Allow yourself to express that unique vital energy that only you, joined with your writing process, can create.

“A writer is a writer not because she writes well and easily, because she has amazing talent, because everything she does is golden. In my view a writer is a writer because even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway.” 

~ Junot Diaz~

“Commitment is an act, not a word.”

~ Jean Paul Sartre ~

Community, Productivity, Renewal

Recently, someone asked me: “Why do you lead writing retreats?” One of the main reasons has to do with my belief in community building.

I believe in community spaces and community time. And I believe that when you devote time and space to communities, especially creative ones, several things are possible: individual and group productivity; individual and group healing; individual and group change.

At a retreat, there’s bound to be someone quite a bit like you. And there’s bound to be someone very different from you (as well as several someones in between). One or more of these people will become friends, others may be teachers, but in both instances you’re exposed to different people from different places and you can’t help but learn, grow, and change for the better a little or a lot.

Another reason for offering writing retreats has to do with how challenging writing itself can be. It isn’t easy but we think it should be. Being with others reminds us of this disconnect between the task of writing and how we feel about it, and it renews our resolve to rise to challenges, persist despite setbacks, and celebrate our own and each other’s successes.

Writers spend a lot of time alone and can get lost in their own self-deprecation and self-aggrandizement. Being with others reminds us that these inner polarities are based in our imaginations rather than in reality.

I’ve seen time and again how much more productive writers are when they’re working alongside each other in a “together alone” situation compared to when they’re totally on their own. Whether online or in person, a group of writers toiling in each other’s presence is noticeably more focused and productive. Positive group energy nurtures individual goals.

Another reason is that I know if I, personally, benefit from a change of scene to renew my perspective and enliven my creativity then others must too. A writing retreat isn’t as intense as a five country tour around Europe, or a family holiday afar, or attempting yet failing to find time to write on a business trip or a getaway with a spouse. A retreat offers dedicated time to write in a different, slightly unusual spot. You may have a garden at home, but you don’t have to weed the one at the retreat location. You may be a great cook and eat well, but on a retreat you get to eat delicious food lovingly prepared by others whose job it is to help you relax and focus on your creativity. You may not like to leave your own bed, but waking up in quiet comfort elsewhere will shake up your perceptions—and you’ll probably dream differently.

Writers depend so much on their imaginations for inspiration, but they sometimes forget that inspiration needs life experiences to nurture it too. A retreat is just enough of a different experience to stimulate the senses while also meeting the more quotidian needs of an imagination at work.

Writers benefit from forays into the world that don’t fully pull them off the path of creativity. Retreats provide the environments—physical, mental, emotional—that help writers recommit to their love of the act of writing and of their choice to be a writer in this strange, interesting world. A world that needs artists of all kinds, especially writers, to help make sense of it, celebrate it, and point out its sacredness.

“I would advise any beginning writer to write the first drafts as if no one else will ever read them — without a thought about publication — and only in the last draft to consider how the work will look from the outside.”

~ Anne Tyler~