008: Le Vent Nous Portera

I am a nature walker who writes weekly on Substack

Opening

I ran across this older song, and Sophie Hunger’s voice transported me to a happy place. I do not know much French, but it was fun to catch the line “Des taxis pour les galaxies” - something about a taxi to the galaxies. 

I connect this song to the detective, Lemmy Caution, driving his Ford Galaxie into the city of Alphaville, the title of Jean Luc Godard’s 1965 film. He is here to destroy a computer, Alpha 60, which has outlawed love and poetry. I can imagine the detective reciting the lines of this song to complete his mission. 

This echoes the poet Diane di Prima in her poem “Rant”:

the war is the war against the imagination

you can’t sign up as a conscientious objector

the war of the worlds hangs here, right now, in the balance

it is a war for this world, to keep it

a vale of soul-making

Each of our imaginations is an immense gift we have to share.

An acquaintance asked me last week about my imagination, specifically how I write. This cover of the song Wild Horses captures my feelings while writing. There is a slow, hesitant start, but then my imagination opens up, and a smile becomes an inner standing ovation. There is satisfaction in trying to cross the liminal threshold and bring magic back from wherever unbounded creativity lives. 

Wild Horses

Image from Gene Divine on Unsplash

Wild horses

Couldn't drag me away

The Rolling Stone’s song Wild Horses chorus accompanies the alternating heavy rain and drizzle. The heavy rain arrives in surges outside my study window, drumming against the pavement, splattering against leaves, and creating small cascades along the gutters.

The acoustic ballad, with its themes of love, loss, and the complexities of relationships, captures my struggle to publish my writing consistently. I have unlocked a way to write and publish consistently. Short sprints of productivity used to vanish as mysteriously as they had appeared, and these fertile periods elicited no clues as to how or why they happened upon reflection. The key came in three words from fellow writer Steven Foster—First Draft Fridays.

My failed reflections gave way to the image of a wheel. First Draft Fridays is one spoke on the revolution of a writing wheel. The struggle to create something has not gone away, but I have identified my biggest weakness - completing a first draft right before a self-enforced publishing deadline. I was repeating a pattern of cramming for an exam the night before.

I am guilty of wanting to explain the entire universe in every essay. The first wheel spoke on Wednesday night was to select a prompt or an idea. Having an idea or prompt is the first narrowing. I am down to a galaxy or two. 

Thursday’s second spoke is to discuss this idea or answer the prompt. I have two approaches. 

One approach is to go for a walk with my phone. I will record short snippets of voice, thirty seconds to a minute, into a messaging app. A friend will respond asynchronously with an emoji, written comment, or voice reply. Walking outside works its magic.

A second approach is to get on a call with another person and have them listen to my idea, and I, in turn, listen to their idea. Writer and coach Rik van den Berge calls this an Idea Gym. The gym has three rules. First, listen in silence and hold space for the other person. Second, I reflect on what I hear without adding baggage. Third, I ask questions when I need help understanding something. Watching the other person’s body language and eyes lets me see the exciting parts. Having an idea flop is okay. Frustration can surface what may seem like a lesser idea but becomes a fantastic topic because of that initial conversation. I remember one woman saying after a gym, “Now I have an essay, not a project.”

The third spoke on Friday is what writer Anne Lamont calls the “shitty first draft” in her book Bird by Bird. Translate the compression and distillation of the conversation into written words. I gather evidence for my idea, but there is a better time to run to the library and read a dozen books. Still, I can engage in ambient research with bits of ideas previously captured in a hand-written journal and a digital note-taking application. I like to write the first draft early in the morning so I can step away and see it with fresh eyes in the early evening. Sometimes, I imagine my draft hiding in the woods like a wild beast, a shadow part of myself. I patiently need to coax it from hiding to see the full beauty of its shape. I will share a Google Doc of my draft with a small circle of fellow writers by evening, thus achieving First Draft Fridays.

The fourth spoke is giving and receiving feedback over the weekend. I love the two days of shifting focus to other’s drafts. The weekend is about practicing gratitude. Each person will have different concerns about their writing. Does the flow of the essay make sense? Is there anywhere I could tell less and show more? Seeing what is fantastic and unclear in another’s writing is much easier. We each have blind spots. This practice of providing constructive feedback strengthens my craft.

Monday and Tuesday have the biggest spoke. A good second draft becomes a terrific third draft and, finally, the finished essay. Two days of editing gives me time to take breaks and let my mind process things in the background. I shift focus back inwards, dive in, and tackle the feedback. It is okay to disagree and even not accept a particular feedback, but this is usually a clue that other readers will have similar concerns. I may rewrite the entire essay or rearrange the paragraphs and sentences like Lego blocks. I read my essay out loud several times to hear the rhythm and feel the impact of the words through my breathing.

Wednesday morning is the final spoke. I take a last look at the essay. I may add, change, or remove a word or phrase. I publish at noon and complete one full revolution of the writing wheel.

The rain has stopped; I see the gray, overcast sky outside my study window. The red leaves of a blueberry bush shake like our family’s dog Moo after a bath, and dark pine trees sway to the wind. The writing wheel continues turning.

The song Wild Horses mirrors my determination and passion. This commitment is akin to the unwavering dedication portrayed in the song. Writing necessitates delving into personal experiences, emotions, and vulnerabilities. Sitting at my study desk, I can see these wild horses running, and I can occasionally ride one.

Note: I want to thank Georg Bulmer and Anthony D’ Apolito III for their feedback on the essay. Thanks to Steven Foster for First Draft Fridays and Rik van den Berge for Idea Gyms.

Folding Cities

Image is © Yin Xiuzhen

Yin Xiuzhen’s art recycles and reconfigures items. The city's buildings are created from clothes worn by people in that particular city. It is a play on “living out of one’s suitcase.” These Portable Cities give a visual image to Hao Jinfang’s short story Folding Beijing, where in a future Beijing, the city folds up to allow it to be occupied by different groups.