One Word in Front of Another
On how (and a little bit of why) to write this week
Hi friends,
In the past week, I’ve received about 10,000 (well-meaning) newsletters and emails from different groups I’m a part of trying to offer a post-mortem or to process the election, and I am just not there yet (though I appreciated this poem from the lovely Maggie Smith).
This Friday I’m hosting a minimalist writing retreat as part of AcWriMo from 830 am-830 pm eastern time. Even if you’re not signed up for AcWriMo this year, you’re welcome to join us (and extend the same invitation to your friends). Just sign up here, and I’ll send you the schedule and Zoom link.
Today I’m not going to tell you how you should feel or what you should do or how you should understand things, but I am going to offer you three ways (and one bonus) to write into this moment.
To Escape
The world is terrible, but writing can help us escape that for a bit. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, the work and the writing you do matter, and the world is better because you’re doing that work. Turn off/lock down your browser, set a pomodoro timer for 20 minutes, and do one of these things:
Check citations (and start using Zotero if you don’t already)
Do a new Google Scholar/Web of Science search for more recent literature
Create a Trello board to manage your project
Email co-authors to start making a 2025 plan
Audit each project and create a to-do list for it, and then plug main dates into the calendar
Wordsmith a piece that’s nearly done.
Set a 10-minute timer. Write down future project ideas. Circle two. Set another 10-minute timer. Brainstorm what you’d like to do with those project ideas.
Morning pages (you can also play another round of AcWriMo Bingo and say no to a bunch of stuff—there are no rules!)
Brain dump everything swirling around in your head, and then organize that into a to-do list
To Process
I recently audited all of the scraps of writing on my hard drive and found thousands of words I’d written from the early days of the pandemic. It damn near gave me a heart attack—the writing is really raw (and really terrible…clearly there’s nothing there for public consumption). But I wasn’t writing to figure out what I thought about something, or even to convey that to others, or to capture it for posterity. I was writing to cope with the world closing down as I chaired a department while raising three little kids (including a newborn) thousands of miles away from our family.
I have been avoiding social media, but came across a post from someone (I wish I could credit her) saying she went back to her journals from 2016 and there were weeks and weeks of blank pages. This time, she says, she is writing because she needs to remember this.
If you’re having trouble processing what is going on, finding some kind of outlet could help. Maybe for you it’s in community and talking to other people. Maybe it’s painting. Or running. Or playing drums really really loudly. Or making loaf after loaf of sourdough bread for your family.
Or maybe it’s writing. I don’t think you need a suggestion here, but I would keep that writing separate from your work writing — a different journal, writing from a different place in your house, using a special pen or lighting a specific candle. Let it just belong to you, and don’t censor it. Listen to Ani DiFranco, channel all of the angst and rage from your mid-90s self, and let it spill onto the paper. Write the bad poetry. Maybe just don’t look up your ex on Facebook—they’re not worth the drama.
To Change Shit
Clint Smith, a poet I love, said in an interview that he didn’t consider himself an activist—he considered himself a poet and a teacher, and that was the form his activism took. I suspect a lot of us are in that camp. Over the next four years, smart people who write well and who believe in a vision of a multiracial, representative democracy have the opportunity to make the argument for that vision.
I have a lot of friends who are a part of a lot of cool organizations doing things I don’t have the capacity to do. But I do have the capacity to edit their materials, do some ghostwriting for them, and help with some strategy sessions.
I was so angry after 2016 that I spent four years chronicling the stories of people who resisted Trump the first time and I wrote a whole damn book about it. This week, I’ve decided that my job is to offer that book to anyone who is getting the resistance band back together—if those stories can provide a blueprint for activism, and help people learn from what worked last time, maybe that’s one small way I can contribute to the resistance 2.0 (if you need a copy and can’t afford one, send me your address—I have extras!)
And this final point is one I make all the time: if you stop writing now, or even don’t write for the next month, that’s okay. The writing will still be here. The words will still be here.
To Commit to the Long Game
So I think you should write. But also, sometimes you need to get out of your house and into the world. I’ll admit I’m having a very hard time not feeling end-of-history vibes right now. On Thursday, a friend and I went to the Museum of the City of New York, and they have an exhibit on activism in the city, including an entire wing on the incomparable Shirley Chisholm. It was really clarifying for me to be reminded that people have been fighting these battles a long damn time, and this is just one chapter. Here are some pictures.
We can do this, friends—keep putting one word after another.
Kelly
What’s going on around here
This is the last week for discounted registration to the writers’ circles. I hope you’ll join us in the spring!
Spring 2025 Writers’ Circles (January-March 2025)
Small groups of no more than eight people focused on creating the conditions to write more, and more effectively. With a separate cohort for mid-career scholars. (Discounted registration through November 15!)
So You Want to Write A Book?
A unique hybrid workshop dedicated to supporting writers throughout their book writing journey. Join us in early 2025 for workshops on book proposals and revision, or start with a new cohort in May.
January workshop: Book proposals and book marketing
April workshop: The art (and science?) of revision
May 2025-April 2026: beginning and accelerated (discounted registration through February 1)
"Clint Smith, a poet I love, said in an interview that he didn’t consider himself an activist—he considered himself a poet and a teacher, and that was the form his activism took." This really resonated for me, Kelly. I train and supervise mental health professionals, and I've reminded them this week that their work is their activism. Helping people live better lives matters, no matter what form that takes.
Thank you for this, today. Exactly what I needed to read, see, hear, think about.