Welcome to a new occasional series on my blog, “How We Write With Care.” In this series, I’m asking writers of all types—fiction, nonfiction, poetry, creative writing, etc.—to share their thoughts on writing as an act of care: how can writing show care for the world, or care for self? How can we as writers show care for our words?
I first met our inaugural guest, Brook Wilensky-Lanford, when I wrote an essay for the online literary magazine Killing the Buddha, of which she was editor. We’ve since continued our correspondence as she entered graduate school with a similar set of interests, and I eventually came on board with KtB as co-editor. Given her work on both sides of the writing aisle—as an editor and a writer herself—I wanted to hear her thoughts on the writing process. Take it away, Brook!
Emily: Tell me a little bit about your writing, so our readers will have context for your work.
Brook: I am a writer of nonfiction—both shorter personal and critical essays and longer narrative history. My first book, Paradise Lust: Searching for the Garden of Eden (Grove Press, 2011) is a history of people who treat the Bible’s description of Eden as a literal guide to a physical place on earth. Each chapter follows a different historical “Eden-seeker,” their map, and the reasons behind it. (See fun maps here!) In the past eight years I have also spent a significant amount of time teaching academic and creative writing, and editing the website Killing the Buddha, which is a literary magazine about faith, culture, and politics. In 2015 I began a PhD program in religious studies and am now working on a dissertation, as well as another trade book.
Emily: How do you show care for your words and writing? What helps you to get the words on paper, or to get them to their finished state, whether published or in another form?
Brook: I have found that I have to make writing central, whether officially, by using deadlines, or just by force of will in blocking off the long stretches of time that I need. Then I have to dare myself to turn off my inner editor and get started. I give myself a LOT of room for what writer Anne Lamott calls “shitty first drafts,” which makes it easier. Getting those drafts into a finished state is another process, but it continues to be much much easier to start that process from a not-blank page. Looking at this answer, which involves force, daring, and shitty drafts, I realize it doesn’t sound like “care,” exactly, but I have learned that my inner writer apparently needs a kind of tough love.
That said, I deeply believe that everyone has their own necessary writing process. The trick is to learn what works for you and then do it frequently enough to trust it. I often find myself describing writing as an iceberg. The part of your process that is public—the part that sticks up above the ocean—varies per person. For me, the drafts show up first and the harder work goes into revising. Many writers I know do the opposite, where the hidden, “thinking” part of the iceberg first and then are able to write much more polished drafts.
Emily: What gets in the way of showing care for your words and writing?
Brook: Time! And my persistent imposter syndrome, especially with academic writing, which is a newer genre for me. This is where letting the words come out ahead of your thinking about them can be helpful.
Emily: Does the idea of “writing as care” (self-care, care of the world, other types of care) resonate for you? Why or why not?
Brook: Thinking about writing as “self-care” makes me cringe a little bit, although I do always find that I feel better after writing something—anything—than not.
The way I think about care has to do with the way I imagine the reader for my writing. I learned a lot working with students at the Baruch College Writing Center, including the terms “writer-centered” and “reader-centered,” which are ways of describing the audience that your text seems to have in mind.
The most “writer-centered” example I can think of is journaling, or the idea of “morning pages,” where you just get three handwritten pages done without having any expectations of them or even rereading them. The writing is just for the process of clearing away your own “first thoughts,” and to exercise that writing muscle. At the other extreme is something like my dissertation, which I’m writing very instrumentally, for a specific audience of the five people on my committee, and the goal of getting my degree. Both can be great, but it’s important to be aware of the audience and purpose of your writing at all times.
Where my writing is best and the most fun is somewhere in the middle, where I get to express something that is personally satisfying for me, but also hopefully “cares for” a more generalized reader, engages them, and even feels like a conversation. That’s easier for me to do in shorter forms like personal essays and even reviews. Editing other people’s work is also a way to participate in this conversation. Some of my favorite work on Killing the Buddha starts by responding to something current in the world—a book, a movie, a news event—and then brings readers along to somewhere different. I do think really great writing is a form of care for the world, in that when I read it I feel seen and heard and energized. That’s something I aspire to create for other people, both in my own work and in my editing and teaching.
Emily: Does your writing primarily engage your mind, your heart, or your spirit, or some combination of these?
Brook: This is an interesting question that I haven’t really thought about. It has taken me a long time to acknowledge writing as central to my identity and daily life (see above re: tough love and imposter syndrome). I think part of that process was about recognizing that writing for me is not just about being brainy—it is not just a mental exercise, but something deeper and more necessary for my own well-being. Whether that’s heart or spirit or something else altogether I couldn’t tell you, but it’s there.
Emily: Even though we writers are often in our heads, we need to keep our bodies in good working order, too. What are some practices, if any, that you follow to help care for your body as a way of caring for your writing?
Brook: Oh, this is such a good question! While writing, I like to sit in a high-backed armchair with my feet stretched out on a stool and my laptop actually on my lap. This is not great ergonomically, and I often need to remind myself to get up, get outside, and walk somewhere. Even if it’s just fifty feet down the street to my mailbox, or to weed my backyard garden. Or to sit outside and absorb some vitamin D. In fact, even if it’s just to leave my writing space and go to the kitchen to make dinner. And the occasional low-key yoga class helps me. I’m pretty sure there’s a connection between physical flexibility and mental flexibility!
Emily: We all go through hard times, and sometimes certain language, certain types of “words with care”—books, poems, songs, media, or other sources—help us through those hard times. What are your go-to sources for words that offer care?
Brook: At the moment it feels like a luxury for me to read something that is not research, so I am basking in novels. I’m in the middle of Richard Powers’ The Overstory, which is so richly detailed that I am savoring it very slowly. I’m enjoying getting to read more personal essays from The Common, which focuses on the idea of “place.” Getting to go to a place that I would not otherwise imagine for myself is really a form of care for me. And although I sometimes feel a deep-seated sense of shame about this, I also watch a LOT of television! Something about a good hour-long drama or comedy is both absorbing and relaxing for me. But I’m sure the moment I start my life-long dream of writing mystery novels and screenplays it will turn into work!
Emily: Thanks, Brook, for kicking off this series!
If you’d like to be featured in a “How We Write With Care” post, please let me know!
