This poem is so beautiful, it captures everything I know to be true about writing and the creative process but need to be reminded of and there is no voice and visionary I trust more on the writing process, its magic and mystery, then you, Jeannine. Thank you for what you share with the world. It pains me so deeply I cannot be at CAMP because of my ongoing recovery from and reclamation of my beautiful, tender, and wise low back that is not quite done teaching me what it needs to teach me. I will be with you all in spirit.
Exquisite piece of writing Jeannine! I feel these sentences in my bones, in my soul. “And writing does not fix me. It unfixes me from the idea that I was ever meant to be separate.” “The beauty of becoming more whole is not that the pieces fit. It’s that the gaps become gardens.” I cannot wait to join you and others at Camp Wandawega in 55 days !
Utterly beautiful, Jeannine. The stanza about finding your voice especially sang to me. I've been thinking about voice lately, my actual voice, and how I don't like the sound of it when I hear myself on videos, etc. Does it mean I don't like the sound of my writing voice too? Your words will inspire some questions to write around this.
Well, we all have certain reactions to the sound of our recorded voices. Because I have been teaching for such s long time, I have learned to use my voice as an instrument, and have grown to actually like the sound of it, but this was a process. And a separate question from our writing voice, which is about the words, vs the speaking voice, which is about the sound (mostly on both counts, there is overlap, of course!). Sometimes I wish writers had coaching on voice work so that they could make the most of their own writing when reading aloud. There is a connection between the speaking and the writing. You really have me on a tangent now! But all to say, voice is fascinating. And worth our attention! Truly.
Thank you for this, Jeannine. Voice is indeed fascinating! I'm really interested in the overlap you talk about between speaking voice and writing voice, and in where and how the voice "that is not mine", as you write in your poem, comes in. Plus, I've been feeling the urge to sing, and there are all the calls to use our voices... So much to parse and explore!
I think it takes great courage to be a tree. To plant ones being in one spot. To take life one sun rise at a time. The inevitable nightfall regardless. The seasons and the climate.
Giving gifts without a second thought. Shade rest protection nourishment and above all beauty!
Thank you, Jeannine, for all the ways you remind me what I am actually doing when feeling around for the words to express something. Discovering the truth rather than describing it. And in the process becoming more alive and connected to the world that is outside me, rather than remaining trapped inside my own internal and primordial barren landscape.
Writing in this way if we choose it, if we let it carry us, if we sense this, takes us down into the visceral, the tangible, and beyond to the beating heart of the universe where all things are stirred.
To pause.
Stripped bare, standing under the heavy rock where winter's ice falls. Shedding all our sorrows and heartaches and rejections, shedding all the grinding pains of mind and bone; shedding the material and artificial, shedding the psychic cloak that weighs on us the weight of the world and the terrors of that world.
Flowing until we are part of the flow.
Cleansed, we rise.
Every baptism, every dousing after death, leads to renewal.
Dripping, shaking, cleansed, we reach for the cloak of spring, but we cannot rush this. We can only carry that cloak when the flow finds us.
Every winter prepares us for spring. Every night prepares us for the light.
Thank you for reminding me that I write to reach this place. That my writing travels on one level and another.
And tomorrow's Place exercise is going to involve some drawing, so I will be inviting everyone to share theirs in the chat-- you get a head start using it today <3
This is gorgeous. Aside from the stunning language throughout, this had the beautiful and rare effect of making me go: Oh, I didn't know anyone else felt that way. I always wanted to be a tree too. I gave this desire to the main character in one of the short stories I've been working on for a couple years, and seeing your words about the very same thing is life-affirming. Some of your lines that really struck me: "the slow stitching of bark back to skin" and "the one that lives just below the tongue, in the dirt, in the body of a snake warming itself on a sunlit trail." and "there it is again, ruffling the sentence." and "Can you walk barefoot into a sentence and not flinch?" and "To let the syntax of the seasons enter my bones." and more but I'll stop before I quote your entire piece back to you haha. Thank you, as always, for sharing.
Can you walk barefoot into a sentence and not flinch? Holy fook!!!! This is breathtaking
This poem is so beautiful, it captures everything I know to be true about writing and the creative process but need to be reminded of and there is no voice and visionary I trust more on the writing process, its magic and mystery, then you, Jeannine. Thank you for what you share with the world. It pains me so deeply I cannot be at CAMP because of my ongoing recovery from and reclamation of my beautiful, tender, and wise low back that is not quite done teaching me what it needs to teach me. I will be with you all in spirit.
So gorgeous. I want to read this over and over.
Stunning. I want to frame this above my writing desk. 💗💗💗
Thank you for sharing your gifts.
Thank you so much, Shiasta!
"The eagle circling above the field is not watching me.
But I am watching it.
And the watching, the writing, the saying—
that is the bridge. That is the belonging."
Grounding yourself in the observations.
Writing is capturing pieces, not only of what we're writing about but also who we are in that moment.
Thanks.
Thank you so much, Nica!
Exquisite piece of writing Jeannine! I feel these sentences in my bones, in my soul. “And writing does not fix me. It unfixes me from the idea that I was ever meant to be separate.” “The beauty of becoming more whole is not that the pieces fit. It’s that the gaps become gardens.” I cannot wait to join you and others at Camp Wandawega in 55 days !
I can't wait either, Lisa!
Utterly beautiful, Jeannine. The stanza about finding your voice especially sang to me. I've been thinking about voice lately, my actual voice, and how I don't like the sound of it when I hear myself on videos, etc. Does it mean I don't like the sound of my writing voice too? Your words will inspire some questions to write around this.
Well, we all have certain reactions to the sound of our recorded voices. Because I have been teaching for such s long time, I have learned to use my voice as an instrument, and have grown to actually like the sound of it, but this was a process. And a separate question from our writing voice, which is about the words, vs the speaking voice, which is about the sound (mostly on both counts, there is overlap, of course!). Sometimes I wish writers had coaching on voice work so that they could make the most of their own writing when reading aloud. There is a connection between the speaking and the writing. You really have me on a tangent now! But all to say, voice is fascinating. And worth our attention! Truly.
Thank you for this, Jeannine. Voice is indeed fascinating! I'm really interested in the overlap you talk about between speaking voice and writing voice, and in where and how the voice "that is not mine", as you write in your poem, comes in. Plus, I've been feeling the urge to sing, and there are all the calls to use our voices... So much to parse and explore!
I think it takes great courage to be a tree. To plant ones being in one spot. To take life one sun rise at a time. The inevitable nightfall regardless. The seasons and the climate.
Giving gifts without a second thought. Shade rest protection nourishment and above all beauty!
Absolutely!
Gossamer gorgeous— this sings. You kept me company today— thanks so much.
Thank you friend xoxo
❤️
Thank you, Jeannine, for all the ways you remind me what I am actually doing when feeling around for the words to express something. Discovering the truth rather than describing it. And in the process becoming more alive and connected to the world that is outside me, rather than remaining trapped inside my own internal and primordial barren landscape.
Yes, yes, yes, yes. xo
Thank you for the deepest art that is your writing. There are deeper truths beyond the twists and turns of our personal truths.
Nature connects us, nature binds, nature reminds, nature restores.
Writing in this way if we choose it, if we let it carry us, if we sense this, takes us down into the visceral, the tangible, and beyond to the beating heart of the universe where all things are stirred.
To pause.
Stripped bare, standing under the heavy rock where winter's ice falls. Shedding all our sorrows and heartaches and rejections, shedding all the grinding pains of mind and bone; shedding the material and artificial, shedding the psychic cloak that weighs on us the weight of the world and the terrors of that world.
Flowing until we are part of the flow.
Cleansed, we rise.
Every baptism, every dousing after death, leads to renewal.
Dripping, shaking, cleansed, we reach for the cloak of spring, but we cannot rush this. We can only carry that cloak when the flow finds us.
Every winter prepares us for spring. Every night prepares us for the light.
Thank you for reminding me that I write to reach this place. That my writing travels on one level and another.
Between the last novel and the next.
The surface of the world and the depths.
Two rivers. Not one.
I took a photo of wallpaper making a Person a tree in our unrenovated bathroom but can’t figure out how to post it.
Substack does not let us post photos in the comments, but you can post it in the chat!
https://substack.com/chat/1145905
And tomorrow's Place exercise is going to involve some drawing, so I will be inviting everyone to share theirs in the chat-- you get a head start using it today <3
"And writing does not fix me.
It unfixes me from the idea that I was ever meant to be separate."
Beautiful. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Mirella! xo
Oh my, this! "Become porous". Absolutely feel these words.
Thank you, Karen <3
Just gorgeous- you brought me back into my body (and the world) with this piece 🩷
Thank you so much, Bryen!
This is gorgeous. Aside from the stunning language throughout, this had the beautiful and rare effect of making me go: Oh, I didn't know anyone else felt that way. I always wanted to be a tree too. I gave this desire to the main character in one of the short stories I've been working on for a couple years, and seeing your words about the very same thing is life-affirming. Some of your lines that really struck me: "the slow stitching of bark back to skin" and "the one that lives just below the tongue, in the dirt, in the body of a snake warming itself on a sunlit trail." and "there it is again, ruffling the sentence." and "Can you walk barefoot into a sentence and not flinch?" and "To let the syntax of the seasons enter my bones." and more but I'll stop before I quote your entire piece back to you haha. Thank you, as always, for sharing.
Oh goodness, thank you, Christina. Thank you so much.