Archives | Writing and Healing

Writing and Healing Idea #8: Buy a Box

Posted by Diane Morrow on September 29, 2006 in Writing Ideas

What do you hold your writing in? A drawer? A folder on your computer? A series of folders? A box with a lid? Virginia Woolf was right. Writing does thrive in a room of one’s own. But what about when one doesn’t have a whole room for writing? What about a table of one’s own? A file cabinet of one’s own? A portfolio? A box? If you don’t yet love the container in which you’re holding your writing—consider buying a good box. (Even if you don’t yet have a lot of writing. Even if it’s just a few loose-leaf pages. Or a couple pages printed from your computer. Or a single page. Or a single word) If you’ve started, or restarted, a new writing project—or a new writing habit—consider buying a good box in which to hold it. A new box or portfolio can serve as a kind of sign—or signal—that a project is a serious one—and deserving of its own...

Words as a Resource for Writing and Healing

Posted by Diane Morrow on September 26, 2006 in Healing Resources, Recommended Books

In Frederick, the children’s book by Leo Lionni, a chatty family of field mice live in an old stone wall. Winter approaches. All the mice set to work, gathering corn and nuts and wheat, except for Frederick, who sits apart from the others, doing nothing, or at least he appears to be doing nothing. He’s the daydreaming mouse. The lazy mouse? The other mice scold him. Why isn’t he working? He tells them he is working. He tells them he’s gathering sun rays for the winter days. Yeah, right. How does one gather sun rays? They ask him again. Why aren’t you working? He tells them he’s gathering colors. Right. Sure. Finally, Frederick tells them he’s gathering words. Winter comes. The mice hole up in the stone wall. At first all goes as well as can be expected in winter. The mice are well-fed and content. But the time comes when they have used up all their provisions. It’s cold. They’re feeling a bit less chatty. Finally they turn to Frederick. They ask him about his supplies. He tells them to close their eyes. When their eyes are closed he begins: ‘Now I send you the rays of the sun. Do you feel how their golden glow. . .’ And as Frederick spoke of the sun the four little mice began to feel warmer. Was it Frederick’s voice? Was it magic? Next he conjures colors. Blue periwinkles. Red poppies. Yellow wheat. And what happens? “. . . they saw the colors as clearly as if they had been painted in their minds.” And they were nourished by them. Sometimes we forget what nourishes us. The winter comes and we forget. Words are a way to remember. We can write them on index cards, or on the palms of our hands. We can write them on the back page of a notebook, or the front page. We can write them in fall on those days when the harvest feels especially plentiful. We can store them like Frederick, and pull them out on flat winter days when we are most in...

A Healing Resource Center: Food for Thought (and Writing)

Posted by Diane Morrow on September 22, 2006 in Uncategorized

I’m imagining, this morning, a place. Perhaps in the mountains of North Carolina, a place like Wildacres Retreat Center. Or on the Pacific Coast, a place like Asilomar. I’m imagining an old summer camp, but one that’s been refurbished—with modern buildings, and amenities. A fireplace in each of the guest rooms. Decks. Wide porches. A juice bar in the lobby. Perhaps an espresso bar. And then, on the grounds, a short walk from the lodgings—five centers: • A Nutrition Center • A Fitness Center • A Center for Addiction Recovery • A Center for Creativity • A Center for Meditation and Rest Say it’s early afternoon when you arrive at the center. Plenty of time to unpack, take a shower, settle in, rest for a while in your room. When you’re ready you can wander down to the lobby and request a tour. You have, let’s say, two weeks to spend at the Healing Resource Center. And you’ll be informed upon your arrival that you can spend these two weeks however you like. But first–a tour. The tour begins at the Nutrition Center—a low sprawling building of stone and glass. You follow the guide into a large room, find a long buffet table arranged with platters. Blueberries and orange sections. Slices of watermelon. Slices of whole-grain bread. An array of cheeses. Also peaches. Plums. Tiny carrots. Bowls of walnuts and almonds and sunflower seeds. Several pitchers of clear water with slices of lemon. It’s late afternoon and, before you go back to tour the kitchens, the guide invites you to take a plate and help yourself to a snack, pour yourself a tall glass of water if you’d like. As you walk down the length of the table and begin selecting your food, the guide explains: “The goal here at this center is to provide a kind of immersion experience with healthy food. The goal is to engage your senses. Colors. Touch. Smell. Taste. And, eventually, if you wish, you can work with one of the chefs back in the kitchens. . .” As he’s talking you pick up a plum. You bite into the plum. . . And then what happens? What happens next? You could, if you wanted, write about it. Like one of those choose-your-own-adventure stories where you get to choose the ending. (Okay, maybe it’s not a big adventure. But it could be a little adventure–or it could turn into an...

Gathering Resources for Writing and Healing: A Supply List

Posted by Diane Morrow on September 20, 2006 in Healing Resources

Yesterday I decided to make beef stew. My grocery list was straightforward—stew beef, a large onion, red potatoes, one sweet potato, carrots, and a can of V-8 juice. (I make a pretty simple stew.) There’s something satisfying about such clear simple lists. When Harry Potter is preparing to start his first year at Hogwarts he’s handed, by Hagrid, an exceedingly straightforward list. Pages 66 and 67. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. By J.K. Rowling. Three sets of plain work robes (black) One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) 7 course books, titles and authors listed, including The Standard Book of Spells (Grade I) 1 wand 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) 1 set glass or crystal phials 1 telescope 1 set brass scales And, finally– An owl OR a cat OR a toad I love the details—the specificity—in Rowling’s list. And I wish I knew of such a straightforward list—such a specific list—for the process of healing. Or for the process of writing and healing. I don’t. The problem: every person is so different. Or, to put it another way, we’re not all going to the same school. At the same time, there are, it would seem, these common threads. And these common threads can act as a kind of template—a jumping-off place—for a person who might want to develop—or revise—their own individualized supply list. Here are a few common threads I’ve observed over the years in writing and healing supply lists: Paper Something to write with (pen, pencil, crayon, laptop computer, etc. . .) Nourishing food A room of one’s own—or a desk of one’s own (or maybe a chair of one’s own) Green growing things Healing landscapes Rest Time to think and daydream and walk A time and a place to grieve what needs to be grieved People who get it (whatever it is) Animals who get it (dogs, cats, horses, cows, etc. . .) (owls? toads?) A bit of a sense of humor about the whole deal Good books Conversation Some kind of work or activity that matters (though not necessarily one’s day job) A connection to some larger sense of meaning Silence This is not meant by any means to be an exhaustive list. These are merely some common threads—a kind of template. And when it comes to individual supply lists—I think each one is probably different. What might your own individualized list look...

Writing and Healing Idea #7: Has Writing Ever Changed Your Life?

Posted by Diane Morrow on September 16, 2006 in Writing Ideas

Consider a time when you wrote something—a letter—a journal entry—a word—that changed something—anything—then begin to write about it—write about what you wrote—and then the change that happened after—or during—no matter how large or small the change—no matter how quiet. Or, alternatively, consider a time when you read something—a poem—a book—a letter—and the words you read caused something to shift—something—anything—write about the words—the experience of reading those words—write about the change that happened. Consider these words from a poem, “The Class,” in a collection entitled, The Crack in Everything, by Alicia Ostriker: Perhaps it is not the poet who is healed but someone else, years later. ...

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