Diane Morrow

Writing and Healing Idea #31: Locating a Turning Point

Posted by Diane Morrow on March 6, 2016 in Uncategorized

I’m interested in the point during a difficult time when things might begin to turn. I’m interested in that moment when something new happens—when an entirely new possibility begins to emerge out of the chaos. Even if its only a glimpse—an image—the embryo of an image—or maybe just a story—or a boook. In Folly, a novel by Laurie King, the turning point for Rae, the central character, comes by way of a book. While in the psychiatric hospital, trying to recover, longing to return to home and work, but at the same time terrified, this happens: Into this tangle of inchoate yearnings and inexpressible fears had dropped a book, one of those strangely assorted and badly worn paperbacks abandoned by patients or donated by the carton to such places as mental hospitals. It was missing its cover and the first dozen pages, but the remainder fell into Rae’s confused and heavily sedated mind like a seed into loam. A book about a man building a house. And, after she reads it: Great-uncle Desmond’s skeletal home came to her as in a dream. In truth, during those months most things came to her as in a dream, but this one did not fade. Instead, it blossomed swiftly into full potential: She would pull herself together, she would go and rebuild Desmond’s house, she would lift his walls and dwell within them quietly all the rest of her days. Everything that House was lay there waiting for her to take it up: House as shelter, House as permanence, House as continuation and a legacy, comfort and challenge, safety and beauty, symbol and reality joined as one. House as turning point. A book about a house serving as a turning point. I have this notion that if we could become better readers of such turning points—if we could see them—and recognize them—in stories—then we might become more skillful at recognizing them in our own lives. Oh. I wonder if that could be a turning point—some new opportunity—a way out. The idea then: to pay attention to a story—your own or a story you’re reading or from a film—and write about that moment when things, however faintly, and perhaps even tenuously, begin to turn. How does the character recognize the turning point when it occurs? Is it always clear at the time that it’s a turning point? Can a story or book itself become a turning point? You can read more about the book, Folly,...

Instructions by Neil Gaiman

Posted by Diane Morrow on February 28, 2016 in Blog, Healing Poetry, Stories, Writing and Healing Prompts

I’ve for a long time been interested in poems and excerpts that can invite writing and I’ve recently come across this poem by Neil Gaiman that seems especially well suited for this. The poem is a set of instructions for “what to do if you find yourself inside a fairy tale.” It begins: Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never saw before. Say “please” before you open the latch, go through, walk down the path. I like the way the poem begins with such direct instructions—we’re in this new place—and already guided in how to interact with it. Gestures in fairy tales that will lead to good things: saying please; going through the gate; moving forward. He continues: Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat nothing. However, if any creature tells you that it hungers, feed it. If it tells you that it is dirty, clean it. If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain. Yes. This is the way it is in fairy tales. This is what will work. The adventure goes on for many stanzas: A glimpse of Winter’s realm Permission to turn back An old woman beneath a twisted oak A river—and a ferryman. (“The answer to his question is this: If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to leave the boat. Only tell him this from a safe distance.”) More happens: An encounter with giants, witches, dragons. An encounter with a sister The way back A wise eagle A silver fish A gray wolf Arriving home The poem is lovely in itself—and potentially wise. It also seems like the kind of poem that could open itself to become a kind of interactive poem—and I’ve been playing with this idea. I’m also playing with the idea of embedding forms into the site as a way to lower barriers to writing. The way I’ve set this up is simply to link writing prompts to forms with the notion that any writing done on the form will not be used in any way for sharing or publication. Please note that it will also not be linked in any way to one’s email address or identifying information. In the landmark study done by James Pennebaker, college students wrote for twenty minutes at a time, anonymously, and were given no feedback on their writing—it simply went into a vault for research. And still, it was of benefit. The act of writing was beneficial. That’s my intention in linking these writing prompts to forms—to lower a barrier to writing—and create a safe space for writing which could be of benefit. You, of course, are also free to use the writing prompts without writing in the forms. As I often say to my students in the morning when I provide a catalyst for writing, please use as you wish. The writing prompts and forms based on Neil Gaiman’s “Instructions” are here. See also: The full text of Neil Gaiman’s “Instructions.” Neil Gaiman reading “Instructions” An article on the Pennebaker study from this site. An article on the potential benefits of fiction writing from this site. A writing prompt on “entering the tale” from this site. The image is from Neil Gaiman’s picture book, “Instructions,” illustrated by Charles Vess...

Writing and Healing in the Waiting Room: A Research Study

Posted by Diane Morrow on February 27, 2016 in Uncategorized

The study: Implementing an Expressive Writing Study in a Cancer Clinic by Nancy P. Morgan et. al. The Oncologist, Vol. 13, No. 2, 196-204, February 2008 As far as I know this is the first study on writing and healing done in the thick of medical care. It’s a nice practical study. Conducted outside the quiet of a laboratory. Researchers at Lombardi Cancer Center at Georgetown invited cancer patients to do a brief twenty-minute writing task while they waited for their appointments. Those who agreed to participate were then randomized to respond to one of two different writing prompts. The first writing prompt is one developed by James Pennebaker: Cancer can touch every part of your life—issues of family, love, anger, career, life and death, and even issues about childhood and specific experiences in life. In your writing, let go and explore your deepest thoughts and feelings about the issues that you feel are most important to you right now. The second writing prompt is one unique to this study: How has cancer changed you and how do you feel about those changes? Participants wrote in the waiting room and, also in some cases, while back in the exam room, waiting to be seen. 49% reported that the writing changed the way they thought about their illness. 35% reported that the writing changed the way they felt about their illness. At three-week follow-up, those who reported changing the way they thought about their illness experienced better physical quality-of-life scores. Perhaps the most important thing to come out of the study was this notion of feasibility—that people could and did write in the waiting room. This in what sounds like a very ordinary waiting room—noisy and busy and rife with interruptions. Of 98 people invited to participate, 71 agreed, and 63 completed the 20-minute writing session. I like this notion—writing in the waiting room. It’s one way to get around the obstacle that so many people seem to face when it comes to writing—not wanting to add one more task to an overly-full day. Though one might miss out on the latest People magazine—and though there are certain days when escape inside a People magazine may offer its own kind of respite—there’s something attractive about this idea of using waiting time for writing. I wonder if this wouldn’t become even more possible in those waiting rooms that pay attention to good design—good comfortable chairs and good lighting and such. Perhaps an alcove for reading and writing. _________________________________________________________________ For a glimpse at what’s possible in the design of a waiting room, you might want to take a look at this article in the New York Times about the waiting room at the Jay Monahan Center in Manhattan. Here’s a description: The adjacent waiting area, hugely expanded from a cramped rectangle into a spacious serpentine shape, incorporates two walls of windows. Its modern club chairs, in inviting fabrics and bright, strong colors, are not yoked together in the depersonalizing bus-station style. Instead, they are scattered in conversational groupings that can be easily rearranged. Bamboo floors provide visual warmth – and can be cleaned with soap and water, so antiseptic-smelling cleansers are no longer required. There are no signs prohibiting eating, drinking or talking on cellphones – all are permitted – and patients...

How Much Does a Person Need to Write to Experience a Healing Benefit?

Posted by Diane Morrow on February 21, 2016 in Invitation

Possible Answers: 1. The most true answer: No one knows. 2. What the research says: Studies have shown that as little as 60 to 80 minutes of writing—twenty minutes on three to four consecutive days—can create positive benefits when it comes to health. (For instance, in the study on fibromyalgia and writing, a mere sixty minutes of writing—twenty minutes on three days—led to a decrease in pain and fatigue and an improvement in psychological well-being four months after writing. This benefit was not sustained, though down the road, ten months after writing. Which points, I think, to a good reason to sustain the writing over time.) 3. A nice round number: 90 minutes a week. Writing some number of minutes every week can foster the growth and development of the writing. It can also, potentially, allow the health benefits to be sustained, and perhaps, even, to begin to accrue. 90 minutes a week could be accomplished by writing 15 minutes a day 6 days a week. Or 30 minutes on 3 days. Any more than this could be gravy. And less could be worked with if need be. 4. The most practical answer: Write when you can. I suspect that one sentence a month, if written from a place of honesty, has the potential to make a difference to the process of healing, and—who knows?—perhaps one word can. The best advice I ever received about writing came to me when I was in high school from a teacher who told me, “If you want to be a writer then what you must do is to write every day, even if it is only to write, ‘I’m too tired to write today.’” If you want to practice writing for the purpose of healing, you might want to consider writing every day, even if it is only to write that you are too tired to write. (Of course if you find yourself with just a tiny bit more energy you could write another sentence, perhaps a bit about why you are tired, or perhaps a few lines about where you wish you could go to find rest.) Note: in the classic Pennebaker study on writing and health, college students who wrote for twenty-minute sessions on only four occasions reaped health benefits. Many other studies have used this twenty-minute increment of writing as well. Photo is from a print, Wind Flower by Deborah Schenck...

What’s a Good Way to Begin?

Posted by Diane Morrow on in Invitation

So often getting started is the hardest part. Sometimes one can begin simply by jumping in. Or wanting to jump in. Sometimes it can be enough to suspect there might be something of value here and then be willing to give it a try. To write as an experiment—and then see what happens. Here are five possible ways to begin the experiment: Freewrite Just write Design a healing retreat Start with once upon a time Start with gratitude Photo is from a print, Narcissus, by Deborah Schenck...

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