Dear Friends,

 A few weeks ago, from August 10th through August 15th, I participated in a silent writing and meditation retreat with Natalie Goldberg titled, “The True Secret of Writing.” After years of poring over writing books and attending classes, not to mention years of intensive study with Natalie, I knew there was no magic formula for writing and that the week would not leave me tearing up pages with gorgeous, well-formed prose for the rest of my life. And so I ignored the workshop title—although that did not stop me from going down the rabbit hole of perfectionism almost immediately.

Unlike previous retreats, I had no chance to transition to the long days of silence and practice. This summer I had almost no time to myself. My 6-year-old daughter was in a musical that took over my life. I spent afternoons and evenings shuttling her to and from rehearsals, shopping for leotards, tap shoes and tights, applying layers of stage make-up to my daughter’s tiny face, and sculpting her bobbed hair into place with thick layers of gel and stick-to-your head hairspray. There were late night dress rehearsals and long afternoons standing in line with other stage moms to get the best seats to see our precious children perform. By the time the show was over, my meditation practice had deteriorated and I had ceased working on my book. I was exhausted, depleted, and out of practice. I was looking forward the week in silence to recover my writing life.

The workshop was held at the Mabel Dodge Luhan House in Taos, New Mexico—at the end of Morada Lane, pressed up against Indian reservation land, near the foot of Taos Mountain. Surrounded by old cottonwoods and coyotes that sing in the early hours of the morning, it is easy to forget that the town plaza is just a few blocks away. Meals at Mabel Dodge House are home-cooked, fresh, nutritious, and lovingly prepared. And during retreats, students have the grounds to themselves. You can spend the afternoon sitting on a porch swing under the trees and curl up on a couch by the fireplace at night.

Despite the peace of the Mabel Dodge House, I knew from previous retreats that it would take the first full day for my mind to settle down. And like clockwork, on the first evening, the minute I said goodnight to my friends and returned to my room, knowing it would be four full days before I carried on another conversation, my mind went crazy. In the past I dealt with the silence by writing every little neurotic thought I had in my notebook, letting my chattering mind be my constant companion. But this time I knew better and resolved not to repeat the pattern. So that first night I lay in bed and watched my mind go back and forth, replaying the evening’s conversations, thinking of clever rejoinders I might have added and questions I wanted to ask my friends. I had quite the conversation with myself.

Fortunately I had been through this before, and I trusted the structure Natalie had created—sitting meditation, walking meditation, and writing practice. And in the free hours between practice sessions and meals, I napped, sat on the white Adirondack chair outside my room, and walked slowly around the grounds in attempt to anchor myself to the land. By the end of the first day, I felt my mind relax. The only problem was my writing. 

I had come to Taos with a list of topics I wanted to write about, subjects I hadn’t had time for over the busy summer. Throughout the first day I attempted several, but each one seemed to lead nowhere. Every time I wrote, it came out crap. I had particularly wanted to write about the night my daughter came to me demanding to know the truth about the tooth fairy. I thought it would make a sad and poignant essay about the gradual loss of childhood imagination and innocence, and the retreat seemed like a good opportunity to get started. I set my timer and wrote “Tooth Fairy” at the top of the page. I began with the image of my daughter lying on my bed with her head at my feet asking if I was the tooth fairy, and went slowly and carefully through the entire conversation, noting the details of my daughter’s demeanor and the loss I felt when I finally told her the truth. But the farther I got, the worse I felt. The writing was dull, the topic boring and trite. A few minutes before my timer beeped, I stopped. I felt so badly, I told myself that in the hours we were not in class, I did not have to write. I could not bear to write any more shit and I could not bear to read it—to myself or to anyone else.

That evening, Natalie and her assistant, Joanne Hunt, led us in slow walking down Penitente Road, where priests used to carry crosses in a re-enactment of the twelve stations. At the end of the road, there is a white cross, as it happens the first cross that Georgia O’Keeffe painted (O’Keeffe was one of many distinguished artists and writers who visited Mabel Dodge in the early part of the century). We gathered in a circle around the cross, surrounded by fields of sage and piñon trees, with Taos Mountain rising behind us. It was cold and quiet and deeply peaceful. On the way back, the sky put on a showy sunset with deep pink and purple clouds.

The next morning I woke early, grateful for the luxury of a private room and the silence. I made a cup of tea, brought my notebook back to bed, and bravely read the previous day’s writing. Most of what I wrote were clearly first attempts at new topics, rambling around my mind for different avenues to pursue. Messy, but by no means horrible. But when I got to the piece on the tooth fairy, I braced myself. I had so wanted to get this moment on paper. To my surprise, it was vivid and connected and captured the poignancy of the moment. The writing was slow, lingering in the details, and alive with our conversation. The only problem was that I stopped short. The last four lines go on and on about how shitty my writing is, how miserable a week I was going to have, and that maybe I shouldn’t be here at all. I put down my notebook and started to laugh. I knew what this was. I had seen it before. Monkey mind had me by the throat and I wasn’t remotely aware of it.

Here was the true secret of writing, something Natalie had to remind me of later in the week: monkey mind is always with us. You can sit down one day and think you wrote the most beautiful prose, only to come back the next and find it was shit. Or monkey mind could be screaming at you all day, leaving you ready to give up writing forever, and you could come back and find something wonderful. That is the point of practicing non-judgment. No good or bad, just writing. Which is not to say that you don’t have to edit your work. You usually do. But in writing practice, you banish the editor and drop down to your creative heart, the truths you hold inside. You do your best to push past monkey mind and say what you have to say. Some days you trick the trickster and run right past him. Other days he holds you by the throat. The true secret of writing is that you keep going. You show up and you write and, regardless of how it goes, you show up again. You keep writing.

 
This month’s quotation:

Don’t listen to doubt. It leads no place but to pain and negativity. It is the same with your critic who picks at you while you are trying to write. “That’s stupid. Don’t say that. Who do you think you are anyway, trying to be a writer?” Don’t pay attention to these voices. There is nothing helpful there. Instead, have a tenderness and determination toward your writing, a sense of humor and a deep patience that you are doing the right thing. Avoid getting caught by that small gnawing mouse of doubt. See beyond it to the vastness of life and the belief of time and practice.  Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones.
 

Writing Topic: The small, gnawing mouse of doubt.
 
I am anxious to share more of what I learned on my most recent visit to Taos. Please join me for the following workshops:
 
Build a Writing Practice, Writers’ League of Texas, 2 to 5 p.m. Saturdays, September 20, October 18, and November 15.
Cost: $149 League members / $209 non-members.
Register online or call 512-499-8914.
 
 
Writing Practice Mini-Retreat, Sunday, October 26, 2 – 5 p.m.
Cost: $75
Spaced limited.
To register, contact me at saundra@texas.net.
 
 
Have a great month. Keep your hands moving.
 
Saundra