Reader,
In the seventh grade I wrote what would become my one and only short story. I don’t remember much about it, just that it was called Maggie and the Clown (LOL). It won a prize and was chosen for an animation project in a summer arts program.
Last week, my computer screen started glitching. Now it flickers like there’s a permanent ad stuck at the bottom. At first I was annoyed, but then I realized it was, if nothing else, an invitation to step away for a bit.
And in that space of stepping away, (alongside making a big pot of jerk chicken beef chilli, because cooking also plays a pivotal role in my writing process) I found myself thinking about that childhood story, and wondering why it was my only one. Yes, I’m working on two novels now, but why have short stories felt so hard ever since?
I keep coming back to this: our writing process is a repeatable, fluid set of actions. It acts as both an on-ramp into the writing itself (the drafting), and a path toward what comes next. It looks different for all of us. It changes. It ebbs and flows as we grow. And when we actually look at it, when we question it, adjust it, try things, we can loosen almost any creative block.
So back to the short story. What was it about the form that stumped me? I asked writer friends, I thought about all the stories I've edited, and the collections I've helped other publish ... but how different it really was to sit down and write one.
Sitting there, away from my flickering screen, I realized something simple: I struggle with limiting scope.
And because I’m me, I started looking for patterns. Where else does this show up in my life? And how do I work with it there?
Cooking, of course.
If you’ve been reading these letters for a while, you know that when I cook, I don’t like to limit scope. I want to play with a wide range of ingredients, try things, make mistakes, make a mess. (Honestly, it mirrors my writing process exactly.) And the thing is... it’s not a bad thing.
So the question became: How could I still limit scope and build something expansive?
If I can do it with food, I can do it with writing. I can write a short story, I just need to adapt my process to meet it. This is why self-awareness is a super powerful tool.
I often think of writing a novel as being in the ocean ... expansive, a little terrifying, and somehow still peaceful. But what if, on the horizon, I could see mountains getting closer and clearer the more I moved toward them? What if that sense of shape, of edge, became part of the design?
Taking that time away from my screen, thinking about a story I wrote 30 years ago, brought me closer to my process of today. It made me more aware. I could see how different parts of my life speak to each other, and how I get to decide what shifts, what adapts, what stays.
I’ll be sharing more about the parts of process we don’t often see—or think to share. The mess, the false starts, the on-ramps before the drafting. Because we can’t value what we don’t look at. So please check out my Instagram shares on my personal page.
And here’s an interesting fact: I started a short story this week. My first one since seventh grade. And it feels… amazing.
And isn’t that what this is all about?
We get to decide how we want to feel. And our process is part of that work. It can be a kind of medicine.
Next week, I’ll be part of the Healing Through Writing Festival again, and I’ll be speaking about this very thing: building a writing process that adapts with you, that becomes a kind of balm. Your process isn’t stagnant. But it does ask you to look, to test, to try, to stay curious.
Click here to sign up for the free Healing Through Writing Festival. And if you want to know what else is happening in the studio, scroll down, I’ve got more to share.
with love, Chelene
Founder, Breathing Space Creative
Reflect + Rewrite
This Week's Reflection Question: When was the last time you took a LONG look at your current writing process? What did you discover?
After answering the reflection question, revisit what you wrote.
Is there a single line—just one—that surprised you?
Maybe it stirred something. Maybe it made you pause.
Copy that line out. Sit with it.
As always, if you feel called, I’d love to see it. Hit reply and share it with me.
Have a creative "myth" that you'd like me to explore in one of these monthly letters? Please share it and I just might add it to my queue ; )
