Cultivating a writing practice has the potential to be life-changing. It provides a potent blend of creativity and self-exploration, conscious expression and intention. Through it, you gain clarity and connection, both with yourself and your audience.
It doesn't take much. Fifteen minutes once a week. More if you want. Less if you need.
Each Saturday morning, I send out an email to our community. In it, I share the week's blog post along with a writing prompt or content cultivating idea. These prompts are designed to inspire and engage your curiosity, to get you out of your comfort zone, and to help you engage with your unique writing voice.
Each week, I'll be writing alongside you and sharing my own thoughts, reflections and responses to the writing prompts and linking them here. If you want to read it to gather inspiration and ideas, it's here for you. If you want to wait and write on a clean slate with only your own perspective to fuel you, that's beautiful, too.
What makes you weird, quirky, unconventional, or super unique? From that thing that you do only in the privacy of your own home to your wacky one-of-a-kind hobby, your crazy unique style to the way you organize your books. As Joss Whedon says, "Whatever makes you weird is probably your greatest asset."
I sing. All the time. I'm not particularly amazing and I don't know the first thing about music theory or composition, but I do it anyways. In my house, in the car, as I walk through our neighborhood with my dog. I can't help myself.
The thing is, though, that while I'll sing along with the radio while I'm driving or with my Spotify playlist while I'm cooking or dancing or cleaning, the majority of my songs are purely made-up nonsense. Little ditties that I pull out of nowhere while I'm feeding the pets or making dinner. A playful string of lyrics that I catch hold of in the minutes before I climb into bed. The sing-song silliness that keeps my dog moving on our walks together.
The songs burst forth, rushing out into the world unabashedly. No fear, shame or anticipation of judgment or ridicule. I sing to my husband, to my pets, to the tune of the water hitting the tub in the shower. I sing so much that our old neighbors used to call us The Singing Neighbors. When they first told us our appointed nickname, I felt a flood of embarrassment. But the more that I thought about it, the more that I realized that, rather than a source of embarrassment or shame, our lyrical outbursts of joy and inspiration were signs of the magic that occurs inside of our home. They're a sign that playful creativity lives abides here.
For me, the thing that makes me weird is my greatest asset. I don't mean that I'm somehow meant to be the next winner of The Voice or a superstar crooner, but, instead, that I allow inspiration to visit me and creativity to pour out of me. That I look for moments of joy and curiosity and that I express them, as well. That my life is filled with love and light and playfulness.
Stay weird, loves.