One Hundred Things.
Moments: quotidian and sometimes submerged and sometimes startling in their fervor. Noticing. Slowing down enough to notice the thing after that and then that. One hundred paying attentions. Listening to your own life. Turning yourself toward a thing: the curve of coffee cup, all the the colors of growing green against white wall, the memory of the hospital, the dull of driving so much with a child taken everywhere and all the places a mind roams when a body remains seated. Your own interior. Rebellion. To see what you see. To name the nuance of a need. Protest. The feel of tiny feet in your hand. The sweet and swell of water. The world around you. Waking up. Memories. Dreams. Reflections. What does hunger taste like?
How it works:
This writing sanctuary is two weeks. So five days a week of writing ten things a day for two weeks, is a hundred things. A hundred revelations and ways of return and not having to get a single thing right or rush or know the way. To set performance and pleasing down and write for you and your own hunger. A hundred ways of gleaning and gathering, of setting in order and loosening into linger. A hundred soft and broken happenings when tended to the human and let a thing land. A hundred ordinary and sublime real life writings in which you were here, paying attention, awake and showing up and letting the language happen. A hundred things, small things, which is no small thing at all. From this, a real and solid writing practice begins and anchors and takes up residence. From this, ideas begin to emerge and take root for other writings you may want to continue. From this, a way of being with yourself also has a way of finding its way to form: without expectation and demand of outcome, without insistence on content and writing everything and all at once, without requiring we be only extraordinary, something like curiosity and attention and real freedom has space to breathe where we let ourselves be. There is an art here all its own.
I will be here with you. I will be creating and honoring this sanctuary, showing up with the questions and present to read and receive your every word. I will be there to share some of my own lists of listening and tending and mending too. Because this is my own writing practice. I write these every day. I live this and I love this.
We gather together in our private sanctuary group online. (This is optional. You can choose to receive the prompts and engage with them in your own writing practice privately if you choose to.)
Monday - Friday there will be an invitation of a question, a musing, food for thought through which we might write the nuance and particulars of our senses and intimate particulars in real life and real time. You can think of them like the bread crumb trails we might follow as we sort and sift our way through. They are open and generous and by this I mean they are not prompts designed to take you in particular places. They are doorways intended to open toward listening to your days and own interior in all its particularities and happenings, its questions and sensate knowings and needed articulation and ordinary noticings. Life being life, asking us to pay attention. Writing to tend to our own knowing and naming. Writing to feed ourselves and see clearly the world around us.
We commit to a daily writing practice those five days of the week of writing ten things with that days prompt. Just ten. A list of sorts of paying attention. However short or long you want and need it to be. Ten can be ten words, ten sentences, ten pages. But just ten things. We are here to listen. To pay attention. Nothing too small or irrelevant or irreverent or unwelcome. You can time it if you want, to honor this as a super doable writing practice of a set amount of time, allowing you to keep a writing practice that feels good, that sustains. Come write and/or share your writing, your listening, in the group, so we can be in this practice and devotion together.
Date: October 14th-25th
Time commitment: the writing prompts come Monday through Friday and you can write your one hundred ways of sifting and sorting, tending and mending in ten minutes or two hours. I recommend making a commitment in the beginning with yourself, and keeping it doable. This isn’t about a sprint or proving our worth in some self-imposed sense of mastery. This is about showing up and listening and allowing ourselves to be fed by the act of paying attention and the art of what is real.
Who this is for: this is for humans who want a writing practice that feeds you and supports you in listening to life and paying attention to the world inside you and the world right in front of you and the world around you, intimately and honestly. For new writers, long time writers, artists of all kinds. For journal writers, academic writers, freedom writers, fearful writers, private writers, curious writers. For the human.
“Isabel uses words that cut, without being cutting, claiming for all a fierce clarity and bold kindness while offering a darkly comforting refuge for the lived, the living and the pain/joy of being human.”
- Janelle Hardy