on wonder and clarity and the dark spaces in between
This stock photo was the closest I found to the actual color of the sky during totality—or how it appeared to my eclipse-glasses-eye: a deep, beautiful blue-gray that was just past twilight and included a few stars and a couple silver chemtrails.
I traveled a little ways north of Austin to view the eclipse—my family hosted a reunion for it. Aunts, uncles, and cousins from Texas and Colorado gathered on the edge of a pecan grove and crossed our fingers the clouds would clear. They did! We had clear skies for the duration. What a gift.
There were several kids in the mix, and I’m convinced they had the sincerest reaction to this wild event, which was a lot of shouting and leaping about and offering countdowns and constant reminders to “look up!”
The adults did cry out occasionally but were more contained, immersed in wonder and marveling at the sheer impossibility (and yet perfect possibility) of the thing we were watching play out. One precocious kid explained that the little diamond chinks that appear along the edge of the corona were called Bailey’s beads, caused by light reflecting on the rugged landscape of the moon. I love the idea that valleys on the moon can affect the way we view this burst of light. It’s truly wild.
Me with mosquito catcher and orange slice waiting for the first moon slice.
On the cusp of totality, we were waiting for an eerie response from nature—dogs baying, or birds suddenly quiet—but it was far more interesting to look back at the people looking up, their mouths slightly open. Wondering, pondering, and not really worrying about the why or the how. There’s not much else you can do when you’re wearing eclipse glasses.
One of my favorite astrologists whom I mention all the time is Jessica Lanyadoo and she says that solar eclipses “both obscure and reveal.” And, of course, I thought about how this applies to creative process.
Sometimes I think we get stuck in our creative process because we are waiting for everything to be revealed.
We may ask questions like: Why keep writing if I don’t know where this thing is going? Do I even have the energy to figure out this story if I’m still in the dark about who the main character is? How do I keep working on this thing that has (thus far) made me no money, when I need to make money because I live on planet Earth? How do I focus when I’m nervously waiting on responses to [fill in the blank, including but not limited to my query / submission to the industry / editorial feedback on my indie novel / my beloved writing partner’s thoughts on my last pages / that job question whose nebulous nature is consuming all my energy to create]?
YIKES. It can be a chaotic swirl, best voiced by a kid running around during a total eclipse screaming for everyone to look up. Look up, indeed!
I often get in this headspace, and I think it can really help to pause, take a breath, and take some time to reflect on this question of obscurity vs. illumination.
The guided writing below offers you or a character the chance to put on eclipse glasses and really sink into the creative space for about 25 minutes, a Pomodoro’s worth of creative wonder.
Guided Writing: Wonder + Clarity
Quick recommendation: Settle in before you write. This time is for you. Take as long as you like to arrive. Take 1-2-3 deep breaths.
Warmup: Do you recall the last time you witnessed a natural event that was wild enough to make you pause? Was it a storm, an eclipse, a meteor shower, a fox crossing the street, a single bright leaf fluttering down? Take 7.5 minutes to describe this event, or as long as you like.
Now for a couple questions on the creative life (which you could also imagine on behalf of a fictional character). First things first. What is currently obscured? Are you waiting for answers, understanding, clarity? Write for 5.5 minutes, listing and/or describing all the things that are currently in the shadows.
Okay. Take a deep breath. Let your shoulders fall back.
Now, what in your creative life is being illuminated? What is sure/certain/fiery? Where are the solar flares that scream THIS IS TRUE? Write for six minutes, listing and/or describing all the things that are lit up.
Return to that wild, natural moment/event you witnessed and described in the first prompt. Which element/creature from that moment could be your guide (a single star, a possum, a tree, a wildflower, a bend of the light)? What would they say to you in this moment, and how would they advise you to harness what is in the light? Write for six minutes, or as long as you like.
Bonus: Glance back at your own work and circle/highlight/underline your favorite phrase from #5—what was said that feels like a mantra for your work going forward?
Extra bonus: Jot this phrase down on a pretty scrap of paper and tape it up somewhere you’ll see it every day.
Take a breath. Take another one for good measure. Thank yourself for taking this time.
Longing for a full day of guided writing, craft exploration, author inspiration, and more? Check out the spring retreat on Saturday, may 4.