Photo credit: Hermes Adrada
For decades now I’ve been calling myself a writer. But for weeks, months, and sometimes years, I would go without writing anything aside from what the ordinary business of life required. Notes to housemates, birthday cards, forms, and grocery lists. Today, however, is special. For a year and a day now, my writing partner—the brilliant Emily Lahood-Olsen—and I, have without exception, written every single day. Year One: Check
Last March, I was in Chicago for a conference, and Emily and her incredible husband Josef hosted me in their cozy apartment for several days, giving a wide berth for the friends and family I needed to see throughout the city, as well as hospitality like I’ve never seen. Certainly, I am a fan of these two and incline to gush. However, I am not exaggerating the scope of their attentive generocity. After a warm greeting at baggage claim where I was also handed a preloaded metrocard, I was treated to supper followed by a late evening stop to the college where Emily works. There was a meeting where over a hundred students were gathered at 9:00 p.m. She had been charged with the task of offering a reflection to start the meeting. I, alongside this multitude of college kids, listened silently, with tears burning down our cheeks as she read Fatigued Hope, a testament to the heartbreaking labor that it is to love a very problematic world. She had written it earlier that day, and it was electrifying.
The three of us returned to their apartment, where in the guest room I found not only a comfortable bed to welcome this weary traveller, but also a tin of lip balm that not only helped with the bitter cold of the midwestern winter, but also benefited an organization that works against human trafficking. Next was a bathbomb whose purchase served as support for transgender teenagers. Then finally, there was a pint of Koval single-barrel Chicago bourbon to be shared over the course of our time together.
Sunday morning coffee and reading together with two favorites.
I was overwhelmed. I never like to keep score with generosity, but I do believe in reciprocity. And while Emily and Josef don’t keep score either, my beleaguered efforts to keep a relative balance didn’t stand a chance against their unified largess.
After returning home to Seattle, the love that had been poured out so generously for me left a sweet, lingering taste, that left even the superb notes of the Koval lagging far behind. I gave Emily insistent nudges to write, as well as find some way to share the piece that had stunned a room. I offered to tune up her blog, so that it had a place to shine. She agreed.
Not long after, Emily found herself in a instance of writer’s block the night before needing to prepare another opening reflection. I’m a bit of a night owl, which combined with two hours time difference, made me an available ally for her exhausted mind. We opened up a Google Document, I offering a few questions and suggestions, and she created another piece to rattle the rafters.
As we debriefed the reflection and how well it was received, she described a challenge that she wanted to take up—write a page every day. She invited me to join her on the adventure.
I’ve taken up a lot of challenges, and accountability partners over the long course of my writing life. Whether it was a group of friends grappling with the NaNoWriMo challenge that many of us would-be novelists attempt every November or a weekly coffee shop meet-up with a friend, that ends up being more of a caffeinated conversation than composition, all the attempts have collapsed under their own weight. However, even when those efforts fall apart, I’ve ended up with more writing to show for it than I would have otherwise. I figured Emily’s challenge would be similar. Write for a few days, fall out of the routine, and be thankful for the small bump in my file of writing collecting digital dust.
Pages are getting filled.
That is not what happened at all.
Several days became weeks. Several weeks became months. For a year and a day now, we have done something as writers.
Every week we decide together on a challenge of some topic, form, or shift in routine, and for the next seven days—occasionally longer if necessary—we go headlong into that challenge.
We’re both most comfortable as poets, but we also condition ourselves in creative nonfiction, fiction, songs, and anything else we get a mind to try. We write about love, sex, death, justice, nature, relationships of every stripe, racism, nieces, nephews, other children of our lives, personal challenges, grandparents, love affairs of the past, successes and failures, politics, large scale tragedies, oddities, religion and otherwise—she and Josef are practicing catholics and among other things, I’m a former catholic, now atheist-humanist—the many dimensions of work, beauty, and countless other topics.
Sometimes, often times, we write shite. Sometimes the creative faucet is nearly rusted shut, and the only thing we can get to drip out of it is a humble haiku. But that’s writing.
Other days, the writing practice charges up enough ions that some thunderbolt will well up in one of us. And sometimes it happens for both of us.
In those past decades, when I was both either waiting for inspiration or avoiding writing all together, I was a writer who didn’t write.
Now that both Emily and I have given our writing practices time and attention, we’re coming to grips with the fact that we’re writers who actually write.
The next stop: Authors/poets who publish. As we begin this second year, we’re both sitting on large stacks of material. As the saga continues, we’re taking stock of how we’ve both grown, and we’re growing the scale of the challenge. We’ve told the people in our lives about our writing practices, but have kept it close to our chests on our websites and social media. Some things need quiet to get established. Well, we’re established. And writing needs to be read.
The current commitment is to post on our sites twice a week. We may need adjustment as we fine tune it, but that’s where we’re starting year two.
Many thanks also for the support of our respective partners Josef and Cara. The patience, understanding, love, and space to create that you both help facilitate has also made this milestone possible.