The Secret Rooms of Writing
- At September 21, 2026
- By Write in Community
- In Blog
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Poet Donald Hall tells a great story. It’s an account of some friends who purchased an old house in the country, a great “warren of small rooms,” and after settling in and living in it a while, they realized that the floor plan “made no sense.” They started investigating, and you can imagine them tapping on walls, tearing away strips of wallpaper. And then after stripping off one particular section of paper, discovering a hidden door. And behind it a secret room. It contained no moldering skeleton, no hidden bags of money, but was closed off, as Hall relates “who knows why.”
Hall likens that secret room to the surprise found in certain poems. The astonishing acknowledgment of a truth one knows in their very bones, has always known, perhaps, deep down. But has never outwardly realized until the reading of the poem.
Wordsworth wrote of a time of desolation, of wandering “lonely as a cloud” and then discovering “a host of golden daffodils.” Oh, the turnabouts life has in store for us! Emily Dickinson wrote of not having time for mortality, but death in his black carriage “kindly stopped for me.”
One of my favorite poems has always been Gerald Manley Hopkins “Spring and Fall: To a Young Child.” The poem opens with the question “Margaret, are you grieving/ over Goldengrove unleaving?” The green things of the earth which must wither and die. And ends with the acknowledgment that Margaret has come upon one of life’s hard realities. “It is the blight man was born for,” the poet writes, “it is Margaret you mourn for.”
In these poems, we are allowed entrance into a secret room. The truth of the poems comes to us in a rush. We feel it in the body, in the heart. It is not for the intellect to tinker with, but for the heart and soul to feel. The poem helps us to do that and we know the shiver of reality.
But it is not only in the reading of poetry that you come across secret rooms, but in the writing of it. You are just writing along, writing about a remembrance of childhood, perhaps, or the bittersweet feeling that comes at the end of summer. And without intending to you’ve uncovered one of the essential truths of existence. You’ve stumbled into that secret room.
Robert Frost said that “I have never started a poem whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.” For many writers, all writers—not just poets—that is what keeps us going. The knowledge that once in a while, you’ll come across a secret room that will reveal something new. Express something you haven’t previously been able to put into words. And that, is one of the great joys of writing. -Lucy Adkins
For more inspiration, check out our website www.thewritingandcreativelife.com. Or follow this link to purchase Writing in Community or our latest book, The Fire Inside.
Seeing with Fresh Eyes
- At August 03, 2026
- By Write in Community
- In Blog
6
“The real voyage of discovery consists not seeing new sights, but with seeing with new eyes.” – Pico Iyer
Miracles Happen
Many years ago, one of my beloved daughters was acting somewhat furtive, maintaining little eye contact, repeatedly touching her turned down face. Standing slope-shouldered behind her partner she stared at the floor. Then looked up. Light in her eyes changed deepening to a brilliant dark green like moss in the early morning. Rosiness of a pink sunset sky spread across her face. Suddenly a shift in my awareness and Joseph Pearce’s words hit home “insight is always complete and perfect in its single instant’s appearance.” In that “A-ha” moment I was seeing with fresh eyes. My daughter was carrying a special light, a heartbeat of its own swimming in her inner world.
Composer Vinteuil said, “The only true voyage is discovery…not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to behold the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others….” When we “possess other eyes”, we allow ourselves to be transported to a wonderful and sometimes, surprising new land.
Read More»Writing Faster and Better: What We Can Learn From Three Masters
- At July 06, 2026
- By Write in Community
- In Blog
4
I have always been fascinated by writers and artists able to accomplish massive amounts of work in short stretches of time. Like Handel who composed the 53 movements of The Messiah in 24 days. Or Kazuo Ishiguro who wrote The Remains of the Day in an unbelievable four weeks. Consider Van Gogh, who, while living in Auvers-sur-Oise, completed 70 paintings and over 100 drawings in a period of 70 days. Remarkable.
How did they do it? Not merely bringing to completion in short order a number of artworks, musical scores, or chapters of a book. But in doing so, creating masterpieces. Not only quantity, but quality at the highest level.
With The Messiah, the story is that in 1741, Handel, despondent and feeling that his musical career had reached an end, came home one night after wandering the streets and found a thick envelope that had been pushed under his door. It was from his librettist, and contained scriptural references for a project he was working on, one he feared would be his last. He took a quick look at the contents, then went to bed. Closed his eyes and half-slept, but the words of scripture kept going through his head. So he rose, went to the piano, and for the next 24 days, worked in a frenzy. Barely sleeping or eating, he created the 260 pages of The Messiah, one of the greatest musical compositions of all time.
In 1986, Ishiguro wrote the opening chapter for The Remains of the Day. But in the subsequent year, while he did a great deal of research and preliminary planning on the novel, he did no additional writing. Then in collaboration with his wife, he declared a four week “crash.” During which he would write from 9:00 in the morning until 10:30 at night. He would not take phone calls, read any mail, or have any visitors. He wrote, not going back to edit, but allowing “awful sentences, hideous dialogue, scenes that went nowhere. ” Slogging on to the end. In four weeks, he completed the first draft. There was still editing to be done, but the “vital imaginative breakthroughs” came during those four weeks.
In the latter years of his career, Van Gogh, after suffering an episode of acute mental illness, moved to the village of Auvers sur Oise to paint, to be close to his brother, Theo, and also his doctor, Paul Gachet. The doctor recommended painting as part of his therapy, and as this was Van Gogh’s passion, his driving force, he was happy to comply. While at Auvers sur Oise, he painted wheatfields, vineyards, cottages, gardens, and churches. Completed a portrait of the 12 year old daughter of his innkeeper, and a portrait of Dr. Paul Gachet. He worked feverishly, sometimes completing more than one painting a day, doing some of his best work.
These three creatives achieved greatly. But again, the question. How did they do it? So quickly and so well? First of all, the three were already highly accomplished in their craft. Handel with over 100 major compositions completed before writing The Messiah. Ishiguro with two successful novels, and Van Gogh with over 800 paintings and 1,000 drawings. They each had “their chops” and were poised to achieve even more.
The second point to consider (at least for Ishiguro and Van Gogh) is their preparation and intention. Prior to “the crash,” Ishiguro had done extensive research for his novel. And he had a challenging but doable work schedule in place. Van Gogh’s practice was to deeply consider his subject and then paint quickly. Striving to preserve the feelings, the emotions aroused, before they faded. Sometimes he was criticized for the speed at which he completed his paintings. But as he wrote to his brother, “If people say they’re done too quickly, you can reply that they’ve looked at them too quickly.”
Thirdly, we must point out the great significance of inspiration. In composing The Messiah, Handel said that “I did think I did see all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself.” Van Gogh wrote that “I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream.” Ishiguro, on the other hand seemed to value discipline over the lightning strike of inspiration, allowing the relationships between characters to spark his imagination.
Lastly, each of the three exhibited tremendous focus and dedication, and were willing to forgo personal needs and comforts to devote themselves to their art. Handel scarcely ate or slept in his fever of composing. Ishiguro worked punishing hours with little respite, and about his painting, Van Gogh said that “I don’t care for anything but the work.”
So….what can we take away from this? Personally, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write the essence of a novel in four weeks. Or complete 260 pages of poems in such short increments of time as did Handel and Van Gogh. I just don’t think I have it in me. We are who we are and we work as we work.
At the same time, I believe that we are all capable of more than we know. Early in my writing life, I attended a day-long generative poetry workshop and at the end of the day, had four new poems. This, for me at that stage of my writing career, was astounding. In April, during poetry month, some of my friends set a goal of writing a poem a day. (This was poet William Stafford’s process. He also wrote a poem a day, day after day and year after year.) Not exactly a “crash” like Ishiguro undertook, but a way to accomplish a great deal.
We can all consider ways to increase the number of creative works we complete. Continuing to learn and develop our craft, becoming more intentional about our work, and being open to inspiration. We can take advantage of generative workshops and retreats where the focus is on generating new poems or stories.
Reading about the accomplishment of artists like Handel, Ishiguro, and Van Gogh is inspiring. and we can learn from and be motivated by them. But I believe also that we can practice their methods only for limited periods of time, and then we must find balance. To keep our health, to live fully the lives we have been given, and to reserve our energies to keep on doing the work we love.
Instructions for Life
- At May 25, 2026
- By Write in Community
- In Blog
6
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting– over and over announcing your place in the family of things. – Mary Oliver in “Wild Geese”
Mary Oliver saw herself in the family of things. She recognized that by opening to what was happening around her, she was already part of the natural world. Imagine Mary as a young child walking alone in the woods away from her difficult home life when she first heard the raw honking of Canadian geese break silence.
She saw the kindness of the lead bird float on air currents allowing trailing birds to fly faster with less effort. The tired goose dropping back, graciously letting others take the lead. Oliver watches the flock head to the same wetlands where food and safety were plentiful. A beautiful rhythm year after year. Mary Oliver took this wisdom of what she encountered in nature and wrote many poems. In “Wild Geese”, she penned these words “you do not have to be good” nor “walk on your knees,” but let the “soft animal of your body love what it loves.” In my reflection of these words, I think Mary suggests that experiencing the natural world helps us begin to shift from whatever we’re experiencing—anger, frustration, sadness—and realize there is a place for us. That we can accept ourselves—belong.
Oliver’s instructions for life are simple: “Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” She said one of the wonderful things about being immersed in life is the joy of surprise. Feeling joy is a redemption for our life, no matter our struggles she insisted “the world goes on…”
Read More»When the Poem Gets Away
- At April 27, 2026
- By Write in Community
- In Blog
6
A poet friend (a professor) once shared with me how it was for him sometimes, with writing. He was an accomplished poet with a good number of completed poems to his name. Yet there were times when an idea for a poem would come—a good idea, a prickling-of-the-skin kind of idea, but he had too many student papers to grade, letters of reference to write, and lectures to prepare. And the poem went away.
Has that happened to you? I believe that it happens more than we know. Life intervenes and we do not always act on inspiration when it comes. Or an idea may skip across our minds so fleetingly that we do not recognize it or its potential. And the idea is lost.
The good news is that the universe is teeming with ideas—ideas for poems, paintings, novels, and books of essays, all waiting to take form; and if we pay attention, if we keep our eyes and ears and our minds open, more ideas will come.
In her book, Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert shares her belief about the way creativity takes place. That there are untold numbers of ideas floating about, standing by, wanting to be born. That ideas have a sort of consciousness. They have will, and they “want” to develop and emerge into a larger existence. But for this to occur, they need a human collaborator. Someone who recognizes the idea for what it may become, takes hold of it, and devotes herself to making it manifest.
Perhaps that’s a little far-fetched. A little fanciful. But the ways of the cosmos and of creativity are mysterious. There’s always a little magic about the creative process. And if our next fabulous poem or novel is wanting to find us, it behooves us to be in readiness. Do what we must so that we can act when that spark of inspiration happens by.
So how do we do that? Mary Oliver says that for writers, “to pay attention, that is our endless and proper work.” So let us work to be alive to the world. To what we see and hear. The way the scent of plum blossoms takes you back to your childhood. How a robin warbling in early spring at dusk can almost break your heart. Do what we can to slow down, indulge in idleness, and remain curious. Sit in your chair in the sun with a pen in your hand, and see what wants to be written.
We live in a busy world. We have to make a living and take care of those around us. And we cannot help it sometimes—ideas disappear back into the ether from which they came. Our solace is to know that more inspiration will come, and we can unplug, relax, and pay attention, and that wild joyful rush of inspiration will make its way to us once more. –Lucy Adkins
For more inspiration, check out our website www.thewritingandcreativelife.com. Or follow this link to purchase Writing in Community or our latest book, The Fire Inside.



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