Join us on Substack, where The Practice of Writing sends out craft reflections, prompts, and behind the scenes notes from our writing lives. Our Substack is where we think out loud, share experiments, and invite you into an ongoing conversation about how we write, why we write, and what it means to keep going.
The Playlist Under the Page
Crank up the tunes, put on your dancing shoes, let’s get jiggy with it. I have a Spotify playlist called Jazz for Writing.It’s a bit more all encompassing than that, I’ll admit. It should probably be titled Music to Listen to So I Don’t Get Distracted Because Lyrics Are Very Distracting, Let’s Be Honest. And now that has me thinking about the secret soundtrack of a book. Not the one that plays after it is published, but the one that hums underneath the writing while you are still trying to figure out who the hell your characters even are... Read More
.jpg)
I loved the First Person POV in 8th grade. I could write for hours about me. Third person, what others were thinking and doing, felt like an absolute enigma (Still does, lol). So, after my umpteenth first person account of something that should have been in a formal third... Read More
The town’s gone still again, interrupted now and then by flashes of tourism. I keep staring off, thinking about what’s coming, what’s waiting farther down the line, and everything that had to happen to bring me here... Read More
…get closer, he’s going to whisper it in your ear while he puts a sweaty little hand on your cheek. You can smell the peanut butter crackers on his breath as he pulls your face to his. Nose to nose, mouth almost to mouth. He is giggling. He remembers that it’s not the mouth that does the hearing, so he pulls back and comes in close again, correcting... Read More
Leah here - writing to you today from Steamboat Springs, Colorado, where my husband and I are spending our belated honeymoon. The leaves are clinging to their last bit of color. The sky is a muted purple. The air feels like sleep. It is beautiful here. It is calm. But I can already feel a tiny pinch of missing life back home... Read More
Fall has finally arrived in Maine. The song birds have left. The leaves are scattered on every street and foot path, and I’m cold. My shoulders are scrunched up to my ears. I’m drinking hot water in a mug like my Gramme Pearl... Read More
