writing Archives - Ingrid Murray

Butterfly Words

A close-up of orange-yellow berries and leaves against a concrete backdrop.

Orange-yellow berries and green leaves against a concrete wall.

Words swirl around my head constantly. I rarely extract them, afraid of the uncertain consequences of others knowing what I really feel. The danger of expressing myself, of it being the wrong thing said the wrong way.

I have a deep fear of being misunderstood. Of being punished, cruelly, immediately, publicly, for my own imperfection in expression, for letting myself tumble over my own lips and into others’ ears, eyes, and brain.

So I keep them, these thoughts, worries, and wonderings. I keep them tucked in my head and heart, where they beat against my skull and ribcage like butterflies desperate for the sun, for pollen, for the wind.

For their own good, I think. To keep them safe.

Recently, though, I have felt a nudge to open that cage, to let the viscera of my inner world spill out into the real world. My gatekeeper is exhausted, and I can’t help but think fuck it. Let it be what it is.

(I’m reminded of Anais Nin’s apt if oft-quoted line: “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”)

The imperfection and mess I find so easily in my art journal, I want to decode all that and say what I mean, mean what I say, to shed the cloak of politeness and dive into raw, real authenticity. For too long I’ve squeezed myself — my brain, my lungs, my body, my being — into the tiny (but ever-changing) box of What Is Acceptable, and I’m tired and sore and cramped in weird places.

Freedom ↔ safety.
Scrubbed raw ↔ a veneer.
Butterflies.

Fuck it.

Proof of Life

As 2023 approaches, I am reflecting on the past and planning for the future. It’s my favorite part of winter: How did I grow? What do I hope for in the coming year? What is most important to me?

In addition to my art journal, I primarily use three kinds of journals to guide me: a planner, a commonplace notebook, and a log book.

Planner: Clever Fox Weekly Planner
In early 2020, I bought my first Clever Fox planner. It includes space to create a vision board, identify goals and break them down by month and week, track habits, reflect on weekly and monthly wins, and, of course, keep a daily planner.

There are also ample dotted pages at the back for whatever is important; I keep my address list, book list, and other notes and things to reference here. There’s also a pocket in the back (my grandmother’s speech for our wedding reception is tucked inside).

A turquoise Leuchtturm notebook with a Charm City Threads holographic sticker of an umbrella with the words "It'll be alright".

Commonplace Notebook: Leuchtturm1917
I’ve been keeping some kind of journal for decades. Lately, I’ve loved the Leuchtturm notebook: it’s numbered and has a space in the front for an index list and plenty of creamy blank pages to write and doodle. I make it my own with a sticker.

Read more about my commonplace notebook.

A black Moleskine pocket planner with 2023 embossed on the cover.

Log Book: Moleskine Daily Planner
Since reading about Austin Kleon’s practice of keeping a log of things done (rather than a to-do list), I’ve kept my own. This practice has been simple: right before bed, I write down in bullet points what I’ve done, people I’ve talked to or spent time with, and any major world events.

It’s also been a very meaningful habit: I now have more than two years’ worth of daily memories that I very likely otherwise would’ve forgotten. In 2020, I shared some entries from the pandemic.

Note: This is not a sponsored post, nor does it contain affiliate links. All opinions are my own.

Commonplace Books

A teal book on a wooden table. There's a deep blue sticker that says "Take deep breaths often - MHN" and a black pen on top of the book. — My current notebook; sticker by Morgan Harper Nichols.

Somehow I’ve made it this many years before ever hearing about commonplace books. You, too?

Commonplace books seem to be, generally, a written collection of the things that attract your attention and pique your interest — a more right-brained version of an art journal, I suppose. The actual definition is broad.

Commonplace books are accessible

Wikipedia explains commonplace books as “a way to compile knowledge, usually by writing information into books.” Kevin Egan describes them as being “like a ‘thinker’s journal’ that serves as a focused act of self-reflection and way to learn;” Ryan Holiday similarly calls them a “central resource or depository for ideas, quotes, anecdotes, observations and information you come across during your life and didactic pursuits.”

MasterClass, by contract, emphasizes that a commonplace book (they call it a commonplace diary) is not just a place to write all these tidbits down, but also a system for keeping track of the information you gather. Some people use index cards or a table of contents, or color code their entries. This is where my eyes glaze over, but it’s well worth reading about if that’s something you’re interested in.

What surprised me is that commonplace books have been kept for centuries, by both ordinary folks and historical geniuses. Marcus Aurelius kept a commonplace book, as did Virginia Woolf. Austin Kleon is keeping one that’s just quotes. I imagine that many of the diaries shared by Papers of the Past could be considered commonplace books, too.

There are no rules

That commonplace books aren’t a single definitive thing makes me all the more interested in keeping one. The idea of a daily journal intimidates me: I get caught up in the idea of what a journal “should” be — namely that I “have” to write proper entries, dated in order, while recounting my life and my feelings about my life. (My logbook has been the best and most sustainable way for me to record my day-to-day life: I’ve kept it up for over two years now.)

But writing down a sentence here and an idea there as I discover new things, mixed in with occasional personal reflections, seems just right, and is a much more apt representation of how my brain works.

Capture what you’re already paying attention to

Since discovering the idea of commonplace books — it was on September 6, and I know because I wrote an entry about it — I’ve jotted down a bunch of random and interesting things, including thoughts on value and productivity, deep work and flow, procrastination, and writing.

While it might sound lofty, all the excerpts I’ve written have been from tweets, newsletters, Reddit, TV shows, and other sources I was already visiting, reading, or watching. The difference is that now I have a record of things that inspired me. Now, I can go back and find connections, go back to the sources, get reinspired, and actually remember what it is that I’m interested in and what I like thinking about.

I’ll leave you with a song lyric that I pulled today that made me laugh (here’s the song):

Black and white photo of a journal page. At the top is the date — Sep 26, 2022 — and underneath is written: "'You may call me selfish but you can go fuck yourself.' - Different - Glenn Gatsby Remix by Marina & the Kats, Glenn Gatsby"

Bird by Bird

I just finished reading Anne Lamott’s insightful (and wickedly funny) Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. I hadn’t actually heard of her before picking up the book in a little library in my neighborhood — but her words found me at the right time.

I’m deeply curious about other creatives’ practices, and the writing process is still somewhat of a mystery to me. How can anyone take a feeling or experience, something so big and complex and nuanced, and capture it in something as limited as language?

But this kind of question can ensure that we never put pen to paper. Perfectionism, really, is the antithesis to play and exploration and learning. Lamott gives you permission to write badly: one of her first pieces of advice is to “write really, really shitty first drafts.”

“You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something — anything — down on paper,” she says. If you write and it turns out laughably awful, you are still doing something right. (Kind of like making ugly visual art: if you’re creating, you’re on the right path. Make ugly art, or terrible first drafts. Just don’t not create.)

The only thing to do when the sense of dread and low self-esteem tells you that you are not up to this is to wear it down by getting a little work done every day.”

Lamott also speaks about writing as a lifelong journey, with no fool-proof formula: you can only show up, pay attention, create terrible first drafts, seek feedback, learn from your mistakes, and try again. Writing, like any other kind of creating, is a process, one of self exploration and expression — and it’s the work (the verb), not the work (the noun) that is ultimately most valuable:

You’ll find yourself at work on, maybe really into, another book, and once again you figure out that the real payoff is the writing itself, that a day when you have gotten your work done is a good day, that total dedication is the point.”

(Emphasis is mine.)

Perfection is a Roadblock

It’s been over a month since I came to this space to share. I started reading Julia Cameron’s The Right to Write to help unblock my brain.

Julia is the brainchild of Morning Pages — three pages of longhand, stream-of-consciousness morning writing, for your eyes only, done as quickly upon waking as possible. She’s a big believer in creation as a practice; as she puts it, she teaches people to let themselves be creative.

So who better to turn to when facing writer’s block?

And here’s what jumped out at me:

We forget the term ‘rough draft’ and want everything to emerge as well-polished gems.

I am a perfectionist. And perfection gets in the way of creation.

Because I have painted and collaged for decades, I have experienced enough creative block in those art forms to know how to get past it. (Show up. Create anyway. Put some paint down. Make some lines. Glue something down.) Soon, I’ve created a couple art journal pages and I’m back in the zone.

But when it comes to writing, I still feel like dabbler, someone new to this creative outlet. And words, unlike visual art, are explicit and communicate a specific thought to the reader. There’s less room for interpretation.

And then I read this:

When writing is about the importance of what we ourselves have to say, it becomes burdened by our concerns about whether the reader will ‘get it’ — meaning, get how brilliant we are.

This has stuck with me.

I want my words to be eloquent and beautifully thought out and clear and perfect. I turn thoughts over in my mind like I’m polishing rocks, hesitant to turn them into written words until they are smooth and shiny, when they will have maximum impact.

I considered how I could begin to change this habit — to write for the sake of writing and publish messy and imperfect thoughts.

And then, on Monday, George Floyd was murdered by those who are supposed to protect and serve him.

And I thought about how I believe that Black lives matter, and how much anguish generations of minorities and especially Black Americans have lived through at the hands of racist institutions, and how I wished I had the words to perfectly express everything I felt.

But we don’t have time for perfection: Black people are dying as white “allies” like me wait for the right words or the right moment.

Julia’s quote could be modified to reflect this:

When condemning racism is about the importance of what we ourselves have to say, it becomes burdened by our concerns about whether the audience gets how brilliant we are.

My promise going forward is to speak out (and write out), imperfectly, against racism where I see it. I will speak to my white family and friends; in white circles, I have power there to change the narrative. I will donate when I can. I will pass the mic to those who are silenced. I will continue to educate myself.

And if you need a place to start, check out these lists full of resources – from books to read to places to donate to how to take action: one, two, three.