Jen Knox's Blog

Even if you are not ready for day, it cannot always be night. —Gwendolyn Brooks

The word photograph comes from the Greek words “phos” meaning “light” and “graphe” meaning “drawing” or “writing.”

Writing with light or light writing, I find this beautiful.

We take pictures of so much of our experience in modern times, usually through the camera lens on our phones. So today, I just want to offer a bit of light writing as a prompt.

It snowed early this year in Ohio. The trees still clinging to color beneath the weight of a gentle freeze.

I’ve heard from many creative sorts that they are fascinated by weather patterns. Perhaps this is because when patterns are interrupted, there is story.

What does it mean in the moment, when natural expectation is upended? When even the trees barely seem ready?

Photo by Jen KnoxIf you write something, let me know. I’ll be back to a full post with a meditation link for subscribers next week. xo Jen

“I am asking people to be as rigorous in their pleasure as in their criticism” —Barbara Kruger

I tried to find a positive quote on pleasure by a philosopher, and first found the one below by Schopenhauer; most of the other quotes I found were about denying pleasure. Perhaps the belief we are only supposed to feel numb or endure pain and deny pleasure at all costs is why pleasure often has the icky adjective guilty before it.

Illusion is the first of all pleasures. ―Voltaire

“Pleasure is never as pleasant as we expected it to be and pain is always more painful. The pain in the world always outweighs the pleasure. If you don’t believe it, compare the respective feelings of two animals, one of which is eating the other.” ―Schopenhauer

It is the nature of the wise to resist pleasures, but the foolish to be a slave to them. ―Epictetus

We see extravagant ballrooms being built as citizens are told they will starve, and we think the rich are perusing pleasure. These guys above are spot-on.

But to my mind, the greedy are pursuing a destination they’ll never arrive at.

I believe we can get pleasure, perhaps the most pleasure, by diving deep into the beauties and simplicities of life. True pleasure is not purchased, and it rarely comes from accolades or achievements; it is simply a recognition of what’s always there—this incredible life.

I understand the sense of guilt that can come for some of us when we allow ourselves to feel good about who we are and where we are; after all, we are so often focused on creating, creating, creating … giving, giving, giving. Our worth is tied up in our accomplishments.

This is a simple reminder that we are here to experience it all, even during the hardest of times. We can take time and dive into the sensation of *gasp* pleasure. Do so in your art, your relationships, your interactions with the natural world.

I promise it will do you and your art good.

Download below.

I dreamed about the ideal writing life more resolutely when I was younger and prone to overdraft fees. My current dreams are somewhat different. The dream:

I write novels as inspiration and impetus dictate, and I am paid well enough for these novels to travel the world and observe, explore, and dwell in natural systems that awaken my nervous system in new ways.

I wake up each day to simple decisions: tea, comfy clothes, which yoga sequence to practice, which cafe to visit for lunch? Then I make a nourishing breakfast and sit outside or in a room with vast windows so that I can look out at an ever-changing natural landscape as I mine memories and imagination for the next sentence and the one after that.

I write for a few hours in a perfectly ergonomic situation, stretch, then meet friends for lunch or attend a workshop, where I can indulge a bottomless thirst for knowledge about so many things, such as writing techniques to strengthen my craft, mythology, philosophy, art lessons, wellness seminars, beading, upcycling projects … it goes on.

I walk and return for a bit of revision before dinner, then relax with a book or movie or show—something fun or provocative—which I watch with my husband and our dogs, then the two of us walk and talk to wind down our minds before a restful night’s sleep.

The travel would feed the writing and life experiences needed for new memories, and the classes would nourish my mind. I would easily be able to adjust my schedule to see family for holidays and always have the appropriate amount of energy to pursue new challenges and opportunities alike. I’d also occasionally speak about my projects or teach workshops on some of the more interesting techniques.

“The creative adult is the child who has survived.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

Most days lately, I have more trouble convincing myself that this is what it's really like to make a living from writing. Where are the grants for writers going? Why do we have to beg for subscribers? Are there not other people to answer to even if we do get a huge investment? Publishers, editors, agents, publicists, and “target” readers? Are there not the same expectations of any job, only these external expectations dictate to a writer’s creative spirit?

I’ve been reading a lot of blogs that speak to a desire to live as a full-time writer, and I, too, have this dream. However, like any dream or expectation, the reality that lives on the other side of the glass is not so simplistic.

There are certain freedoms we trade for turning something we love into work we rely on to make ends meet. These freedoms are often the ones that allow us to experiment, and while I suppose we can be successful enough that our name alone can carry any experiment, there are also times when the creative must compromise if our work is part of an investor’s business plan.

To fantasize about a writer’s life is beautiful. It’s to sing out Virginia Woolf’s words: “A woman must have money and a room of her own ...” The call for basic freedoms was alive in this quote, with which I wholeheartedly agree, but it is also open to interpretation. Must we live in that room? Who is supplying the money? Can we move the room if we get antsy?

Unlike many, I do not write “on the clock,” and I do not have endless free time. I never will, even if I hit it big. I’m busy living, and my room is very small. My house is small. The walls are thin. For these reasons, I choose to travel or seek support for time and space, but I make my trades with caution.

Maintaining the freedom of being a writer doing my thing in the world, with the hope it’ll resonate, is more important than living as a writer worried over market trends.

When I was younger, I thought I wanted the acclaim money above all else. I thought these two things equaled freedom. Now, what I want is connection and/or conversation, and I understand currency exchanges.

Genuine connection doesn’t come from market trends or grinding out words to hit a count. It comes, in my world anyway, from genuine curiosity and love of the material. It comes from questions about the world, adoration of the world.

“My work is loving the world.” —Mary Oliver

If someone can tease out a way to live the fantasy above without layering on the pressures of production goals and publicity tradeoffs, miscommunications, and artistic negotiations, I’m there. Where do I sign up?

The call for artists to be paid like bankers is valid; we work, and there is always a game of profit and loss. But the greatest joy of writing is the writing itself, and if we lose that, no matter how much we’re paid, we lose the spirit. Of course, I only speak for myself when I say that the less I worry about the monetary currencies attached, the better the creative current flows.

YES! Pay writers for their offerings. Why not? The process is one we love, one we also pay for, in turn, with time, carpal tunnel, critiques of our ideas, beliefs, and even typos. I love the idea of the patron, the kind person donating to support someone truly unable to stay away from the painstaking yet incredible process of writing.

I would love more compensation, and I appreciate anyone who supports my work (more than you know), but the highest success is my ability to bring something authentic to the page. That’s always, always the goal. And currently, that is what drives my dreams. To stay authentic in an artificial world. To live the messiness and capture beauty on the page. To connect subversively and powerfully through printed words that are mine and not generated by algorithms and trends.

The balance between financial ease and artistic ease is a tricky thing. I’d love your thoughts.

Prompt: Write about YOUR perfect writing [or other] life. What’s different than your current life, if anything at all?

What are your current thoughts on the world of publishing?

Friends, I just signed a contract.

I have withdraws to make from agents. I have another book launch to prepare myself for mentally. I have one more book to write that tapped me on the shoulder a few weeks ago. Things are flowing.

This manuscript is being published by a midlist publisher with large distribution (Simon and Schuster). Me being a small presser to the core (as both an author with a variety of contest wins at small presses and editor at Unleash), this is a different ride with the promise of more reach.

And if anyone deserves it, it’s not me. It’s the afflatus.

That is, the woman who inspired me. My ghost, my muse, the whisper in my ear this past year and a half. Victoria C. Woodhull (who I first wrote about at the automatic writing post below).

I ADORE writing and credit the practice with saving my life in many ways, but in the past, publishing has been rather less inspirational, mostly due to the misalignment of expectations and reality, which is something I coach clients to look out for.

This time, I feel more resolved. I don’t know if it’s age. Recent health scares. I don’t know if it’s just confidence. Or just knowing my role (writer) and accepting it. But whatever it is…

I’m all in, and I’m also letting go.

Two books with some version of my name will be landing on shelves in 2027. I will continue to do my work. I can’t wait to tell the world about my muse, this book’s journey, and more. I’m also keen to discuss my book of essays because they’re so wild.

But, I have little control over the final product’s date, reach, and whether or not people will like it.

I can control my own quality, but I can’t control the quality of an editor. I can control my own efforts, but I can’t control the public perception. I can control …

Wait a minute, honestly, the more I write this, the more I remember: I can’t control anything. And as I was recently reminded, I can’t even control if I’ll feel good enough to complete this next book.

This process is a dance, ever-changing, ever-wild, ever-instructional.

Look out for a personal memoir recounting my work experiences in 2027 with an academic press I am thrilled to work with (Cornerstone Press), and, possibly before that, look out for a novel based on the life of VICTORIA C. WOODHULL tentatively titled RADICALS.

I’ll discuss the unique challenges of the genre more soon.

I can’t wait to tell you more, but once again, with less attachment and more love/joy/excitement than ever before. I’m letting go as this new adventure begins.

Thank you for celebrating with me!!

Prompt: Let go.

xo

“These mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb.” —Najwa Zebian

Meet yourself where you are with this simple and relaxing practice that allows you to simply scan the body and pa…

Read more

Pushing past the pain doesn’t work. Ignoring it doesn’t work. Dwelling in it is getting caught in an endless loop. So what do we do, when we’re in considerable pain? Blinding pain? Pain that distracts us from living our lives? How do we balance the healing journey with equal parts strength and grace?

I gag a little when I hear business and marketing jargon because it’s lazy and destroys otherwise good metaphors. And sometimes, the metaphors are just horrible. “Rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic” is one I used to hear in consulting. “Let’s circle back to that, Bob,” or “We have the most cutting-edge, next-generation, bespoke services … “ Worse, in marketing, “Get a dewy complexion to turn back the hands of time.”

Make it stop!

But the whole idea here is to create an image, attach it to a “pain point” (yes, more marketing jargon), and promise to make things a little better, fresher, newer. To make the pain ease. The pain of aging, of feeling like a failure, or of simply being a human in the world.

As someone who was in pain for over two weeks straight (think: migraine that radiates down the jaw and tenses the neck and shoulders to the point of rigidity), and who made her creative brain crazy thinking of possibilities as the most obvious ones were ruled out (no, turns out it’s not TMD or TMJ or neurological or an infection or anxiety alone - it’s neuromuscular pain because of strained muscles in my neck).

So many of us are in pain. It’s tempting to numb out, get a pill, make it stop. But can I just offer a few words of perspective as someone recently trying to crawl out of her skin?

Pain can be all consuming. The idea that there is a single point is silly. Pain transcends and colors the ordinary things. When there is a numbing or absence of pain, we get comfortable. Everyone wants to my cozy, but it’s not possible. There is no lasting salve that will remove all pain.

Worse, when we are too comfortable, we stop remembering. When we deny our own pain (we all face it—even the most evil of evil feel pain), we stop empathizing. We lose compassion for ourselves and others. We forget how awe-inspiring the small parts of our lives are and how beautiful it is to find the energy to enjoy what is offered us every day.

When we are too comfortable and set on positive thinking as a modality to ascend, we forget others’ pain or abstract it to the point of mere annoyance, something to wave our hands about as we voice concern or, in some cases, disdain for those who are less comfortable. This is proven by myriad studies on wealth and empathy. Here’s one, and another.

But what I want to share with you today is that after we emerge from a bout of pain, and even in the moments of lucidity it causes, we find our humanity. We find it by unearthing uncomfortable truths, by recognizing the contrast and asymmetry of experience. We find that humanity by remembering we are fallible beings doing our best, fucking up at every turn and enduring anyway. Because our true perfection comes from the things we are told to deny: aging, quirks, oddities and, yes, pain. Our true perfection is nothing we can buy.

Pain offers incredible clarity and appreciation, even in its absence. It is important to remember we’re not immune. Not as artists, not as people. We all feel pain. To look at it squarely is to live fully.

And to remember pain in its absence, I truly believe, makes us better at (as the marketing folks would say) this “game.” Or, perhaps a better analogy, this “school” that is life.

Writing prompt: Write a story about a person trying to avoid pain at every turn. I think you’ll find an easy plot. Speaking of perspective, I have HUGE news soon. Or maybe it’s small news in the grand scheme of things. But it’s news, and I’m happy to share it soon.

What makes you forget your own struggles?

When I was 9, I ran a 5-mile road race on the north side of Columbus, Ohio. I was in great shape then, but the course was hilly and rough. It was a hot day, and I was in a bad mood.

“The real meditation is how you live your life.” — Jon Kabat-Zinn

Subscribe now

I can remember the feeling in my bones. In my young mind, it felt like the world was against me. I couldn’t back out. The registration fee had been paid. I was in my spandex, pumping my arms, surrounded by other runners.

And while I didn’t even think about the larger problems of the world, a time when real-world problems existed as poignantly as they do today, I did have a real form of stress. I was anxious and tired, in a bad mood, on a hill, and ready to quit.

Then I heard a voice from behind and looked back to see a woman sighing.

“I can’t do this,” she said. She was holding her side.

This woman was either twenty-eight or sixty-eight. All adults were merely old then, and I had no estimate of how old. What I noticed as a child was that this “old” woman appeared to be in pain, and something in me shifted when I saw her.

I said, “We’re almost to the top.”

She glanced at my neon, animal-print running pants (side note: they were pink, had paws, epitomizing my fashion tastes at the time) and smiled.

“No, I don’t think I can finish. I’m going to walk,” she said.

“Don’t!” I yelled at her. I moved my curly red hair away from my face as I slowed my pace, and I fell in line with her. “You can do this. I believe in you.”

What’s funny is that her dialogue was exactly what I’d been thinking, but the moment she said it, my entire thought process had changed.

I began to teach her a breath practice I’d learned from my cross-country coach. “Just breathe like this: two inhales, then one long exhale to give yourself more oxygen,” I told her. I showed her how to do it, and we breathed together.

I hadn’t remembered that technique for myself, but I remembered it for her.

From there, she asked me about school and how often I ran. I found out this was her first race, and she was doing it to get back in shape after feeling down and out for a long time.

We both finished the race together, and at the end, we hugged.

I bring up this story because we can create a circle of self-pity and hopelessness when we think about the weight of pains and an unjust world. Especially when we think it’s only us.

But we can also forget our fears and burdens by remembering what we might offer someone else. And in doing so, we find the internal freedom to keep going.

Cognitive behavioral therapy may include considering what you would tell a friend or loved one. But there is also something spiritual or more intangible about what it means to truly listen to another person deeply. Listening (and asking) clarifies the blocks in our own lives, creative and otherwise, without that having to be the aim.

Yes, it can seem that we are on the uphill right now. Maybe we’re almost there, maybe not. Either way, here we are. Together. Remembering that gives me strength.

If you’re trying, you give me strength. Knowing that others are trying. Maybe not always succeeding, but trying. It’s all I need.

What and who gives you strength right now?

What makes you forget your own struggles?

When I was 9, a year into my running tenure as a child, I ran a 5-mile road race on the north side of Columbus, Ohio. I was in great shape then, but the course was hilly and rough. It was a hot day, and I was in a bad mood.

“The real meditation is how you live your life.” — Jon Kabat-Zinn

Subscribe now

I can remember the feeling in my bones. In my young mind, it felt like the world was against me. I truly felt like a victim. My father had told me I couldn’t back out. The registration fee had been paid, so I was committed.

And while I didn’t even think about the larger problems of the world, a time when real-world problems existed as poignantly as they do today, I did have a real form of stress. I was anxious and tired, in a bad mood, on a hill, and ready to quit.

Then I heard a voice from behind and looked back to see a woman sighing.

“I can’t do this,” she said. She was holding her side.

This woman was either twenty-eight or sixty-eight. All adults were merely old then, and I had no estimate of how old. What I noticed as a child was that this “old” woman appeared to be in pain, and something in me shifted when I saw her.

I said, “We’re almost to the top.”

She glanced at my neon, animal-print running pants (side note: they were pink, had paws, epitomizing my fashion tastes at the time) and smiled.

“No, I don’t think I can finish. I’m going to walk,” she said.

“Don’t!” I yelled at her. I moved my curly red hair away from my face as I slowed my pace, and I fell in line with her. “You can do this. I believe in you.”

What’s funny is that her dialogue was exactly what I’d been thinking, but the moment she said it, my entire thought process had changed.

I began to teach her a breath practice I’d learned from my cross-country coach. “Just breathe like this: two inhales, then one long exhale to give yourself more oxygen,” I told her. I showed her how to do it, and we breathed together.

I hadn’t remembered that technique for myself, but I remembered it for her.

From there, she asked me about school and how often I ran. I found out this was her first race, and she was doing it to get back in shape after feeling down and out for a long time.

We both finished the race together, and at the end, we hugged.

I bring up this story because we can create a circle of self-pity and hopelessness when we think about the weight of pains and an unjust world. Especially when we think it’s only us.

But we can also forget our fears and burdens by remembering what we might offer someone else. And in doing so, we find the internal freedom to keep going.

Cognitive behavioral therapy may include considering what you would tell a friend or loved one. But there is also something spiritual or more intangible about what it means to truly listen to another person deeply. Listening (and asking) clarifies the blocks in our own lives, creative and otherwise, without that having to be the aim.

Yes, it can seem that we are on the uphill right now. Maybe we’re almost there, maybe not. Either way, here we are. Together. Remembering that gives me strength.

If you’re trying, you give me strength. Knowing that others are trying. Maybe not always succeeding, but trying. It’s all I need.

What and who gives you strength right now?

Do you pressure yourself to produce?

I’m ready to do something new as I let my new manuscript settle, but I’m not sure what, so I decided to remain open. I suppose I’ll wait. I’ll live. And I’ll rest.

I have to rest so that I’m ready. We all do.

Recently, I was trying to force myself to create. I like to write after I eat some evenings, and I generally eat the same salad weekdays. It’s a lovely, hearty salad with walnuts and dried apples.

A week ago, my husband went shopping and when he came home, he had purchased our regular items. I asked when they started offering a half-size version of my salad, and he said it was the same one, same price. Just smaller now. The ingredients are more expensive, and what was once a meal is now a snack.

While I can afford to buy additional food, the asymmetry of access to the basics—including nourishing food—is increasing. My salad was a reminder.

We’re human. Our bodies (and minds) are easily taken for granted when they are working perfectly, but we are just as capable of pain as we are equilibrium and pleasure. We are as capable of block and prolific output.

I was reminded of my own capacity for pain this past week as I navigated jaw strain that radiated outwards, causing incredible migraines. And while I still muddled through most of the things I’d signed up for, I was indeed muddling, and I did not write much.

Sometimes muddling is the best we can do. And it is during these times that we have to ask ourselves, how can we be OK with taking a break from the constant output?

If we can step back from pain and disappointment, block and confusion, with the same ability we often step back from pleasure and flow, we can see all the more acutely the ebb that is necessary to facilitate flow.

A little time to rest can change everything.

So if you’re writing, write. If you’re resting, rest. Savor the salad as long as its there, and know that every moment is at the precipice of another.

Prompt: Rest. Or write. Just be where you are.

“We think we understand the rules when we become adults but what we really experience is a narrowing of the imagination.”
― David Lynch

Have you ever seen someone look up toward the sky, as though receiving an answer before speaking? If you watch old interviews with David Lynch, he did this.

Once, in an interview on creativity, Lynch said that if you have a yellow notepad and a pen on your lap for long enough, the words will arrive on the page. Ideas will come.

I offered a story this week that came to me this very way and that reminds me it doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.

You need to sit and write. Or stand and write, if the ergonomics work better. Just, please, so as not to break my heart, write your own words. Trust your messy, human self.

Like any work of expression, it’s easy to forget that the process is simplicity itself. The less we try to complicate things, the more it pours out. The more we talk, analyze, etc., the less it happens.

In other words, the notepad doesn’t need to be yellow or even a notepad.

Simple and clear often means the most honest and authentic creations.

When you need to find something or some way to release, simply look up, out, or down for a while, then allow what comes. Maybe meditate on dropping expectations.

Subscribe now

Prompt: Write every day this week, even if you’re not a writer, and do not set conditions on it. Write for a minute, an hour, or a few hours. No formulas, no overthinking, no editing (gasp!). Just look up or down or off into the distance and write.If you want to read my flash piece, check it out here. I removed the paywall.