Last Sunday I was asked to give a talk at our local Unitarian Universalist Church. The title was, “A Writer, Being Written.”

This was the first time I’d spoken in public about my relationship with the holy Wisdom that I’ve searched for and (mostly) welcomed since I was a child.

When this Wisdom shows up (the timing totally out of my control), I’ve been inspired, annoyed, and/or encouraged at watersheds and crossroads throughout my life.

In my talk I described these encounters as an Invisible Hand: it has nudged me in one direction when I might have chosen another; it has caused me to open my mouth to speak to a stranger that I would otherwise not choose to meet. Also I described this Wisdom as a Silent Voice, advising me, suggesting (or demanding) that I reconsider a decision, and helping me through complicated scenarios. Since I am a writer, I recognize these actions as those of an editor, and decided to call this Wisdom my “Sacred Editor.”

Unlike the writing and editing of poetry, the mystical editing of my life doesn’t get to be pondered and polished, rewritten and improved with time. Either I pay attention to the Editor in the moment, or not – there is no going back to change those watershed points.

The writing of poetry is mystical in a different way. Words are under the jurisdiction of The Muse – She’s that aspect of the Sacred Editor that most often inhabits my belly, where the stories of my life’s experiences are transformed into poetry. The process follows a fairly predictable sequence: The Muse and I work together in the playground of words to make my poems the best we know how to do. When we can’t think of any way to make a poem better, then I send it off to Marian, my favorite copyeditor.

When the copyeditor’s notes come back, The Muse steps in again, now looking over my shoulder as I consider Marian’s comments. “Hmmm,” the Muse says, “yes, I think she’s right about that line break . . . No, I like that word – the way the single syllable changes the rhythm, makes the reader pause – I think you should keep that one the way we wrote it.”

And then, after agonizing over every word and syllable and punctuation mark for another day or week, out the poem goes into the world to sit for another month, or several, on a literary journal editor’s desk, hoping and whining for attention. That editor may ask to publish the poem (hooray!); or, more likely, they’ll send a thanks-but-no-thanks form letter to add to my burgeoning file; or, I’ll never hear from them at all. Then the Muse will sympathetically kiss the top of my head, and I’ll take heart, and send the poem out to yet another journal.

This week I’m taking some retreat time with my friend Corrine, at her lovely home overlooking Saratoga Passage on the east side of Whidbey Island. This retreat blends the two ways the Sacred Editor works in my life: writing, and being written. I’m loving it. First, I’m submitting to the Sacred Editor by taking time away, listening, giving Him opportunities to tweak ideas and intentions that will influence my life’s future. And second, I’m checking in with The Muse in that place in my gut where She stirs up the juices of memories, and energizes my words. For nearly a week I get to write, to just show up for meals that my hostess prepares, to have deep conversations with her about Life and the Sacred, to laugh and play with words, and to read poetry drafts to my dear appreciative friend.

Tomorrow I’ll pack up my pajamas and my computer and my poetry sketchbooks. I’ll haul them all back home, intending to keep working nearly every day on writing and being written. But at home is never quite the same as when I’m away, and never quite so successful as when I’m on a retreat purposefully listening to both the Sacred Editor and the Muse.


5 replies
  1. allan ament
    allan ament says:

    i loved it.
    (sorry for the lack of capitaliztion; my left shift key doesn’t work and if i dont remember to use the right one, it comes out all lower case. think of me as ee cummings (although without the right wing politics and anti-semitism).

    what intrigues me, however, is the poetic focus on “every word and syllable and punctuation mark”. made me realize not only the difficulty in crafting a “good” poem, but also why I write non-fiction. If I get the facts right, or at least believable, then grammar, word choice, the anal-aspects of writing and grammar, are less important. i like easy!! and i am extremely glad you, Cynthia, and others are more committed to craft. <3

  2. Ann Medlock
    Ann Medlock says:

    You’ve been having your very own Hedgebrook retreat–radical hospitality and the company of your muse….can’t get better than that.

  3. Chris Belding
    Chris Belding says:

    As I read and savored your latest posting, “A Writer, Being Written”, it stirred a memory. Many, many years ago when I first read the word “Sacred” I misread it as “Scared”. Now I smile at how appropriate the anagram was as a reflection of my relationship to the concept of sacredness as a younger person. Now, with many more years of life experience, I realize that when I grew to understand that sacredness wasn’t out there somewhere rather a part of me, I was able to befriend it and embrace it. Thank you, as always, for your thoughtful stories. Your writing graces my life.

  4. Susanne M Fest
    Susanne M Fest says:

    I love the differentiation between Sacred Editor “Him” and the Muse, “Her” and how you allow your life to be written. It is great to have this process, and the actors, named and spelled out.



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