Jen Knox's Blog, page 18
November 22, 2023
November 16, 2023
On the beauty of work
Hard work has always offered me a sense of comfort. Or maybe it was the necessity of hard work that invited me to embrace it. Either way, I was never one to coast. In part because I never felt particularly gifted or talented.
There’s nothing to acquire, nothing to abandon,
nothing to assert, nothing to deny.
What are marks of high rank?
Even the hills and mountains crumble to dust.
I use my mysterious spiritual powers
to carry water and haul firewood.
—Layman Pang (translation by Sam van Schaik)
My sister, on the other hand, was good at everything—writing, art, coordination (“Jen’s getting stitches again?”).
I didn’t mind working a little harder to get where I needed to go. Work ameliorated anxiety and gave me purpose. While working, there’s predictability and structure. There is a clear goal and challenge associated with any job or gig.
And the role itself—be it mind-numbing, values-aligned or not, provocative, political, helpful, soul-nourishing, or simply passable—carried with it the promise of being some use to something or someone. Work can offer meaning or, at its worst, make us feel as though we will live with meaning once it’s complete. (Either way, work helps us find meaning.)
I got my first job at fourteen as a bagger at a grocery store called Big Bear. I worked in factories, gas stations, clubs, megastores, clothing boutiques, banks, and restaurants (from fast food to steakhouses). I worked at a small nonprofit, in academia, and finally, I worked for myself and the community.
The earlier jobs inspired the manuscript I’m currently writing. And as I write scenes from my life, the connective tissue of the work is clear. It’s a book about day jobs (well, a few were third-shift). But as I write, I’m revisiting this idea that work promises meaning . . .
I’ve been told more than once that I have a Protestant work ethic. Except that my parents weren’t Protestant, nor was I. In fact, at age eight (or so), after BEGGING my father to take me to church one time, I listened to a sermon and decided (politely) not to pursue eternal salvation.
I decided was of the world, and being of the world I was in, I figured I’d do what felt comfortable. I’d explore said world through work.
Working meant money, too, which helped me to fix my teeth and eventually (slowly) attend college. It became all-consuming at times. Other times it drained me.
I have an incredible work ethic to this day. Even the pandemic couldn’t shake it (boy, did it try). But I also get bored easily, and I wonder if this is the plight of the writer. Just curious (see above survey).
The writer can continue to “work” at her craft and never get bored because the moment she’s bored, she can research something new. The writer can take a journey, navel-gaze, turn the same subject every which way, or turn herself inside out just to construct a few beautiful sentences that will cut through time and space and be received by a willing reader. If she’s lucky.
AI is promising to ease our loads as workers. Rather, the AI itself and its evangelists are promising such things. It could even help me write this blog, and I could use the help because I’m busy and often confused.
Meanwhile, it is the confusion of this topic, the messiness of writing, and the challenge of plain old work that offers me a way to truly focus my mind. Work can be meditative. Work can be immersive. It can be boring, sure, and even toxic, but we can leverage our ability to work in a way that will allow us to grow.
When I am being lazy about anything, from flossing to chores to writing, I feel guilty. Not because I am risking eternal salvation but because I am disappointing myself. I want to impress myself. Because who else will I impress if I can’t do that?
When I packed groceries methodically, I felt good. When I threw a bag of frozen peas atop a loaf of bread to move a little faster, not so much. When I caught myself cutting corners, I knew it was time to go. Perhaps that’s why I had so many jobs. I’m not sure. I suppose this is what my essay collection is aiming to figure out.
To praise the value of work as though it were the deepest meditation wasn’t my original intention when I sat down to write this. Nonetheless, the “work” reveals what it does.
And here we are.
November 8, 2023
On the seven thoughts
When it comes to art and writing, what is style? Is it just a matter of repetition?
Many authors have clear tells. Elena Ferrante, Haruki Murakami, Mary Gaitskill, George Sanders, and Neil Gaiman come to mind. I return to their writing knowing that I will find the same story and literary grace (or abruptness) repackaged with varying narrative delivery or plotlines.
There are fewer authors whose writing doesn’t in some way repeat itself, in sentiment and style. Amor Towles is the best recent example I can come up with. And I’ll be honest, it drives me crazy. When I love an author’s work, I want more of the same. I want the essence of the writer as much as I want the writing itself.
It is often said that at some point writers will begin to “find their voice” and stop copying others. But finding one’s voice might just mean we’ve created a groove, a way of telling the same story over and over again, and merely adjusting the lens.
Photo by Adrien Converse I’ve been thinking about this a lot because after I complete my essay collection, I’d like to try something new. Something less fed by my past and more influenced by a sort of vision or presence. But I wonder if, ultimately, the tone will be the same.
John O'Donohue, an Irish philosopher and poet, in his works and talks, says that much of our reality is what exists behind the face. Meaning, in the darkness within, that which no one can see. Our “doing” or accomplishments or lifestyle are only a fraction of our existence. I appreciated this idea but wonder if that which lives behind the face is revealed through the lens of art.
And if so, can the story change?
In another slice of brilliance, O'Donohue suggested in a talk he offered over a decade ago, before his passing, that those receiving his words would benefit from challenging themselves to think about the seven (7) thoughts that dictate their inner lives. I churned on this and began to wonder, if there are seven (or more or less) dominant thoughts, and we change them, will that change our work?
Take a moment and ask yourself what seven thoughts dominate your inner landscape. Perhaps one will come quickly, maybe two. For me, about four surfaced immediately. I thought about the beauty of small moments, the discomfort of being copied or not being given credit, the journey of my life and whether I’ll leave anything of value, the longing for security and health among my small family, and the simultaneous challenge and love I feel when I teach and write. I struggled to find more, but when I got honest about it, the others were less ideal. I found more worry and pain in their messaging, which would be counterproductive to share here.
I think a lot about philosophy, the meaning of pain, the way breath is shared; and I think quite less about what feeds most small talk or popular subjects. I don’t watch sports or most popular television shows, and I don’t care about brands or prestige. All of this is evident in my fiction, CNF, and poetry. At heart (or perhaps soul), I am looking for certain things in the world by looking at the world in a particular way.
The idea that so much of what sustains our mental space every day can be encapsulated in seven or so recurring thoughts is profound. Maybe more or fewer, but if you can distill things down to seven, it’s a self-study practice like no other I’ve done.
In response to what arises, John O'Donohue suggested to his audiences that we then ask ourselves what we’d prefer these seven to be, and he invites us to do the work to change them. The call to action is that our most transcendent capabilities lie within our projection of the world itself.
Perhaps we share the same stories again and again. Perhaps we do this to rid them of their power over us. Or perhaps by sharing the same stories we are taking small steps to better understand them and move beyond, somewhere yet unseen and so full of potential.
If you try this practice, let me know how it goes.
xo Jen
November 1, 2023
Embracing the Shadow (meditation)
“To light a candle is to cast a shadow.” —Ursula K. Le Guin
This is a meditative journey to explore the shadow feelings and emotions. We will explore the polarity of the shadow impulses and find compassion for ourselves at all times. Get comfortable and practice the ultimate self-care: meeting with your shadow head-on.
Music: "Adrift Among Infinite Stars" by Scott Buckley.
Embracing the Shadow
“To light a candle is to cast a shadow.” —Ursula K. Le Guin
This is a meditative journey to explore the shadow feelings and emotions. We will explore the polarity of the shadow impulses and find compassion for ourselves at all times. Get comfortable and practice the ultimate self-care: meeting with your shadow head-on.
Music: "Adrift Among Infinite Star…
October 31, 2023
On shadows
“The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.”
—Michelangelo
Happy Halloween! Blessed Samhain! Wishing you a celebratory Day of the Dead.
Yes, I’m a fan of these holidays and even more a fan of the human drive to celebrate the dark months by reflecting on those who have passed while eating lots of sugar.
For Halloween last year, I wanted to be Blanche from The Golden Girls (I tried)*, but my costume contained the wrong wig, so I was a Blanche/Dorothy hybrid. This year, we’ll see . . . And while I’d like to claim I dress up for my nephew, I do it for fun.
These holidays anring with them celebration, and if you’re me, a bit of goofiness, but they also invite us to slow down and pay attention to the shift of season and mood.
In the Northern Hemisphere, there is no more birdsong or crickets to be heard; there is darkness earlier, and the air begins to bite. With this, we have more time with our thoughts. We can bundle in the quiet and reflect. Many people begin to assess their own lives while thinking about those who came before them.
How has the year gone? Where have we succeeded or failed? Where are we shining and where is the shadow? Ah, the shadow. What a delicious topic.
Carl Jung came up with the concept of the shadow self, which is all that we like to hide or run from that exists within us. It is often associated with unsavory emotions such as greed, envy, fear, or shame. The very concept can be uncomfortable to some people. Others might think they’ve reconciled their shadow—done, thanks (see: lacking a bit of self-awareness). But I tend to think the shadow self is here for life.
Part of the human condition is having a variety of emotions—the positive, the neutral, and the undeniably maladaptive. Facing what hurts and what doesn’t make sense will always be difficult.
The shadow material itself might change form but there will always be thoughts and emotions that are less than ideal, and within them just might be a storehouse of creative energy.
In art, shadow is how an object appears to be 3D. Shadows can be used to express emotion and contrast; without contrast, there is no story or dimension. In writing, you might say the same is true. Without shadow, where is the story? The premise to explore in an essay? The question that drives poetry?
“To light a candle is to cast a shadow.” —Ursula K. Le Guin
Prompt: Think about the thing or person who most triggers you, who brings out your less-than-ideal self. The defensive, the petty, the angry. Write about that thing/person for a minimum of ten minutes. Then write about that same thing or person from its or their point of view. Go for ten minutes. See what happens.
*Here is a short meditation and talk for paid subscribers. In the meantime, my Dorothy/Blanche failure is partly captured below.
My shadow side might have peeked out when I opened that wig — ah, to have expectations destroyed. I ate some Reese’s and got over it though.
Dorothy/Blanche Fail ‘22 (not actively in character)
On shadows & the dead
“The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.”
—Michelangelo
Happy Halloween! Blessed Samhain! Wishing you a celebratory Day of the Dead.
Yes, I’m a fan of these holidays and even more a fan of the human drive to celebrate the dark months by reflecting on those who have passed while eating lots of sugar.
For Halloween last year, I wanted to be Blanche from The Golden Girls (I tried)*, but my costume contained the wrong wig, so I was a Blanche/Dorothy hybrid. This year, we’ll see . . . And while I’d like to claim I dress up for my nephew, I do it for fun.
Photo by Stefano Pollio These holidays and the general time of year bring with them celebration, and if you’re me, a bit of goofiness, but they also invite us to slow down and pay attention to the shift of season and mood.
In the Northern Hemisphere, there is no more birdsong or crickets to be heard; there is darkness earlier, and the air begins to bite. With this, we have more time with our thoughts. We can bundle in the quiet and reflect. Many people begin to assess their own lives while thinking about those who came before them.
How has the year gone? Where have we succeeded or failed? Where are we shining and where is the shadow? Ah, the shadow. What a delicious topic.
Carl Jung came up with the concept of the shadow self, which is all that we like to hide or run from that exists within us. It is often associated with unsavory emotions such as greed, envy, fear, or shame. The very concept can be uncomfortable to some people. Others might think they’ve reconciled their shadow—done, thanks (see: lacking a bit of self-awareness). But I tend to think the shadow self is here for life.
Part of the human condition is having a variety of emotions—the positive, the neutral, and the undeniably maladaptive. Facing what hurts and what doesn’t make sense will always be difficult.
The shadow material itself might change form but there will always be thoughts and emotions that are less than ideal, and within them just might be a storehouse of creative energy.
In art, shadow is how an object appears to be 3D. Shadows can be used to express emotion and contrast; without contrast, there is no story or dimension. In writing, you might say the same is true. Without shadow, where is the story? The premise to explore in an essay? The question that drives poetry?
“To light a candle is to cast a shadow.” —Ursula K. Le Guin
Prompt: Think about the thing or person who most triggers you, who brings out your less-than-ideal self. The defensive, the petty, the angry. Write about that thing/person for a minimum of ten minutes. Then write about that same thing or person from its or their point of view. Go for ten minutes. See what happens.
*I’ll post a meditation I made for Aura, Embracing Shadow, for paid subscribers soon. In the meantime, my Dorothy/Blanche failure is partly captured below.
My shadow side might have peeked out when I opened that wig — ah, to have expectations destroyed. I ate some Reese’s and got over it though.
Dorothy/Blanche Fail ‘22 (not actively in character)Here we are is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
October 26, 2023
On writing community
The drive home from Youngstown Lit on Sunday started with a full tank of gas and not enough caffeine.
I listened to The Hard Crowd by Rachel Kushner for the second time during the first hour, namely my favorite essay, “Girl on a Motorcycle,” and tried to fight the urge to take photos of the vivid fall oak trees that lined I-76.
Photo by Neenu Vimalkumar When the hour was appropriate, I called my mother. Last Monday, I took her in for cataract surgery, so I asked how she was. She was enthusiastic, explaining that as her eye healed, it was the colors that were the greatest gift—the brilliance and clarity of them changed the way she could see the world. And just in time for a Midwestern fall.
She’s getting her second eye done in a week, so her newly vivid world is only half-revealed.
Because I was heading back from a conference, she might’ve regretted asking me about myself. I prattled on about my time in Youngstown, where I taught a workshop, led a Q&A with the brilliant Alison Stine () and Jill Christman, and read from We Arrive Uninvited (which ultimately sold out - yay!!!) alongside brilliant writers Kim Chinquee and Sarah Freligh. The only snafu was that my author copies of The Glass City arrived too late to have more than two on hand (but I did give away some trees🌳).
Mom indulged my updates. But when I told her how nice it was to be around like-minded writers, I couldn’t quite explain what it awakened. I’d had a similar experience at ThurberCon the weekend prior, where I met with Columbus-based writers and readers in one of my favorite places in the city, Thurber House. Both experiences were like going home. I hope to offer some semblance of this feeling one day with .
Mom told me that a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope. A kaleidoscope, with its brilliant color and ability to transform perspective, is the perfect metaphor for both the writing life and the feeling when one gathers with others who see the world for its gradients. It’s a way to think of the way we can regain sight.
Not all writing-focused gatherings have the feel that these two Ohio events have. Some feel corporate, cold, and money-grabbing (even if they’re paying you to be there, it feels gross). But these two conferences reminded me of the beauty of community, and precisely the beauty of a community of artists. I was thrilled to find new readers and new voices to read. I was thrilled to write and talk about creativity.
But more than all that, I remembered that there is something that nourishes and sustains artists when we read each other’s works and congregate to share knowledge and resources in a way that is generous and open, that allows all color and nuance and brilliance. A gathering of such writers is, to me, a kaleidoscope.
I am refreshed and reawakened to new possibilities. These experiences remind me of what’s possible when we listen and connect and feed each other without wanting.
Now to bring this energy forward . . .
Prompt: Write a piece that hinges around the word or image of a kaleidoscope.(PSSST - I added a morning meditation with affirmations for paid subscribers.)
October 25, 2023
October 19, 2023
On flow & peak experiences
This is my final exploration into the elements and creativity.
I started with fire because fire is what I know best. I’m concluding with water because the flow is, quite honestly, not where I often find myself. I like to make things happen (or pretend I can).
All the more reason to explore . . .
“I've gone seventy-nine hours without sleep, creating. When that flow is going, it's almost like a high. You don't want it to stop. You don't want to go to sleep for fear of missing something.” —Dr. Dre
I like to think I am about discernment and steadiness over peak experiences and “losing one’s self to find one’s self.” I like to think I’m in control. The truth is that none of us are, but letting go of that thought is not easy.
How do we release into the flow of life? How to release into the flow of writing or art? Should you? I mean, sleep is good, too, Dre.
Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who coined the phrase “flow state” (and wrote the book Flow) suggests that the best way to get there is to, as you might hear in a yoga class, find your edge. Flow, it seems, is best achieved when you go a little beyond what’s comfortable.
Duly noted.
Comfort is coveted. Silence and ideal situations and residencies are always nice, yes, but it seems that flow is a phenomenon that will completely overpower what was previously considered a constraint. When flow arrives, like Dr. Dre, an artist gets lost in the act. We get high.
I recently heard an interview with Jane Hirshfield in which she says (and I paraphrase) that writing poetry is an action. “Poet,” is not an identity we can carry because we are only poets while writing poetry.
I listened to this again because Hirshfield speaks a truth easily forgotten and rarely spoken about. People tell you to wear your labels proudly. The more, the better. Don’t be ashamed to call yourself a writer. It’s who you are. Own it.
But it’s not. You can’t own it.
“Writer” is not an identity to lean into. We are only writers when we are writing. We are only creators when in the act. Writing is what we do, not who we are. The same goes for being a consultant, an actor or a teacher. You are only these things in action.
Sure, we can live a writer’s lifestyle, whatever that means, but Hirshfield’s message is important. The very act of writing a poem, a blog post, an essay, or fiction is the means and the end. The rest is all posturing and pretense.
More specifically, flow isn’t about peak experiences but simply feeding the activity we love and doing so in ways that stretch and indulge curiosity.
When we think about it like this, perhaps the “flow state” is just a matter of action—whether we feel like it or not.
Less about letting go, flow is simply an invitation to stop pretending we have to be or show up or do things a certain way.
It’s simply an invitation to do what we love and see what happens.
Creativity prompt: Create something that pushes your edge. Write an extra sentence, write when you don’t want to, write something you’ll throw away. Write in a different genre. Take your pick. I can’t guarantee flow, but I can guarantee that while you’re writing . . . my friend, you’ll be a writer.
I will have been part of two literary conferences by next week, and I plan to explore that when we reconvene. I’ll also post a link to an interview about WAU that I did before my PR training (LOL).PS - I updated this meditation. The sound was wonky. It’s for folks who might be struggling with the heaviness going on as well as those who just need a pause.xo
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