Elizabeths on a Train: Forward Motion
In October 2015, my friend Elizabeth and I went on a cross-country writing train trip from Montreal to Los Angeles in five days. Here are some stories, insights and musings that came from that adventure.
See right outside Montreal
As with stories and with life, you can predict and anticipate all you want, but until you move forward you will not find out the truth. We hopped on our first train in Montreal and had seven hours of uninterrupted writing time. I had an agenda for the trip (of course). I was doing the final edits and read through of my manuscript due to my agent two days after my trip ended. I jumped right in.
And the moment the wheels turned, the whistle blew and rails took hold of our car, I felt it. The forward motion looped in and secured itself in my chest and off we went.
On the train you are literally moving forward the whole time. The forward motion was so constant that it became part of my internal tempo. And then…. that movement carried over from the physical realm to the mental. I couldn’t help but actually feel progressive motion leading me…. somewhere, somewhere deep inside at the origin of the secured spot in my chest where the train’s motion took root. A journey within was beginning, moving at light speed and traveling galaxies.
The words flowed forward on the train with less effort it seemed, that root found it’s way into my brain and fingertips. In writing, forward motion is necessary. Keep going. Spit that draft out. Just go forward. Find the answer that way. Seeing the country passing by compelled the pen the move (but the bumps do make writing not the easiest by hand, but the computer worked just fine. Elizabeth and I imagined ink streaks on our faces if we had to handwrite then being super bummed at the end of the trip that we couldn’t read any of our brilliance. Computer, thank you for being so handy dandy.)
There was also something about the forward motion moving me closer to home the whole trip that was comforting. Journeying back home. It felt right.
Sometimes I close my eyes and try to remember the locomotion. And I can for a moment. I put my pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, and write.
Train travel is much like story telling. You are in more then one place at once it feels like. Other worldly. And pulled by a magical thread rooted in your heart.
See right outside MontrealAs with stories and with life, you can predict and anticipate all you want, but until you move forward you will not find out the truth. We hopped on our first train in Montreal and had seven hours of uninterrupted writing time. I had an agenda for the trip (of course). I was doing the final edits and read through of my manuscript due to my agent two days after my trip ended. I jumped right in.
And the moment the wheels turned, the whistle blew and rails took hold of our car, I felt it. The forward motion looped in and secured itself in my chest and off we went.
On the train you are literally moving forward the whole time. The forward motion was so constant that it became part of my internal tempo. And then…. that movement carried over from the physical realm to the mental. I couldn’t help but actually feel progressive motion leading me…. somewhere, somewhere deep inside at the origin of the secured spot in my chest where the train’s motion took root. A journey within was beginning, moving at light speed and traveling galaxies.
The words flowed forward on the train with less effort it seemed, that root found it’s way into my brain and fingertips. In writing, forward motion is necessary. Keep going. Spit that draft out. Just go forward. Find the answer that way. Seeing the country passing by compelled the pen the move (but the bumps do make writing not the easiest by hand, but the computer worked just fine. Elizabeth and I imagined ink streaks on our faces if we had to handwrite then being super bummed at the end of the trip that we couldn’t read any of our brilliance. Computer, thank you for being so handy dandy.)
There was also something about the forward motion moving me closer to home the whole trip that was comforting. Journeying back home. It felt right.
Sometimes I close my eyes and try to remember the locomotion. And I can for a moment. I put my pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, and write.
Train travel is much like story telling. You are in more then one place at once it feels like. Other worldly. And pulled by a magical thread rooted in your heart.
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