the creative notebook: yelling and love letters
I keep returning to a journaling practice from Amie McNee I learned at the Barcelona Journaling Festival in the fall. The two-part, two voices practice is such a gift.
Back in November, I attended the Barcelona Journaling Festival, and it was a glorious two days of returning to myself, just shortly after my ex had moved back to the states. It was two days of connecting with other people passionate about writing and keeping a journal, like me. Community and writing it all out. It was so needed. I keep returning to many of the journaling practices and prompts from those two transformative days, to get me through winter, to get me through this wintering period of my life.
I went to this festival, intent on one thing that I think was very important for its transformative powers. I had been writing daily for the two weeks before the event about the past, about the divorce, about the loss and the need to start over. But for these two days, in this space full of other journalers, I told myself I was not allowed to process the divorce or the loss. I was only allowed to focus on the rest of my life. I was to focus on the future, on the parts of my life: my writing, my artmaking, my life in Spain, the retreat home for artists and writers I was building. I was to focus on the building. Giving myself permission to step away from all the writing about the thing going wrong, and write about all the other parts of life so full of possibility and beauty–was so good. And Barcelona Journaling Festival was so very full of amazing presenters and workshop leaders. So many.
One in particular that I can’t stop going back to the practice she introduced us to was Amie McNee. She talked about her own past struggles, and how journaling got her through–and out–of it. She told us about how she got herself to a place where she could really value and prioritize the gifts she has to give to the world: her art.
It seems to have worked, because McNee published two books last year, and has just published another book this year. This year’s book I haven’t received yet but wow, both the historical fiction, “To Kill A Queen,” and the motivational goodness that is “We Need Your Art” were both just so, so good. This year’s newest book, “I Don’t Want a Job,” built from what started as a Substack post, looks incredible as well and I can’t wait to get the copy I ordered.
So, you ask, what was the practice that I keep coming back to? What short journaling exercise is an important part of getting me through? It’s a bit of talking about the hard, and then showering myself with love and acceptance, really. And what a gift the combination these two parts has been. Read below in the prompt to try out my version of Amie’s journaling prompt yourself.
(If you’re curious what a creative notebook is or what these written visual prompts are about, begin here or check out the full collection of creative notebook letters here.)
Your Writing Prompt: Set a timer for one minute, 90 seconds tops: spend this time really spilling out a quick release of emotion, of telling the most bare, honest, crabby version of the truth. Yell onto the page what’s wrong. Then when that timer goes off, write a letter to yourself from a mothering voice (and as Amie so wisely advised, if your own mother wasn’t great at comforting you, create that comforting voice you wish you had been given. Create your own comforting, encouraging, accepting cheerleader you need now).
Write a love letter to that hurting spot. Start with “of course you are sad, this is very hard. Of course you don’t have any energy right now. And then move on with that voice, not a blasé cheerleader that denies the truth, the hard, but a voice who sees in you a future that overcomes and is brilliant. That knows what you are capable of achieving. That believes you are more capable than even you can trust right now. That voice, she believes in you. She knows your goodness, your gift, your strength. Let her tell you all that you are able to do, let her envision a brilliant future for you. Not one that acts like it’s easy, but one that knows you are able of handling the hard. One that gives you permission to fully rest, that doesn’t rush you, that doesn’t expect stark discipline when what you really need is a nap. The voice of wise love and adoration. Write yourself a letter from that voice. She might make you cry, but they will be tears of release, tears of renewal. Tears that will let you get up and take that next step.
Your visual prompt: Review that love letter, that belief-in-you letter, and take a phrase or sentence that you want to remind yourself of again. Turn the page and write those words big, with a big fat marker or a brush pen or just an outline of bigger letters you can fill in. Take your time, make it **aesthetic** but please, please don’t worry about making it perfect. Doodle or scribble all around it, using bright or soothing colors. Maybe even get out the watercolors or marker set to really make yourself a big beautiful love note to yourself. In future days, you can turn to that page, take a few deep slow breaths while reading that love note to yourself over and over, and then start another journaling page with that very phrase, and see where it takes you when you repeat this loving truth to yourself. See what happens when you focus on the voice that believes in you.
Highly recommend:
Attending the Journaling Festival in New York (August) or Barcelona (November) this year.
Reading one or all of Amie McNee’s books:
I Don’t Want A Job (which, may I remind you, is very different than not wanting to work!)
This week, you could also:
Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.
Plan a visit to L’Albi
Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me
Missed a letter?
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