Writing writing writing

Several years ago, I took up cross-country skiing. The place I live, Saskatoon, is flat and snowy, and very sunny, so cross-country skiing was a way to get outside, to enjoy some sunshine, and to move across the frozen landscape. After falling over many times, getting covered in snow, and weeping once with frustration as how windy and miserable the whole experience was, I began to get the hang of it. I learned how to glide on my skis, moving gracefully (most of the time) and with pleasure (nearly all of the time).

Then, over the last year, I stopped skiing. I put the skis aside and, although I kept meaning to go, I just couldn’t quite get myself to go out and do it. Until this weekend. This weekend, I went to Waskesiu, Saskatchewan, with some friends. We rented a cabin, packed up good food, took bathing suits for the hot tub, and we waxed our skis. Yesterday afternoon, I found myself with my ski boots on, skis over my shoulder, the wide, white trail leading through the poplars ahead of me.

Sometimes writing just flows. It feels easy to get words on the page. Stories and ideas tap from my fingers into sentences and paragraphs and I feel confident and assured that what I’m writing is worth putting onto paper. But other times, writing feels stiff and difficult. The blank page feels like a snowy field, impossible to traverse. I don’t know how to move forward with a story. I’m stuck and out of practice.

Yesterday morning, I put on my skis and wobbled to the start of the track. It wasn’t easy at first, but soon I was gliding again. I wasn’t as fast as I once was; nor was I as confident. But the more I ski, the easier it’ll get. The more I write, the more fluid the sentence become. Writing isn’t always easy, but for me, opening a new blank document in Word is like getting on my ski boots. I just have to get on and do it.

Start a story or a poem with the words: Snow fell like feathers…

Or, free write for ten minutes on the subject of travel

Fill some white space.