Reviving & renovating an old plan

What's next for Root Stories?

I took a little break from writing and publishing over the summer. I didn’t plan it. Life just got a bit lifey and I’ve never been great at multi-tasking. I know—multi-tasking isn’t even a thing. No one can work on two things at once. And repeated task-switching is wildly inefficient. So let’s say I’ve never been good at working on different projects in parallel either. Even switching half way through the day or through the week is a struggle.

I can switch from something physical to something brain-focused. That’s fine. Then I don’t actually have to switch the brain bit. I can listen to podcasts and audio while walking or gardening while my brain keeps chundering through an idea.

But switching between work work brain—the one I rent out to clients that earns me a living—and Root Stories writing brain—the one I feel is wholly mine and which I hope will eventually earn me a living? It’s tricky. 

Immersion is my standard mode. (That or total avoidance.)

But (again) if I want the Root Stories brain to thrive and become the bread winner, I need to put time into it. I need to make the time I spend writing as efficient as I can and not just burn out. To do that, I need a plan.

I love planning. Not so much the putting plans into action. Then it all gets a bit real and I get a bit obstinate and don’t wanna do it. Even though it was my idea all along. Yeah, I really am my own worst enemy. 

I did have a plan for this publication/newsletter/email when I first started it. It was a beautiful plan that involved index cards, post it notes, a wall planner—and a sequence of posts that would build over time to create something of real value. But sometimes, I really didn’t want to write about what I’d planned to write. Sometimes, I really really wanted to write about stuff that was happening in the world and in life. Stuff that didn’t fit neatly into the mould I’d made for myself.

Since I’ve been back, my original intention for this space has got a little lost behind the personal essays. While I love writing these and plan to continue, that’s not all I want this space to be. 

I want this to also be a place where you have space to share your voice, somewhere I offer you a little gentle guidance on unearthing your own stories and a space to share them.

This isn’t about teaching the mechanics of writing. There are plenty of people out there better qualified than me to do that. This is about finding the raw material to tell your story. Unearthing the memories and root stories that make you you. 

So I’ve formulated a loose plan. A very loose plan. One that I’m not going to hold myself to too rigidly and that will no doubt change and morph over time.

So let’s not call it a plan. Let’s call it an outline—a loose boundary within which we can play, see what works and what doesn’t, and which we can shift if we need. I saw “we” because I hope you’ll join me for part of this adventure and let me know what you need and what you want more or less of.

In honour of my much missed friend Pete, I’m going to take the cow path—find where the boundaries lie—then explore within that space. 

Here’s the outline/cow plan—

• Once a month, I’l send you a piece that includes ideas for unearthing your own stories. A couple of weeks later, (probably) I’ll post my own take on that exercise. 

• Here’s where I really hope you’ll get involved. I’d love for you to share your own stories—those that emerge while doing the exercise. I’ll include a selection of these (with your permission) in my own post. Let’s see how this goes. If it feels right and is something you’d be interested it, I could also publish your stories as a guest post. Or not. If you prefer to keep what arises private, of course that’s all good.

• Once a month I’ll focus on the mechanics and psychology of storytelling, how our memories work and the impact that has on the stories we tell about ourselves. 

• And finally, once a month, I’ll post a more personal essay—a deeper dive into something that’s niggling me, or a story from the past. Here’re a couple of essays that take a similar approach—one about finding my old school bully online and another about losing and rediscovering my connection with nature.

As I’m writing this, it sounds like a lot. It could all fall apart very quickly. I might get distracted by a shiny story or a moment I want to share with you. I might not manage to publish the more in depth pieces exactly to schedule. But I’d like to give it a go. I hope you’ll forgive the inevitable imperfections. 

Hopefully, this plan will help me offer you some version of consistency. (Yes, I do still have a post in the works on that subject.) Hopefully it’ll help me avoid getting into a rut of personal essays, or of going down a psychology or memory rabbit hole for weeks on end—and then completely throwing you when I switch from one theme to another. 

So—next week, I’ll be publishing an exercise that draws on my post from last week—a sensory walk that’ll help you tap into your memories and unearth moments from the past that’ll add colour and context to your own stories. 

If you were one of the gorgeous beans who took part in the first round of my online course The Memory Mine, this exercise will be familiar. If that’s you, I hope you’ll give it another go now that the seasons have changed. This is a memory exercise you can come back to time and again. 

I’ve told the story of my “bad memory” before. But if you’re new to my world and this memory unearthing guidance is unfamiliar—or if your memory’s as bad as mine and you’ve forgotten, have a rummage though these posts that explain a little more.

At some point soon, I’ll also turn on the Substack paid option. I don’t yet know how that’ll differ from the free version, but I don’t intend to limit access to articles. Turning on paid is a statement of intent about taking my writing brain seriously. I hope if you find value in what I offer, you’ll consider making a contribution, but it won’t be required. My priority is the writing and giving you what you need.

Maybe one day I can stop renting my brain to clients and keep it aaaall for myself—and for you.

So that’s the plan.

If you have any thoughts—about what you need or what might entice you to go for the paid option—let me know. There’s nothing worse than getting excited about a new or revitalised project and everyone you tell about it just going “meh”. Leave me a comment, send me an email, or even just post a pass-agg GenX thumbs up. (Did you know that that most innocuous of quick response affirmation emojis is considered rude and aggressive by “young” people? It was news to me.)

Until next week, here’s a big, happy, non-aggressive thumbs up. 👍