Joy As Practice: Part Three

Hello all,

And welcome (back) to the ‘Joy as Practice’ series.

The series has emerged as a response to, and a base from which to find some ground of resistance and resilience amidst the unfolding gravity of what we are witnessing across the globe right now. In small ways, and large ways, I am interested in exploring how creativity, art-making, and intentional practice can build our capacity to be good ancestors in the long arc of justice and time. This month, the focus is on Joy, which I am finding to be a robust and nuanced frame.

I had some lovely private messages from readers last week about how much they have valued this short series, and that it has helped to frame and focus their week. That is wonderful to hear, and I hope this week’s post, and the creative practices, add another layer of joy and noticing to the mix.

Welcome to Part Three.

The Practice of Joy: Part Three

The practice of ‘Joy’ this week brought me totally back into childhood. It helped that I had twin four and a half year olds staying with me for the weekend. Before they arrived, I began a list of things of things which I thought would be fun to do, and then they could add to the list. They added many, and by the end of the weekend, we had ticked every item off. Swimming in the sea, baking, skimming stones, building forts, reading, writing stories, bird watching, plant spotting, colouring in. We had a teddy bear’s picnic on the beach and a little puppet show along the way. Much as they loved it, I think I loved it even more. I was a child again, doing everything I loved. (Admittedly, I also had a long nap after they left!).

Their delight and presence made me think of my own childhood, and the things I would do, just for the fun of it. As a young child I wasn’t particularly bookish (that kicked in when I was a teenager), but I did love to listen to and write stories, and then draw the images. I am working on kids books at the moment and somehow find great comfort in knowing the seeds of this were laid way back when. Like so many children, I also remember loving looking at anything in nature. My brother was a budding young ornithologist (he even had his own aviary in our garage). One day, he left some abandoned chick eggs on my desk. I remember being fascinated, staring at their duck egg blue, and then trying to match the colour from my array of gouache paints. My eggs turned out more green than the original, but now I see that painting was training me to notice; take the detail in, observe with precision and focus on the small variations as well as the big. I see that same practice play out through the viewfinder now, and through my pen. The child me was training the adult me to take note, pay attention, find the awe.

Very serious fort making in action.

Being around those children this weekend, so full of presence and the present, and so full of life, made me think, of course, of the children around the world who do not get to experience a childhood like this. It also makes me think of the children yet to be born, and the world they will be growing up in, and how as a writer, I can play a small part in helping to keep some of the magic, joy and wonder alive. It feels like a great privilege and a great responsibility. And it excites me no end.

Other pockets of joy this week were…

Finding some wild damsons and turning them into jam and, for Christmas presents, Damson Gin.

Blackberry picking . ’Tis the season.

I’ll freeze these so I have them for smoothies in the winter.

Drawing just for drawing’s sake. A hare arrived this week, who I rather like…

And spending much of my week here… right in the very very very messy middle of the creative process.

That I get to do this is also a great privilege which I do not take for granted. I keep those children, human folk and other kin folk -the wild creatures of this world- current, global and future with me as I write. May I do them all proud.

If you would like to take this further, below some ‘Joy as Practice’ creative and writing prompts exploring the wonder of childhood, tapping into play and considering how your own work and wonder might relate to future generations. It comes in four parts. I hope you find it joy-filled.