A mockingbird staged a David and Goliath battle in my back yard recently, chasing and dive-bombing a much-larger crow. Eventually, the crow flew off with unhurried flaps, as if unfazed.

This chasing, harassing behavior is called mobbing, even when there’s only one bird doing it. This mockingbird was diligently protecting its nest in the neighbor’s yard.

Later that morning, I spotted a crow mobbing a turkey vulture—a bird that shouldn’t be a threat to the nest, as it only forages on carcasses. That crow was taking no chances and attacked with vigor until the vulture abandoned the area.

The crow spent a lot of energy for little obvious benefit.

This got me thinking about human behavior. How much time do we spend chasing the birds larger than us? When does the chase make sense, and when are we wasting everyone’s effort?

Although the meditation may not lead to anything profound, nature provided creative fodder.

If in doubt, go outside

The natural world is rich with metaphors and wisdom.

While the obvious analogies (sly as a fox) may be commonplace, we find a fresh or intriguing patterns if we zoom in or get enough distance. (Ungainly as a turkey vulture?)

If you want to rejuvenate your writing processes, go outside. Get out in nature. If that’s not possible, bring nature inside.

Your butt cannot always be in the chair

If you’ve read The Writer’s Process, you’ll be familiar with the idea of the Muse and the Scribe. The Muse embodies our creative, generative thought processes, while the Scribe embodies discipline and focused attention.

Every compendium of writing advice includes the gem: Get your butt in the chair. It’s great advice. If you want to be a writer, then write!

But it only addresses half of our writing equation. A diligent Scribe isn’t enough if the Muse is absent.

We are not writing machines, but imperfect human beings. We need inspiration. Our attention flags. Our brains wander off to other tempting things, particularly when the work is difficult.

To feed the Muse, simply step outside. And if you can’t do that, find a natural scene or tree to contemplate.

The hard science about nature and writing

Nature in all its forms is a balm to writers. Countless writers report using outdoor walks or time spent in nature as part of their process.

Don’t rely on the stories alone. Science backs up the role of nature in the writing process.

Replenishing focus and attention

Nature boosts your focus. Researchers in Michigan had people spend time on a difficult memorization task before taking a break. Half the study participants walked in a tree-lined setting and the others on urban streets. Both groups then returned for more of the memorization, and the researchers tracked their performance.

Those who had taken a break in nature performed much better. The study refers to this idea as Attention Restoration Therapy.

Nurturing creativity

A 2015 study by Dutch researchers, published in the journal Urban Forestry and Urban Greening, demonstrated that access to forests improved creativity for creative professionals.

More recently, in a study published in Thinking Skills and Creativity, researchers found using natural images as Zoom backgrounds improved creativity on conference calls!

Reinforce your commitment to nature in writing

Maybe nature is already part of your daily routine. I hope so. (If this post inspires a walk, my time was well spent!)

Simply going outside is useful. But for the full effect, when you’re outdoors, turn off the audiobook or podcast and really look around.

Can’t get outside easily?

Add nature to your indoor environment.

• If you have a window, take time to gaze out at the trees.
• Even looking at photos of natural environments can have an impact, so change your screen saver or post a photo of a favorite natural place nearby.
• Don’t forget about sound—consider adding a natural soundscape to your work environment.

I enjoy listening to birdsong when editing—it feels soothing. Sometimes I search for streaming recording devices in nature preserves and listen to them while editing.

What’s your favorite way to add nature to your writing process? Share it in the comments.

Related reading

Find a roundup of more research on cognitive and creative benefits of writing, read Nurtured by Nature from the American Psychological Association.

Do you write to influence opinions or behavior? If so, you might bring the reader into the conversation.

How do you address the reader? Do you:

• Use the pronoun you (as I did leading into this point)
• Aim for quaint or charming with dear reader?
• Get some distance with one (as one does)
• Put yourself in the same boat with we?

Often, this decision comes down to personal style or the conventions of your genre. You may even establish a habit. But don’t get too comfortable with your choices.

Consider what the reader needs for the specific situation.

The nouns or pronouns you select affects the reader’s inner experience.

• Do you want them to picture themselves as they read? Are you trying to pull them in?
• Do you want to form a stronger connection with the reader, getting them on your side?
• Would they benefit from a broader perspective on a personal situation?

There’s no single right answer. Use the right pronoun (or noun) for the job.

Close to you…

The pronouns you and we narrow the distance between the author’s (or narrator’s) voice and the reader. They invite the reader into a shared thought space.

If you want people to envision themselves in a situation, address the reader as you. (That’s why you pops up everywhere in marketing copy.)

For example, here’s a “benefit statement” using a third-person perspective:

When a writer learns to work with their brain instead of against it, they will get more done and have more fun.

Ho hum. Changing it to second-person singular (you) makes the benefit feel more immediate.

When you learn to work with your brain instead of against it, you will get more done and have more fun.

This second option also avoids the messy issue of using his/her or their as the sentence continues. Even if you embrace the singular they, “their brain” looks wrong.

We and us combine immediacy with intimacy. This can subtly forge a stronger connection to the reader. I do this all the time when sharing lessons learned about writing:

Let’s imagine that we have within us two distinct writing systems: the Muse and the Scribe.

This passage describes a universal experience and also claims a connection between the author and the reader.

Adding distance when needed

Pronouns like one or titles like the reader seems more formal than you because they create a greater distance between the writer and the reader.

Sometimes, adding distance is compassionate and more effective.

This insight comes from reading the book Chatter by Ethan Kross. He describes how we can become immersed in situations that trigger our negative inner chatter. In these cases, readers benefit from distance, not immersion.

You can help provide that perspective by shifting viewpoint.

For example, consider this passage about Imposter Syndrome:

When you have Imposter Syndrome, you believe at some level that you’re not a real writer. This sense of inadequacy can prevent you from writing and shut down your Muse.

If the reader is prone to Imposter Syndrome, the words might activate a memory of the emotional experience. They might then experience it again. (The brain is strange that way.)

Switching the subject can change their perspective.

When people experience Imposter Syndrome, they believe at some level that they’re not real writers. This sense of inadequacy can prevent them from writing and shut down the Muse.

When reading that passage, the reader might now see themselves as a member of a large group of people who experience the situation. This expanded perspective may make them feel more open to possible solutions.

If you are willing to share your own experiences for the sake of a deeper connection with the reader, you could switch to we.

Writers tend to worry about being crazy or unusual, and it’s reassuring to realize that we share the same issues.

That sentence uses both the third-person writers and the second-person-plural we. On a subtle level, it offers both a broader perspective and a sense of belonging.

Experiment with pronouns in revision

Look for the pronouns when revising a piece. Experiment with changing them and noticing how the tone or feel of the piece shifts.

And remember when writing about difficult topics, giving the reader a bit of emotional distance can keep them with you.

Related posts

How to talk about tone, style, and voice in writing

Tips for a writing style makeover

Not long ago, I wrote a book with the title 33 Ways Not to Screw Up Your Business Emails. So imagine my embarrassment when I sent someone an email recently with the number 11,000 instead of 1,100.

Whoops!

Here’s the chapter I wish I’d included in the book: What to do when you do screw up, whether with email, writing, or life.

The answer: Practice self-compassion.

What is self-compassion exactly?

Self-compassion sounds comforting and possibly easy. That’s about half right.

To learn more about it, check out Kristin Neff’s book on the topic, Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself. In the book (which cites a lot of research), Neff breaks down self-compassion into three parts:

1. Being kind to ourselves rather than judging harshly
2. Recognizing that our situation is part of the human condition—we aren’t alone in our suffering
3. Being mindful or aware of our emotions rather than letting them drive us

This is powerful stuff, with clear parallels to the experience of writing.

Self-compassion and writing

Many writers have a vocal inner critic that pipes up when looking at our own work early in the process.

For example, we see a clunky sentence or lame metaphor. (We all have them!) And the critic chimes in with things like:

• You call yourself a writer?
• [Insert favorite author name] doesn’t write crap like this.
• You’re never going to be good enough to get published. You might as well give up.

Instead of assessing the sentence (useful), we judge ourselves (not helpful).

How can we approach our writing with self-compassion? Let’s revisit Neff’s definition.

Start with kindness

Want a sure way to shut down creativity? Heap constant criticism on the seedling of every idea. Fear and anxiety inhibit the Muse.

If you were mentoring another writer, would you say the things you tell yourself? Of course not. You know that harsh criticism would stop them cold rather than helping them advance.

So, why do it to yourself?

Show up like a mentor instead of a critic.

You don’t have to give up your standards. But bring them to the revision phase of the work. Even then, identify what needs fixing on the page rather than in yourself.

Recognize the universal condition

Here’s the worst-kept secret in the writing world—everyone struggles with their writing. That’s part of the writing process. Your struggle may not look like someone else’s, but we wall have them.

Drafts are ugly until we make them better. That’s why we revise.

Productive and professional writers learn to tolerate the mess and ugliness to get to the final product. But we all hear that inner voice whispering in our ears at different times.

Be aware of the inner critic and its motivations

Recognize your inner critic for what it is—simply one of many thought processes in your head, perhaps implanted from childhood.

Get some distance from the voice. It’s not you, and it’s not the universe at large.

Harshly critical thoughts often originate in fear. When you try something new or put creative work out into the world, fear may try to stop you.

Notice the fear. Then move forward anyway, for the sake of the readers.

Servant authorship can help

Here’s a fourth practice for writers—focus on the reader rather than yourself. Practice servant authorship, or writing to serve the reader.

Who do you want to serve with your writing, and what do you hope it does for them?

Keeping the reader squarely in your sights streamlines the myriad decisions involved with writing. It also gives you a way around the harsh inner critic. Because what matters isn’t what you think. It’s the value that other people will find in your work. That’s your goal.

In my experience, centering on the reader rather than on myself and my writing ability de-stresses the process. It’s not about me at all. It’s about the reader.

Give yourself permission to be messy. Show self-compassion when you’re stuck or too busy to write. And remember, it’s all part of the universal writing experience.

Related content

Watch my webinar on self-compassion for authors.

Check out the book Self-Compassion.

Where was I?

Have you ever set off to get something from the kitchen, then been distracted by some other thought? You arrive in the kitchen and suddenly think, “What was I looking for here?”

It’s frustrating.

You might retrace your steps, returning to the starting point so you can remember what you wanted.

Nobody enjoys that experience. Yet, as writers, we often inflict something similar on our readers

The “where was I?” sentence

A sentence might start by introducing the subject, then throw in extra bits of insight or qualifying information before coming to the verb. These might include:

• Clauses, sometimes bounded by commas, that expand on the content of sentence
• Parenthetical asides (like this one) that offer commentary
• Thoughts linked with semicolons or em-dashes—the signal for informal interjections—that eventually resolve at the end of the sentence.

There’s nothing wrong with these stylistic practices. They often reflect the nuanced nature of our thoughts or message. They definitely project an educated tone, if the grammar works.

But pile them together and the writing gets pretty dense. These wandering sentences require the reader to juggle different mental images in working memory. The reader needs to hold the concept from the beginning of the sentence, power through the interceding ideas, and connect them at the end.

Metaphorically, they are setting off for the kitchen at the start of the sentence. Will they remember what they were doing when they reach the end?

More common than you may realize

Here’s a fun test: When you’re reading a nonfiction book or article, make a note every time you have to double back through a sentence. Put a pencil check mark in the margin.

You may double back more than you realized, or at least stop to check yourself and remember where you started.

We don’t always notice this behavior as we read. It’s subtle. We might feel fatigue or boredom, without recognizing the culprit—juggling ideas in our head as we navigate complex sentences.

The mental multi-tasking imposes a cognitive burden. The reader tuckers out a little sooner. It’s a real problem if you’re trying to reach a reader who meets any of the following categories.

• They’re not inherently fascinated with your topic
• They’re reading because they have to, rather than because they want to
• They have other distractions. (Don’t we all?)
• They’re tired.

Does your prose tax your readers?

You probably learned to use elaborate, qualifying clauses in college or graduate school. Academic writing is rife with complex sentence structures. You may not realize you’ve got a problem.

Many of the great works we read and admire use complex sentences. Consider this doozy from the Declaration of Independence:

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do.

I’ve italicized the main subject and verb: We do publish and declare. See how long it takes to connect the subject with the verb!

We’ve been trained to write this way in school. Often, we must untrain ourselves.

• Grammar checkers won’t flag these sentences, assuming the grammar is correct.
• Readers won’t let you know. They might give up on the project, or force themselves through it for your sake. They may not even realize why they find it slow going, and assume it’s because of the topic, rather than your decisions.

When I’m working with a nonfiction author, I’ll mark these kinds of sentences. Authors don’t always appreciate my cries for simplification, but their readers will.

Scan your words for “Where was I” sentences

Here are a few checks you can do on your own work.

• Scan for long sentences. When you find a string of them, try breaking up a few. If nothing else, vary the rhythm for the reader. Mixing longer and shorter sentences appeals to the reader’s inner ear.
• Count how many em-dashes and parentheses you find in your writing. If they’re everywhere, then you are adding to the multi-tasking burden of your reader.
• Find a reader who is sensitive to their wandering mind and ask them to mark every time their attention flags or they have to check back in the sentence to find the subject.

Yes, this will add time to your revision process. But any time you can lessen the cognitive burden on your reader, it’s a win for both of you.

Related content

Getting Bogged Down in Revision

Two Reasons Not to Revise as You Draft