By Patricia Crisafulli
When I was a little girl, Grandpa Long, our maternal grandfather, would load my two sisters and me into his Pontiac Bonneville and take us out to a rural crossroads. From that last known point, he would set off on an uncharted course, simply by taking every left turn.
Out in the country, roads were spaced apart, so we might go a half mile or more before the next left turn. Sometimes, we’d rumble along gravel that bumped into dirt before reaching a turnoff onto pavement again. When we passed a small farm or the occasional abandoned house barely visible through the woods, Grandpa Long would tell us about it: “You see that place there? Two brothers lived in that house, and one day they got in an argument over who owned the property—so they built a wall right through the middle of it…”
Tall tale or truth, I couldn’t say now. But those stories were as much of the adventure as the miles we traversed. And when we finally hit a dead end (or the state highway), all we had to do was reverse course and take every right turn.
Such simple childhood experiences ignited in me a love of wandering—windows down, radio on. Over the years, those memories have taken on a metaphoric meaning as well, reminding me that my writing life should always take me down the proverbial road less traveled (thank you, Robert Frost). If I stay rooted in the familiar, then what I create will be more of the same. To nurture and recharge our creativity, we need to change our scenery—whether what’s on our walls or beyond them.
- Where do you wander? I am a creature of many habits. I get up just after five o’clock each morning (part personal preference, part insistent cats), work for the first few hours, take a run along the trails near my home, and then go back to my desk. On weekends, creative writing substitutes for my Monday-Friday communications consulting, but the routine remains much the same. Until last weekend when, amid an existential moment (Who am I? What am I doing? Does anything I write really make a difference…?) I turned right instead of left—literally.
That sudden shift took me to a trail I walk only a few times a year. (See my video on making that unexpected turn.) Along the path, I looked up into the long-standing trunk and patiently spreading branches of an old growth pine, hundreds of years old, and peered into the spotted faces of miniature tiger lilies dangling from delicate stems. Five miles later, I was giddy with a renewed sense of purpose and self-granted permission to follow my creative path, wherever it takes me. - What does your personal space reveal? All around me in my home office are framed antique maps, photos and art, objects I consider sacred, mementos of people and places I love—even my favorite rocks and crystals. They draw me in, trigger memories, and kindle stories and anecdotes. But when I sit down to write, I purposefully face a blank wall—not only to eliminate distractions, but also to present a tabula rasa for my words and ideas. Honoring this space requires careful curation (as in, does that really belong here? and cleaning—and not just the dust rimming the picture frames. It’s a kind of feng shui that allows for “a clear path” by eliminating the unnecessary clutter and inviting my most creative thoughts to enter—and stay awhile.
- What are you looking at? Seriously. Right now, I’m watching the progression of my cursor across the screen, the physical embodiment of my thoughts that have been flowing this morning. Presumably, you’re also looking at a screen (and reading this article). But if your eyes shift to the left or right, do you see inspiration, aspiration, possibility, and permission to create? Or do you see distractions, obstacles, and obligations (like that pesky utility bill that you have to pay online)? Maybe you see a long to-do list filled with “would, could, and should” that you constantly prioritize to the detriment of your creativity (been there and sometimes still doing that).
My solution is to make sure that, even during a fast-paced workweek, I have a visual reminder of my creative writing. For example, a copy of my latest mystery, The Secrets of Still Waters Chasm, sits on my desk at all times—as well as notes for the third book in my Ohnita Harbor Mystery Series, the draft of which I’ve nearly completed. It all coexists, because it’s all part of me—and that’s a truth my surroundings should always reflect.
It’s a lesson learned early that remains just as true today: the world I see informs how I view myself. To become open to more possibilities, I need to keep expanding my horizons, welcoming a new perspective—and changing my scenery.
Patricia Crisafulli is an award-winning writer and a New York Times bestselling author. Her first novel, The Secrets of Ohnita Harbor, was published by Woodhall Press in 2022, and her second, The Secrets of Still Waters Chasm, was published in September 2023.
