Practicing Attunement

To what do you attune when you write?

There's no best answer. It's just about getting real with yourself. About slowing down and noticing what's in the background and foreground of your awareness while you write.

Perhaps you attune to the ghosts of old school teachers. To the babble of your inner critic. To the conventional wisdom of popular writing gurus. Perhaps you attune to the perceived wants and needs of your readers. To the marketplace buzz about what's hot and what's not. Perhaps you attune to the zeitgeist of our howling times. Or to something deep inside. Maybe it's a bit of each.

In my writing book, I offer five practices for attuning to your ever-present muse. Letting curiosity overtake you, and inviting your muse to surprising you. Breathing into your inmost heart, and inviting your muse to embolden you. Sensing the flow of energy, and inviting your muse to quicken you. Relaxing in the vast sky of your awareness, and inviting your to unfurl you. Inhabiting your innate wholeness, and inviting your ever-present muse to uncork you.

There are other ways, too. Sometimes, at the start of writing session, I'll attune a particular quality that I want my writing to express. I'll sit quietly for a few minutes, open my awareness, and allow the images, words, or feelings connected with that quality to emerge. Then I'll let all that go and begin writing.

Mostly, though, I attune to the drumbeat of what wants to be written--while I am writing--and to the emergent feeling of things. This relaxed and open place of moment-to-moment listening and feeling is my go-to way of writing.

I've found that attuned writing is a conscious practice, a matter of intention and attention. The more I do it, the more it becomes second nature. While other voices may haunt the edges of my awareness, they are powerless to pull me into their vortex.

The next time you write, why not notice what you're attuning to, and choose it consciously?