creativity Archives - Nadine Walks

The Creative Side of Things

October 7, 2017

I thought I’d take a break from the Chemin du Puy posts (am I still writing about that adventure??) with some updates on… other stuff.

The creative stuff.

The blog is part of it, so I’ll start there. Hi, blog readers! I’m still here, and I think some of you are, as well. Ever since I made the migration to a self-hosted site back in January, I’ve had some minor issues. I still need to iron those out, and most of the time I just kind of ignore them and hope that my posts are making their way out to all of you.

And yes, I’m still writing about my pilgrimage through France but I only have a couple of posts left (well, I have four days left to write about but I think I’m going to combine three days into one post, for the sake of just getting the writing done already!). And after that, I’ll keep blogging and it will probably be a mix of stuff, until I can head out on another walk. I want to revisit some of my past adventures, and do some roundups and maybe mini guide-like posts (sort of like the one I did for the Camino de San Salvador).

So while it may seem like the blog has gone a bit quiet, this is my assurance that I have no intention of stopping this thing.

But I’m working on some other things too and sometimes it feels like I want to do everything. I want to do it all. I want to write a book and I want to publish essays and wouldn’t it be cool if, somewhere, somehow, I could have a regular column where I write all about my walking adventures? I want to write e-books and I want to run an e-course and I want to do more with photography. I want to buy a nice camera and a nice lens and lug it around everywhere and take photos.

Right now it feels like there is so much I want to do, and I have this notebook where I’m collecting ideas and it seems as though the list just gets longer and longer.

So I have ideas, but I also have a start on a couple things. Small starts, but here are updates on some of the things I’ve been working on.

The Book

The Book seems to be the project of all projects, the one that feels the biggest, the one that feels like it will still take years and years before I have something that feels even close to ‘finished’. It’s the memoir I’ve been working on, the one about my first Camino. I have a very (very) rough draft written, more or less. I like that I have this start, but it feels like just the very beginning. There are pieces missing, the pieces that pull it all together, and I’m still wondering which story, exactly, I want to be telling.

This is a big thing to need to figure out, and I feel a little stalled. Or maybe it just feels really hard right now, so I’ve put that project on the back burner for a little while. It’s not going anywhere, and I know I’ll get back to it. Two years ago I was convinced that I needed to write as much as I could and as fast as I could so that I could get a book published right away, but now I realize that I need this time. Time to write and then time to let it sit and time to figure out how to share this big story.

The E-Book

But in the meantime, in the spring, I wrote most of the content for a small e-book that I’m hoping to publish soon. In the last month I’ve been editing and arranging and pulling it all together, and it makes me smile. It’s called After the Camino, and it’s something of a guide for pilgrims who have walked a Camino, returned home, and find themselves feeling a little lost. Or for the pilgrims who find themselves really, really missing the Camino (so… that’s basically all of us, right??).

The book was fun to write: the chapters aren’t long and each feels like it could be a blog post. The chapters focus on different aspects- food, memories, community, simplicity, etc. I talk a little about my own experiences, and I talk about ways to continue walking your Camino at home. There are ideas and tips, and some general thoughts and musings.

What do you guys think of this? I know I have blog readers who haven’t walked a Camino, so this probably won’t be of much interest to you; but for the rest, for those of you who have walked a Camino, would you be interested in reading something like this? It’s going to be free, so once I get it “out there”, I want you all to download a copy and give me some feedback! Because it ties into my next idea, which is…

The E-Course

This is still very much in development, and is mostly in the ‘idea phase’. But as I worked on the e-book, I knew that there were areas that I could really delve into, and topics that I could spend more time on. I like the idea of developing a course where I could guide people as they worked on taking the things they learned on the Camino and then applying them into their lives at home. Identifying the themes and lessons of their pilgrimage, and then taking those lessons and making changes/adjustments back home. Or figuring out their next steps.

I’m still figuring all of this out, but I know that I want to be a guide, and I want to create some kind of community within the course, the kind of community that mirrors what is often found on the Camino. Stay tuned.

“Nadine Walks” Instagram

Earlier this year I created an Instagram account for Nadine Walks, and I’ve been trying to post a photo every day. I have to say… I love it. I’m just going through all of my walks and posting my favorite photos and sometimes writing little captions and it’s just so much fun to revisit my travels. And it’s fun to pick out the photos and, bit by bit, form a collection, a picture book of my years as a pilgrim, as a walker.

I’m not sure if you have to have an Instagram account to see the photos (click on the link above and see if it works); but if you are on Instagram, then follow along! There will surely be photos that have already been featured on this blog, but there will be others that you probably haven’t seen, too.

“Nadine Walks” Facebook

I’m now on Facebook too, but unlike Instagram, I’m not quite as enthusiastic. I think I’m still figuring out how I want to use this space (or if I want to, ultimately, use it at all). Oh, social media. I have mixed feelings about it all, and sometimes the idea of being ‘present’ on all of these different sites can make my skin start to crawl. But I try to focus on my overall goal, and that is to find my audience. I’ve always wanted to share photos and stories with people who would appreciate them, or smile at them, or take something away from them… and those are the people I want to find. And since I’m living in an age where we can all connect in so many different ways, I figure that now is the time to try it all out.

So if you’re on Facebook, you’re welcome to follow me or like me or whatever it is we do these days. I haven’t been updating the page frequently, but I’m hoping to come up with a plan for how I want to use Facebook and what I want to share there. More photos, links to my blog posts, but also some other stuff: thoughts, articles, resources.

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But, you know, you could ignore all the rest of it and just keep coming back here. I’m still so happy to be writing, and for all of you to be reading whatever it is that I’m writing. I’m still so happy to be taking photos wherever I go, and it delights me to share my very favorites. There is so much beauty all around us, and I love sharing what I see.

As I finish this post I’m taking the last sips of a glass of wine, and listening to Bon Iver, and my porch door is open and it’s warm in my living room. It’s October but it feels like summer is still trying for it’s last grasp. It’s a peaceful evening, and I hope it’s peaceful where you are, too. We’re down to our last months of the year, and I feel it strongly. It’s time to do the things that we’ve been wanting to do for the last 9 months. It’s one last big push, before we think about what comes next.

Happy October days to all of you, thanks for being here.

You Can Always Come Back: Blue Skies and Final Days

July 21, 2016

Yesterday, I was thinking about how long it had been since I’d seen a cloud in the sky. It feels a bit as though my entire time here has been under a perfect blue sky, and that is nearly true. But then I remember the last thing I posted here, how the weather was chilly, and I remember that yes, there were clouds. There was wind, there was a cool stretch.

It feels so long ago, that first week when I was settling back into life in a small French village in the mountains, remembering how things are done, relearning how to do them, discovering that some things aren’t the same at all. I finally felt settled, another week passed, and now here we are, almost at the end.

How is it possible that my time at La Muse is almost over? It makes me feel a little panicked, and I think, “There’s so much I haven’t done.” It makes me feel a little sad, and I think, “When will I come back again? Will I ever come back again?”

I even thought about canceling my Camino, and just staying here. But it’s impossible- the rooms are all booked, which is great news for La Muse and probably the right kind of news for me, too. As much as I want to stay here and never leave, I also want to settle into the next thing… which happens to be Spain and tapas and lots of walking.

I still have four solid days here, and in addition to my regular brainstorming sessions at Le Roc, the long hikes, the chats with the other residents, we also have an “excursion” down to the ruins of a Cathar Castle (we’re tacking on a lunch in a Michelin starred restaurant, too!), and a concert and all-village fête on Saturday night. Tomorrow Vera leaves, so tonight we’re all meeting on the terrace for a goodbye drink. Last night we had a reading, two nights before we had more goodbye drinks for Kelly.

There’s a really good group of residents here, though I have a feeling I might say that about nearly any group that spends time at La Muse; everyone here is creative, and serious about their creativity. But then you have a great and unpredictable mix of the rest of our personalities: introverts and extroverts, loud and quiet, soft and hard, vibrant and calm. On a few nights I’ve stayed up until the bitter end, talking and singing and laughing with those who remain on the terrace, long past the time when the stars have appeared in the sky. Usually I’m in the “second wave”, not leaving first, not staying until the end. But some nights I slip out as soon as my dinner is finished, the last sips of wine drunk. I sneak cookies upstairs- we’re not supposed to have food in the rooms- and I read a book or write in my journal or work on my story.

The work I’ve gotten done here has been difficult to measure. The bulk of my book is written, I think, but it is so very rough, and I’m still struggling to decide what, exactly, I’m trying to stay. So there is still an awful lot left to be done, but I’m feeing good about it. I’ve had the space here to really delve into the heart of this story, and to my surprise, I discovered that I might not want to really share too much about certain parts, and that I have a whole lot to say about others. And just like last time, the most important work seems to have happened away from my desk, away from the computer. I take the 10 minute path up to the top of the mountain and sit on my large, flat rock and stare off into the valley- the Pyrenees lining the horizon- and after an hour sometimes I just know in my gut what I need to do, what I need to write.

I went on an epic hike today; I wanted to get one full, long day of walking in, a sort of “Camino” training day (because in less than a week, I’ll be on a Camino! Hard to imagine right now….). Lets just say that maybe it was a bit too much. I headed for Latourette, which is just another village tucked away in these mountains, though it is not close. Last time I was here I’d seen signs for it, trails that led there, but it always seemed impossibly far away. But now that I have hiking experience, Camino experience, it seemed doable. The first half was great- up and down and through these mountains, stumbing on tiny villages that weren’t much more than a few houses and a really old church along with some crumbling stone ruins.

I made it to Latourette and sat on a bench and ate some snacks and rested my feet. Then I continued on, following a path that I assumed would sort of take me in a big circle and back to Labastide, but the further I walked, the more I realized that it might not have been so smart to follow an unknown trail. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, and even though I was always on a marked trail, I had a bad feeling that it was taking me away from where I wanted to go.

I kept walking though, hoping that the trees would open up and I could take a look at the landscape and get my bearings. The sun was hot, the air was humid, it was getting later, I was feeling more and more unsettled. Finally I turned around, walked back to Latourette, and followed a road that I knew would lead me to a village that was not far from Labastide.

I stumbled back into the village, my legs feeling like jelly, just as dark clouds gathered in the sky and a little rain began to spit down. It’s still overcast now, the first not-blue sky I’ve seen in what feels like weeks and weeks. The kind of sky that makes it easier to sit inside and get some writing done.

Already I can feel myself begin to move away from this experience, my thoughts starting to turn towards Spain, and the Camino. But I’m still here for a few more days and I want to really sink into these last moments: write what I can, wander through the village, sit up at Le Roc, hang out with Homer the dog. And I tell myself the same thing that I did three years ago, as I was preparing to leave: you can always come back.

No Sugar Tonight in my Coffee; the first days at La Muse

July 8, 2016

Yesterday morning I made myself a small pot of espresso, heated up some milk in the microwave, mixed it together and added a spoonful of what I thought was sugar. It was salt.

This is a pretty good way to describe what my first few days at La Muse, the writer’s/artist’s retreat in the south of France, have been like. I was here three years ago and some things- many things- are exactly the same. The village dates back to sometime around 1000 AD, and the house where I’m staying used to be the chateau of the village in the Middle Ages. So, things have been here a long, long time. Of course nothing has changed.

In some ways I imagined that I would walk back in here and slip straight to the past, to exactly how things used to be, to the same person that I was when I was last here. I could pick up wherever I left off: journaling in the mornings and gazing out at the mountains and marveling over my explorations while I hiked. I could access the same thoughts and excitement and spirit. It would be immediate, and seamless.

But instead, I walked back in and was hit with such a powerful sense of familiarity, but also of difference. The trees are taller, they change the view from the terrace. I walk up two sets of stairs to my room and not just one, I listen for the sounds of my friends but I only hear the voices of strangers. I go on a small hike and pace back and forth, searching for the turnoff of the trail. Eventually I find it; it is much further down the hill than I remember. I reach for sugar and I grab salt.

I don’t quite have the same sense of wonder that I did the first time, either. It reminds me of my experience with Paris: I entered the city and knew exactly where to go, and what to do. If Paris felt like some sort of temporary home, then La Muse and Labastide do, too. Returning to a place you love is a special kind of experience; it reminds you of where you’ve been, it reminds you of where you are now.

There are 14 residents here, it’s a big group. Many Americans, two Germans, two Australians, one Irish woman and one English woman. One is a film editor but all the rest are writers. This feels a bit daunting to me. I know I’m working on a book, but others are too. Without knowing all that much about their projects, I still have the sense that their books are these real, concrete, serious things. So different than my own, which just seems to be a bunch of words at the moment. Some of the residents have already published, I get the sense that many of them know what they are doing.

Or do they? Maybe we all give off that sense to each other. If I let myself see past my own doubts, I see that others have them, too. It’s a fascinating experience to be back, once again, with a large group of creative people. We’re all still feeling each other out, and as usual, I’m content to sit back and observe the group quietly. But already I can start to see where I fall within the mix: Vera and I have similar writing schedules, we often work and take breaks at the same time. Hilary is introverted, like me, and we take walks down to Le Fenial for coffee. I pour over a large hiking map with Will, pointing out my favorite trails.

I thought I might be able to jump right back into this experience, to hit the ground running with my writing, to feel at ease around the other residents, but (and really, this should come as no surprise to me), I’ve needed time to settle into this. And I’m getting there, I can feel myself beginning to sink in. My room is beautiful, and I’d forgotten how much I love watching and listening to the swallows swooping around outside my window. I’ve been wandering through the hills (a mild cold has stopped me from taking on big hikes, but it’s probably just as well in terms of getting into a good writing routine), and I’ve returned to Le Roc- my beautiful spot on top of the mountain with views that seem to stretch on forever. Homer, the resident dog, has accompanied me both times, and I love this. He runs fast and far ahead, but always circles back to make sure that I’m still coming. And when we get to Le Roc, he finds a cool spot in the shade while I write, and when I’m done, we walk back to the village together.

I love that I have three weeks here, that I can spend these first days adjusting and settling in and finding my routines- the routines of three years ago, but also the routines of today. I’ll mix them together and come away with a brand new experience, and I can’t wait to see what it will be like.

Camino Magic in the Real World; Continuing to Follow the Yellow Arrows

May 27, 2015

As I was driving out of the park yesterday, I saw two little fox cubs playing on the side of the road. I’d just finished a 7-mile hike and I was feeling good; I started off slowly, weighed down by the humid air and hot sunshine, but soon found a rhythm and was marching along with strong legs and solid steps. Lately, my hikes have been good, almost the kind of good that I felt when I was on the Camino last year.

And then I saw the fox cubs. At first I wasn’t sure what they were- whether it was one animal or two, whether it was a large cat or a dog with an orange coat, or some other animal all together. I pulled up alongside the cubs and slowed my car to a stop. One of the foxes ran off into the grass, but the other just sat there, staring at me.

“What are you doing, Little Foxy?” I asked.

He seemed to tilt his head a bit, as if he were listening.

“You’d better move off the road, it’s dangerous for you here.”

I probably would have kept talking to him but I noticed that there were a few cars lined up behind me- but they, too, were peering out the window at the small foxes.

A fox sighting is always a little thrilling to me, and seeing two fox cubs felt really special. It felt like a good omen.

I’ve gotten several good omens lately, and it makes me think of last summer, and my moments of “Camino magic”. On the Camino, good omens or moments of magic seem to happen all of the time, and by the end of my walk I truly believed that wonderful things not only happen on the Camino, but they happen a lot on the Camino.

Losing sight of Camino magic back in the real world is a common thing. We usually don’t call it ‘magic’ here, I’m not sure what we call it. Good omens, perhaps. Luck. Coincidence. Signs from God. Or sometimes we might not call it anything at all because we don’t notice it: too much routine and task and obligation get in the way of the tiny magical moments that are still probably happening every day. Or could be happening, if we open ourselves to the possibility.

Lately I’ve wondered if my ‘good omens’ have anything to do with my approaching Camino. Knowing that another Camino is close has put me in the “Camino frame of mind”; is it possible that this slight shift in attitude is helping to bring good things to me, or helping me notice the beautiful things around me? Sometimes I think of these magic moments or good omens as signposts, indicators that I’m moving in the right direction. As if the little foxes were there to acknowledge my strong hike. “We like it out here, too,” they seemed to be saying.

Several weeks ago I was hiking in the same park and stopped by a picnic area to use the bathroom. Balanced on the very top of the corner bathroom stall was a book- it caught my eye right away because I usually don’t see anyone or anything in the park bathrooms. So I picked up the book and looked at its cover: The War of Art by Steven Pressfield (the book’s subtitle is: ‘Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles). I’ve heard about this book a lot, especially in the last few years and especially as I’ve been focusing on my writing. I flipped open the book at random and saw the words ‘Resistance and Fear’, things that I’ve been thinking about a lot in this past year. After I left the bathroom and looked around the deserted picnic area, I stashed the book in my pack. Maybe the owner would come back to look for it, or maybe not. In any case, it sort of felt like that book had been placed in my path.

You might remember my last post, the one I wrote a few weeks ago about not being able to get a reservation in my favorite Parisian hostel, the MIJE. I wondered where I would stay, I wondered how a different ‘home base’ would change my experience of Paris. When I woke up the next morning and checked my email, there was a message from the MIJE. “Thank you for the kind words in your post,” they said. “When do you need to stay in Paris?”

So I’ll be staying at the MIJE this summer after all- in a shared room but if a single opens up, my name is on the waiting list. How is it possible that this even happened? It all feels a little magical; even though I know how easily information can be shared these days, it feels improbable and unlikely that anyone from the MIJE would have seen or read my post, and taken the time to write to me. I was already a huge fan of their hostels, but now they have me for life (luckily, even though they are youth hostels, there is no age limit. So the MIJE is stuck with me for years to come!).

And this, too, feels a bit like a message. Keep traveling. Get to know places. Settle in. Come back, again and again.

So I think that these are some of my yellow arrows. On the Camino the yellow arrow is a signpost, the symbol that directs you towards Santiago, and they are everywhere. At home, they are much harder to see. But suddenly I feel like they’re all around me, and it makes me want to keep my eyes open for more.