New Blogging Gig!

I’m thrilled to have been chosen to join the blogging team over at Mothers in Medicine for the next year. I’ve guest-posted for them before, but recently they put out a call for official bloggers for the site and I answered and was selected! I’ll post links on The Growth Curve to everything I post over there, but in the meantime, check out some of the thoughtful posts by my co-bloggers:

Smashing the Pot

Lately I’ve been devoting less of my writing time to drafting new works and more to revisiting old ones, paying particular attention to a collection of essays I wrote during medical school. Over the past few years, my edits and reworkings of a few of them have led to publications in various medical and writing journals. So while there are certainly new topics that I’m eager to explore, I’m going to allow my thoughts on those to marinate while I take another look at my earlier works. Not only do I have a few more years of experience and perspective to call upon, I also have another tool that wasn’t in my arsenal back when I first penned those essays: a willingness to edit ruthlessly.

A few years ago, I attended a writing conference at the University of Iowa. One workshop instructor shared an anecdote that has had the largest impact on my writing of any advice I’ve ever received. Back when she was in school, she had enrolled in a pottery class. After she and her fellow students had completed their first project, her teacher look around at all of them holding the fruits of their efforts and told them to smash them on the ground. His point was this: you cannot grow and improve as an artist if you are unable to part ways with your own creations in order to make room for something better.

In writing, that means editing, revising, reworking, even removing words that you have worked long and hard to put together. Just because you are really fond of a particular passage doesn’t mean that it is necessary or even beneficial to the piece as a whole. This is the advice that I channel as I revisit my own words, or the words penned by a younger version of me. And I have to smile as I come across sentences and phrases that made me swell with pride when I wrote them, the ones I thought were the most compelling and perfect, and I realize now that they are the ones that have to go.

Happily, the passage of time has lessened my attachment to my own creations and has thus given me the opportunity to see how much a piece can improve when I can edit without letting my emotions get in the way. These days, no matter how much a series of words – be it a phrase, sentence, or entire passage – meant to me when I first penned it, if it doesn’t carry its weight in terms of developing the piece or moving it along, it’s out.

It get easier to slash (or smash) your own work the more you do it. When I started using this tactic, I worried that I would later regret cutting out those once-treasured words, so I copied them into a catchall document for safekeeping. I can’t speak for my writing instructor and her classmates who once stood with the shards of their hard work littered about their feet, but I have never once wanted to put my own scraps back together.



Literature + Medicine

I am incredibly pleased and grateful to share that I was selected as the Grand Prize winner of the writing contest associated with Texas Health Resources’ Sixth Annual Literature + Medicine Conference held last month in Dallas. While I was unable to attend, I strongly encourage anyone interested in the medical humanities to consider attending, as well as entering the annual writing contest, in the future. Each year brings an interactive seminar and a fascinating speaker (Abraham Verghese in 2016).

Check out the details from this year’s conference here:

Dreamreader. . . or Dreamwriter

I typically don’t spend much time analyzing my dreams. Usually, if I wake up remembering clearly the details of a dream, it means that I’ve slept well and my body has been working on making a dent in my sleep debt. I generally feel grateful and move on with the day. But over the past few months I’ve had a recurring dream that distresses me as it plays out and leaves me feeling unsettled the next morning.

In the dream, I’m back in college, enrolled in a full load of courses, one of which is an upper-level French seminar that is critical for my major. I suddenly realize that, while I’ve been keeping up with biology and my other classes, for this one I have not only neglected all of the reading but also forgotten that a major paper analyzing this reading is due in just a few days. (In progressive iterations of the dream, the due date moves closer and closer. Last night, I dreamed that it had already passed.) And of course the class is being taught by my favorite professor.

Perhaps this is just a personalized version of the classic today’s-the-final-exam-and-I-forgot-to-study nightmare. But I’m not so sure. I typically don’t have those dreams, and the fact that the oversight involves reading and writing strikes me as significant. In July I began my year as chief resident and had high hopes that the more relaxed schedule would allow me more time to devote to my literary interests. In truth, I have had the time but haven’t allocated it accordingly. Yes, there have been other demands on my attention – acclimating to my new role, launching a new component of our curriculum, preparing for the pediatrics board-certification exam, parenting a toddler – but there remain enough hours in each week to spend at least a few on the activities that really nourish my soul. I have been sensing a void in my life recently, and, despite having a wonderful family and adoring my job, feeling less than fulfilled. Perhaps my subconscious realized that it needed to send me a clearer message.

This time I heard it.

It’s time to write.