A short interview-style transcript of a conversation between host Chris Collins and author Tembi Locke about her writing rituals, the role of silence and solitude in her creative process, and thematic questions that drive her memoirs (e.g., holding on vs. letting go). Locke describes journaling, beginning projects with an urgent scene, a mixed ‘pantser/outliner’ approach, and the emotional cores—love, loss, family—that shape her work.
Chapters
This time, on books that changed my life.
The ritual of beginning another book is more or less the same every year. I left nothing on the shelves lining the walls other than the tightly aligned first editions of my books and pictures of the living and dead who are always with me. I took out anything that might muddle inspiration or distract me from this memoir that demands clear space in which to express itself. It was the beginning of a time of solitude and silence.
That is, because of this book.
How I knew I had to begin to write my first book, and certainly now with my new audiobook Someday, now that's coming out. They begin this exact same way, with this kind of quiet and silence and a question. And I think what she's saying is, as a writer is she's claiming.
First of all, I love that she has a ritual for beginning every book. She begins every book on the same day every year, which I thought was like, what? That's a thing? You could do that? And then she has. So she's had. There's certain rituals that encourage her to meet the muse, if you will. She calendars it. She's in contract with her creativity to do that. But that also requires that she kind of clear away whatever came before it, whatever was the work of last year to make space for what is to come through now. And she needs the quiet and silence to do that. And I remember when I read this, it made me think, oh, maybe that's how I began my process of writing a memoir is silence is required. And.
She'S not just talking about an external silence, she's talking about an internal silence that's required in order to run your fingers along the topography of your life and then offer it up as an art through words. And you can't do that being busy, noisy with a lot of things.
It's very personal, right?
It's very personal.
What rituals do you have?
So, first of all, I journal. And that's. That's kind of like my most fundamental. It's like the fundamental building blocks for me of writing, because what I'm doing is I'm clearing out the clutter. The writing, the journal writing is like. It's just free writing. It's whatever is at top of mind and is coming through. And it helps me to see what. What I'm actually. What's actually seeking to either be lived within, what's bothering me, what's keeping me up. And I kind of clear that out. And it's on the page, it's in the book. It's three pages in a Journal. I don't do it every morning, but I do it consistently in the morning. In the morning, in the morning. Sometimes I'll circle back in the evening, but it's usually the morning. And I love that liminal space between opening my eyes and before I've had the coffee, because I'm able in that space. It's like I'm kind of. My unconscious mind is kind of relaxed, relaxed. And I'm coming in for a landing for whatever this day is going to be. I've been out in the outer realms of sleep and that dream state, and now I'm coming in for a landing to start this day. And in that transition, in that on ramp to the day, there's magic and. And sometimes there's things that might come out in that free writing that attune me to something I need to think about for the day. Because I'm like, oh, that came in the liminal space. So I need to actually carry that into my day and think about that. So that's like a fundamental thing that I do with my writing. But when I, in earnest, am working on a project, a book, that process often begins with a scene that comes to me so clearly that I'm like, I need to just write this scene down. And I know it will be a part of a larger story. I don't know where it will go yet. So I give myself.
So you're not intentionally sitting down to write it. It comes and you gotta do it.
Well, the decision, the conscious decision, has been I am going to write this story. And I think this is the arc of it. But now it's, you know, day one, if you will, of writing the project, and I'm like, what's the most urgent scene? What's the top of scene? Let me get that out of the way and get that on the page and then see where that takes me. So I'm really a. There are people who are outliners, they love to outline. And there are people who are what they call pantsers. I'm sure you've heard that term. Okay, so people who are pantsers are people who kind of fly by the seat. Well, they fly by the seat of their pants. They're just kind of like, okay, we'll see what happens. There's people who are outliners and people who are pantsers. Then there's kind of somewhere in between. Like, I like a little outlining when I get to a certain point after I've done a lot of pantsing around kind of outline, and then I do a lot of research, and that research is helping to weave the structure together with the discovery that I have found. That's a part of my process. And so some days I research, some days I write. Some. Some days I outline, and some days I just take long walks and think about the story. And if you're writing memoir, it's often, what is the universal thing in this specific thing? So I had this one specific experience. What about that is germane or relevant to anyone else in the world? So it's my job to find or to ask to push at what is universal in this core thing. So with my first book and now with my second book, they both had two questions. The first one, can I carry a love with me after loss? And can I rebuild? And with someday now, it is, what? Can I hold on and let go at the exact same time? And I think most of us are doing that in some form or fashion. Our entire lives, we're in this dance between holding on and letting go. And I kind of go right into that.
The first thing that comes to mind for me with that is family.
Yes, yes, yes, absolutely. And those are, like, you love them.
