I have never managed to separate writing from movement. Every book I’ve written has begun not at a desk but somewhere in motion — on a beach, on a plane, in a yoga studio where the instructor’s cadence began to sound like sentences.
The Practice of Presence
Writing and yoga share more than a practice space. They both require you to be exactly where you are, in your body, in the sentence, in the pose. They both punish distraction. And they both reward — with startling, almost physical pleasure — the moment when everything clicks into alignment.
“The best writing comes from the same place as the best yoga practice: from a willingness to be uncomfortable until the discomfort transforms into something worth keeping.”
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Thailand Changed Everything
When I traveled to Thailand to research The Mourning Parade, I practiced yoga on the rooftop of a guesthouse in Chiang Mai every morning at 5am. The instructor spoke no English. I spoke no Thai. We communicated entirely in breath and movement. By the end of the month, I had written 15,000 words — more than in any comparable period in my career.
I’ve tried to understand why. The best explanation I have is that when the body is occupied with something honest and physical, the mind relaxes its censorship. The inner critic goes quiet. The sentences that come out are truer.
A Practice for Writers
I now begin every writing session with ten minutes of movement. Not structured yoga — sometimes just a walk around the block, sometimes stretching on the floor. The ritual is not about the body. It’s about signaling to the brain: we are going somewhere real now. Pay attention.
