I have never managed to separate writing from movement. Every book I’ve written has begun not at a desk but somewhere in motion 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.”

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 5 am. 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.