Five Ways Writing Has Infiltrated My Life

By Abby Alten Schwartz

I remember when writing was confined to my working hours. As a healthcare writer and marketing consultant, I rarely thought about client work in my downtime, short of stressing about getting it all done.

That all changed in 2020, when I began exploring other genres. Suddenly, creative nonfiction, memoir, essays, reported stories, humor and flash fiction were competing for my attention. Once the ideas started flowing, they spilled into my nights and weekends, pooling in the crevasses of my brain, and seeping into the pores of my daily life in ways I never anticipated.

1) I’m now a metaphor machine

I’m most powerfully drawn to literary writing, so it’s no surprise my own work skews literary as well. I often catch myself reframing mundane moments of my life, panning for metaphorical gold.

I recently stopped dyeing my hair, fascinated to try the grombre look of silver strands graduating into dark. Naturally, I plan to write about it. When I check my growth in the mirror, my inner narrator can’t resist testing out descriptions—perpetually searching for language to elevate the ordinary into the magical:

I’m like a child rushing to the window, peering through a circle of glass warmed by my breath, eager to see if the snow that dusted our lawn last night has been transformed into a blanket of white.

I’m like a 12-year-old girl turning sideways in my mother’s full-length mirror, secretly charting the nearly imperceptible rise of my once flat chest—both thrilled and mortified at the thought of others taking notice of this change.

2) I’m now a curator of evidence

I’ve been sorting through years of files, mercilessly shredding hundreds of documents I no longer need since everything is digital. My old-school attachment to paper, another possible story.

Mixed in with my work folders were a handful of files I can’t toss. Among them: actual pages from the notebook I kept when my toddler daughter was sick and undergoing months of testing, which led to her diagnosis of cystic fibrosis. Twenty-five years later, these pages exploded in my hand like a tiny grenade, leaving me momentarily breathless. I’ll save them, of course. They contain critical details I may need for my memoir.

I also found the folder of notes from my Hoopcamp getaway in 2011. Not to be confused with HippoCamp, the conference for creative nonfiction writers, Hoopcamp was a four-day retreat in the woods of Santa Cruz for hoopers. The hula kind. I wrote about it in real time for the now-defunct blog, Hooping.org, where I was once a regular columnist—but that was long before I learned how to craft stories and submit them to publications. I’m planning to write a personal essay about that experience, and my newly unearthed folder holds clues that will fill in any gaps time has left in my memory.

It’s true I could simply take a photo of these scraps and throw away the originals, but something mystical happens when I hold the physical items in my hands. I’m immediately transported through time, conjuring old emotions and stirring up sensations that will ultimately enhance my writing.

3) I’m now a talent scout

At least once a day I announce, “That’s an essay!” It’s not even a question of, “Could that be something?” No, I’ve long moved past being tentative and coy.

My husband and I met a couple on the elevator of our shore condo on Labor Day weekend and wound up sitting with them on the beach two days in a row. We really liked them. But instead of just being in the moment and enjoying the pleasure of spontaneously making new friends in middle age, my writer’s brain was racing ahead, crafting potential angles for a pitch. (If any editors are reading this, I envision it as a personal essay with light reporting. Feel free to reach out.) 

I do this to my writer friends, too. Last night, my pal Nikki shared a photo and funny anecdote about what happened when her son’s friend stayed for dinner.

“That’s an essay!” I texted back.

Yes, I’m aware of how annoying I can be. Then again, when you’re a writer, Nora said it best: Everything is copy. Well, almost. I try to always get consent before writing about the people I know.

And it’s not just me. When another writer friend on Facebook posted about her recent medical emergency, she ended her update with a friendly warning to her fellow writers: “I’m going to pitch a story about this, so hands off.”

4) I’m forever chasing that yes

My compulsion to submit pieces and pitch stories runs deeper than a competitive streak or fear of being left behind, forgotten. Opening an email with an acceptance from an editor gives me a rush of dopamine. A yes is validation that someone finds my ideas worthy and my writing entertaining, enlightening, or compelling. One yes can power me through ten no’s. A yes resets the mental clock that keeps tracking how long it’s been since my last byline.

5) I now organize my thoughts in listicles

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Abby Alten Schwartz is a Philadelphia writer whose work has been featured in The New York Times, The Washington Post, WIRED, Salon, HAD, The Belladonna Comedy and elsewhere. She is currently working on Hypervigilant: A Medical Memoir of Uncertainty, Intuition, and Hope. Learn more at abbyaltenschwartz.com and subscribe to her newsletter, Name Three Things.