Roots and Branches: writing about food from a place of abundance

Plus a recipe for calming herbal tea

This is Roots + Branches, a free newsletter on the craft and joy of writing and creativity by Root creator and award-winning author Dr. Julia Skinner. I hope it supports you in your creative journey!

What I’ve been sipping on at my writing desk this winter (recipe at the bottom!)

Many writers, myself included, tend to have a predisposition towards what's lacking. Did I write enough words? Will I meet my deadline? Is this piece good enough?

I find this tendency in myself especially interesting, given that a big part of my whole thing as a writer is sharing abundance and possibility through food. But rather than abundance through big, opulent six figure dinner parties, I focus on abundance as a daily practice: creating a life and kitchen practice that knows that everyday abundance is possible, that we can give ourselves permission to play, and that connecting to food traditions offers us an opportunity to learn and grow forward into the future in ways we might otherwise have overlooked.

Since this is how I view cooking and life, viewing my writing from a place of lack feels antithetical to this core belief. If I am so focused on creating abundance and finding everyday magic in my kitchen, why does it suddenly go out the window when I sit down to write?

In the past year, I've been refining my approach to writing and to work/career/success in general as I continue to unweave some of the toxic work patterns that have been conditioned in me through both society and through the necessities of work, and trying to reweave something that feels more beautiful and truer to me.

I've talked a lot about boundaries, and about how a focus on process over product helps us build a more joyful practice, among other things.

What I've found is that a lot of these learnings that I've woven into my writing practice and the work I do supporting other writers, boils down to something simple: Shifting away from writing as 'not enough' to trusting my writing, and myself, to come from a place of abundance.

Here, abundance means recognizing the progress I've already made (words written, pieces submitted, article ideas I've had, whatever your metric is), as well as viewing the process itself as abundant: Knowing the ideas will never stop flowing, and if I step out of the way, the joy and ease of the process can really take center stage.

That's why celebration is so critical to the work I do, because it anchors in the achievements you're making and allows more to come through.

Something else I've noticed: When I view this beloved, joyful practice from a place of "I'll always have enough (or more than enough!)" rather than "my writing will never be enough" it seeps out into the rest of my life.

When I trust myself here, I find I trust myself more elsewhere.

I can step away when I'm feeling overwhelmed or at a point of diminishing returns, and not worry that I'm failing/not writing enough/etc., because I know I can return resourced and create work that comes easier and ultimately is better quality than the words I feel like I'm pulling out of myself by force (this, in particular, of not driving ourselves into the ground through overwork, can take a lot of unlearning and relearning).

Food and an abundant writing life

When I feel gratitude for what's already taking place in my writing life, I get into my flow more easily. Writing is fun and natural, like when I get an ingredient I'm super excited to work with, and suddenly have more ideas than I know what to do with.

As a food writer, thinking about possibility and abundance feels more aligned with the work I do and the soul of what I'm trying to communicate.

Yes, as food writers we are often dealing with issues that aren't rooted in abundance: unsustainable food systems, exploitative labor practices, environmental destruction, the list can go on and on. And it's important for us to not look away from these, and instead ask what we can do with our words to help educate and imagine alternatives.

As a reader, I appreciate writing that doesn't shy away from what's difficult and challenging in the world, but also goes beyond saying "here is a problem!"

So, as a writer, thinking about possibility does a service to my readers who, I imagine, might feel the same way.

What I've found is that if I view my writing as part of a larger effort of support and reimagining (in my own life or more broadly), it makes the writing (even about difficult topics) less discouraging and makes it feel, potentially, more impactful.

It's writing where I give myself permission to imagine a world where we are more respectful, community minded, ecologically minded, etc.

Writing from abundance and possibility allows me to harness the power of choosing this creative path: One where we not only describe what is, but help the collective imagination create what might be.

While that approach may not work for every writer or every reader, it works for me. And as a food writer, it lets me find harmony between addressing where the world is, looking at where it's been, and imagining where it might go, all through what and how we eat.

It allows me to talk about things like putting up food when you have too much to eat right now, without glossing over the fact that not everyone gets to have the experience of 'too much food.'

A writing practice rooted in abundance and joy, and in the realities of the world, and which branches out into its possibilities, gives me another gift too.

My writing practice as a joyful space also serves as a space of radical reimagining and self-forgiveness: We writers often wear the heavy burden of guilt and responsibility for things that aren't ours to carry.

Feeling guilt about having fun doing work is part of that toxic work culture, and when we unweave that narrative to suck a bit more power from those capitalistic practices that tell us we have to grind away at unpleasant things in order to be 'really working.'

But it's also easier to remind ourselves that we don't actually have the responsibility to "fix everything," nor can we. The writers I know love the world and want to change it so it's more loving, too, and as a result carry around the heavy burden of guilt when they aren't able to single-handedly do that.

Viewing your writing as abundant, and as 'enough,' helps you view your efforts to reimagine a new world as enough too. I'm not saying to rest on your laurels and totally disengage, but if you're reading this and the paragraph above resonated with you, there's probably no risk of that happening.

Writing from a place of abundance lets me talk about things that are lighthearted and joyful, and things that are anything but that, because food encompasses the whole range of human experiences, and I want my writing to do the same.

Whatever you write about this year, I hope you find that sense of abundance too. And, since the best place to start is by noticing what's already working well and where we already feel expansive and abundant, I'd love to know:

What are you celebrating about your writing right now? What's already abundant in your writing practice (new ideas? new article assignments? completing that draft you started?) I’d love to know, and to celebrate you!

Writing support without meetings, made to fit your days

I've been thinking for quite a while how to address a concern I've had in the world of writing: That very busy folks, who travel a lot or have really packed schedules, tend to get left behind in the world of writing support and coaching.

Setting up another meeting, or finding space every day to write, maybe isn't possible for them, but they still deserve the same writing support as everyone else (and support in finding when they can write, and hold space for that time, even if just once a week).

I've been puzzling for years over how I could serve these writers, and it's finally come to me: I can take everything I learned from teaching in online spaces, and everything I've learned as a writer and as a writing coach, and really show up for writers who otherwise don't feel like there's space for them in traditional writing groups and coaching.

I'm using the 10ish years experience I have teaching graduate classes online, where I never even met my students (or spoke to them on Zoom!).
All of them were usually taking online grad classes while also working full-time jobs and raising families, but in that 10 years only a few of my students, total, didn't pass my classes.

This form of teaching relies on many of our trusted pedagogical practices, BUT it also relies on adapting those practices to a space that can feel very isolating, where accountability can be hard, and where there's a high risk of just stalling out and not completing the work.

How many of us writers feel that way when sitting alone at our desks?

I have so many great things I can say about the absolute thrill and joy of applying my entire bank of past skills to building something to support other writers, but I'll leave it with this:

If you need writing support in the new year, and if you feel isolated or like you're "too busy" to write but are eager to find solutions to consistently hold that space, I would be absolutely honored to help you.

I'm so, so proud of this work and absolutely love doing it.

And, if money is at top of mind in the new year, your monthly coaching costs are $200 off through the end of this month.

I hope you'll join me this year, and make your writing the priority it very much deserves to be. As always, I'm happy to answer your questions, or learn more below!

To make: Calming winter herbal tea

The herbs in this tasty tea help soothe digestion and calm your nervous system: Rose also is a healer for the heart and for grief, helping you enter the new year with an open heart and with a balm for what ails you.

It's a perfect, soothing hot tea as-is, or can be sweetened with honey, flavored with a slice of lemon, or your other favorite tea add-ins.

Makes 1 pint

1/4 c dried rose petals

1 c lemon verbena

2/3 c peppermint

-In a bowl, mix all your ingredients together until evenly combined.

-Pour into pint jar or divide between smaller jars.

Thanks for reading Roots + Branches!
I'm on a mission to help my fellow creatives build sustainable, joyful writing practices that give their biggest, most magical, and important ideas space to come to light.

You can support my work by sharing this newsletter, becoming a paid Root subscriber (which also gives you free access to our Mycelia virtual co-writing community), or by working with me one-on-one.

Thank you for your support, and happy writing!