The writing classes, it seemed, were going nowhere. The questions were always the same, the answers were as elusive as ever and the feedback had gotten pretty stale. Besides, as one of those fidgety types who hates sitting still, I’d simply had enough of spending my rare free time in a chair.
Already an avid runner, cycler and swimmer addicted to movement, I was also craving a way to channel this physical energy into something more purposeful and expressive.
After just a few classes, dance had taken root in my system. I found myself practicing leaps and chassées while running. Rond de jambes and fan kicks made their way into my dreams. Perhaps, I thought as time marched on, my writing days had come to an end. I’d found a new love I’d rather be with — one I was willing to sneak off and spend time with several mornings a week during the same two-hour window I’d jumped through all sorts of hoops to reserve for writing over the years.
But even as I tackled the uncomfortable challenge of thinking without words, of allowing muscle memory to take the place of prose, I found myself growing as a writer. Because dance, it turns out, like many of the arts, has far more in common with writing than meets the eye.
As with writing, the final product of years of hard work dancing appears neat and simple at first blush. It tells a story with beauty, grace and impact. Its many parts [Read more…]