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I was first introduced to the idea of morning pages by a couple of playwrights: Sebastian Bacziewicz and Katie Hims.
We’d met at a writer’s retreat in Scotland at a place called Moniack Mhor.
As he was leaving, Sebastian held up his notebook and said, “This is the bedrock of everything I’ve done.”
And I took that to mean the bedrock of his success.
It seemed that those pages were the fountain of everything that made his work what it was: interesting and edgy and inspiring and dark.
All the things I aspired to with my writing.
They were the reasons why I started this practice of morning pages as soon as I got home. Because I perceived a direct correlation between morning pages and success.
And I think that’s what I got, to a degree.
But what I really got was something completely different.
What I got was insight. Self-awareness. Unexpected calm as I found a new conduit.
A conduit for my ideas and dreams.
For my desires and fantasies.
An outlet that did not exist in any of my previous writing.
In my mind, all of my previous writing was from its inception destined for publication of some kind.
It was public work even before I’d started.
Whether it was novels, short stories, blog posts, and regardless of whether it was actually used, the potential was always there.
And that affected my relationship with that writing.
It influenced what it was.
Like a prince destined for the throne from birth, this writing was always groomed and polished and preened and trained.
There were always expectations.
Something always rested on how it performed.
None of it was raw.
It was never allowed to just be.
It was like a child never allowed to play.
But then morning pages came along.
Morning pages processed the raw sewage from my mind.
And thus my mind was cleansed.
And sometimes in that sewage I glimpsed sparkling gems.
Precious stones worth wading in for.
Gems to polish and pocket and use.
Gems to shine and reflect and refract.
And in that transference of sewage from unconscious mind to pencil on page was a release like steam from a pressure cooker.
Pressure builds in all of us.
Some people have vents for release: a friendship group; social circles. But not everyone is so fortunate.
Men in particular are more isolated.
We don’t tend to vocalise our thoughts and feelings. And so they remain unprocessed within, gathering like turbulent storm clouds.
For non-vocal men, such writing has the potential to be life-changing. Not only for themselves, but for the people around them.
Calming the turbulence.
Releasing the pressure.
Sometimes delivering gems.
For me, morning pages became a ritual.
Not habitual.
Let’s not insult morning pages by giving them mere habit status.
Habit is biting your nails.
Cracking your knuckles.
Pouring that drink.
Habits are things of which we’re usually unaware, and that often do us harm.
Morning pages are the very opposite.
Why are morning pages important?
Here’s a little bit of my story.
My male forebears went down the pit or joined the army. The women worked in service or in factories. My parents were market traders. I grew up behind a market stall.
You got up and went to market. If the weather was bad, didn’t matter: you couldn’t afford to take the day off. If you were ill or something, didn’t matter: you couldn’t afford to take the day off.
We sold kids clothes. I had my own little stall. Among other things I sold was t-shirts with pop bands on the front.
One summer’s day I sold out. So when we got home from the market I got a couple of bin liners, took the train into Birmingham and went to the warehouse. I bought a shed load of t-shirts so I had stock for the market the next day, then got the train back to Tamworth.
Why is this relevant to morning pages?
If you want the reward they potentially offer, you’ve got to do the work.
It’s true of anything.
Life’s not going to come to you.
If there’s something you want, you’ve got to go out and get it.
The point is, it’s not easy. Nothing’s easy.
I no longer want the things I thought I wanted when I first discovered morning pages. When Sebastian first introduced them to me at that writers retreat in Scotland.
But now it’s a daily ritual.
This writing processes the sewage of my mind, and sometimes offers up some sparkling gems.
What do morning pages do for you?
Why did you first start writing them or why are you interested in starting?
Let me know in the comments.
I’m a writer, editor and content creator with 30 years’ experience across business, fiction, other non-fiction, scriptwriting and education. Learn more about my work.
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Martin Sketchley 