Good Care in Harsh Times

How to fuel creative projects with writer-chef Jenny Goff

Years ago, I read this interview with R.O. Kwon about discipline, and the necessity for making the kind of space in one’s life to write. One of the surprising parts of the conversation was about food, mostly because I hadn’t heard writers speak openly about what they ate while deep in their work. Kwon hated going out for lunch. To many writers I know, the lunch meeting seems nearly repellent for its ability to disturb the momentum of their work. The piece got me thinking about what artists did about taking care of their bodies during projects that required prolonged attention.

I’d developed certain habits around waking times, comfort objects, daily rituals, sound choices, the places I could find the peace to write well, but I had yet to crack the foodways I truly wanted to keep, and determine what I needed to discard. The three books I finished in the last decade took enormous commitment, and if I didn’t attend to what I was eating, I ended up feeling horrible. It was tough to sustain years long projects on the ten-minute hunger scrounge for the limited options in my pantry.

Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

The last few years of writing American Bloodlines were particularly disastrous for my body. I developed a rare blood disorder (I know, metaphoric suffering) that needed to be treated with harsh steroids and chemotherapy drugs, and my body was in constant recovery from the treatments. My hair fell out, I struggled with insomnia and drug-induced hallucinations, and became so fatigued that I could barely walk after mid-afternoon. These years helped me learn what kinds of thoughts and actions were helpful, and how to follow my body into what it wanted, without the kind of rigid protocols of diets or rules, which only make me rebel. Eventually there was a medical intervention that worked for my disorder, but in the process of healing, this body has become wildly sensitive. The sensitivity had its own source, but it was the same kind of vulnerability as I saw in the eyes of my friends who were artists, struggling to endure in a world of racial violence, constant war, and lack of financial and other resources.

Around this intense time, I met Jenny Goff, who is a chef, farmer, mama, writer, and Nutritional Therapy Practitioner who lives with her family on their six-acre farmstead on Whidbey Island. I edited Jenny’s manuscripts for her works in progress, and she cooked for my writing retreats (like the one we’re making for you on Whidbey. See more details below.) When we sat down to talk about what to serve our writers, we had beautiful conversations about creating a palette of tastes and colors and aromas that would satisfy, and bring writers into their bodies and their work. I wondered what the result would be if I offered my daily writing the same kind of attention that Jenny did for our retreats. Thus began a kind of meandering walk into what good care means for this body, something I’m very much in process with. I wanted to share with you Jenny’s wisdom about taking care of creative people.

But first—if you’d like to come and try her food firsthand, all while writing in community in an environment of peace and beauty, consider booking yourself for a Writing in the Wild retreat at Aldermarsh on Whidbey Island.

Scenes from Aldermarsh for our retreat, July 11-13.

• Al fresco reading

• Gorgeous food by chef Jenny Goff

• Journaling in the garden

• Soaking in the Japanese hot tub

• Walking a labyrinth or an ancient cedar forest

• Coffee with new friends

• Ceremonial stone sauna

• Prompts and practices to sense your way into your writing, and yourself.

• Beautiful private or shared accommodation

• A welcome to writing of any form, from beginner to established writers.

• If this is your first time attending a writing program, we are making a space for you to develop your work with the freedom of your own inclinations.

• Contact Sonya for more information.

Jenny, it's so terrific to have you at Wanderland to talk about two of my favorite subjects—great food and powerful writing. I can' remember how we met, but I do recall all of the delightful interactions we've had over the years—I've edited your book, you have been the chef for my retreats. There's been this conversation around writing and nourishing writers for quite some time. The last time we talked, I mentioned that I've been thinking about being able to nourish my body while I've been writing three books, and finding that eating well is more of a challenge than I expected. You're also the chef for Hedgebrook, which provides retreats and food for writers. What do you think the main concerns are for nourishing artists when they're deep in their work?

Jenny and family on her farm on Whidbey Island.

Nourishment is essential to the creative process. I know it can feel like an afterthought and I too have supped on spoonfuls of nut butter and called it a meal when I'm deep in the process, but the body needs and deserves more, especially when we are immersed in our art. Not only for the scientific aspect of feeding our cells the nutrients they need to thrive, including those neurons that are creating/channeling each word, but for the emotional and sensual aspects.

We create worlds with our words, and what better way to connect than to take a bit of the outside world and internalize it? Or use the act of eating as a writing exercise? Smell the onions and garlic simmering in olive oil, feel the crunch of lettuce or glide of cream or heat of roasted jalapeno. Taste and savor it all instead of wolfing it down, getting it over with. Breathe in, take small bites, let memories of summers past flood you with the juicy sweet of strawberries or leek and potato soup remind you of that winter with that lover, so long ago. Eating well can also be a way to get us back into our body after hours of sitting and primarily being in our minds. And, back to the practical side, the more nutrients we have circulating in our system, the better we are going to feel and the clearer our heads will be.

I feel like you just peeked into my life because one of my biggest troubles is time to stop and cook for myself when I'm writing. I also dislike eating the same things every day. This seems to end up in grabbing crackers and some homemade peanut butter, rather than eating a more varied meal. I know writer friends have this same concern. How do we feed ourselves when it's got to be fast so we can get back to the sentences?

I know this has been said before, but batch cooking is key if you have time to devote a few hours once a week to roasting up sheet pans of veggies and a chicken or two. Or just making enough dinner foods for leftovers. Half the time I eat leftovers for lunch and so I'm nourished with meatballs or salmon over salad or half a roast chicken plus veggies or fruit on the side. It doesn't have to be complicated. Soups are also great, especially those made with bone broth, and can be frozen in 1 or 2 cup cubes to reheat as needed. I think that we can also reframe the "work" involved making food.

Now I know that not everyone enjoys cooking as much as I do, but I still think it can be reframed as a meditation space in between writing sessions. Take the time to make something beautiful for yourself and as you wash or chop or bake, don't check your phone, don't listen to a podcast, just be with your thoughts. Some of my deepest inspirations have come while stirring soup or washing the dishes. It can be a practice of slowing down and reconnecting. Plus, putting intention into the food is important. Giving thanks for the animals and plants and farmers is important. It can be a part of your writing ritual. Also, we want to be in the parasympathetic nervous system to digest as well as write (as opposed to the sympathetic/fight or flight), so slowing down, breathing, and being mindful as we eat are beneficial in all aspects.

I know nutritionists talk about brain food, but I feel like writing doesn't only come from the brain but from the gut, and from the vitality that's available to write. How can we eat in a way that's sustainable for our art and the high energy it takes to be devoted to longtime projects?

My gut response to the question: trust. Trust that the projects will materialize and reach completion on the perfect timeline. We don't need to rush through life fearful of losing inspiration or our words. We have time to eat and take walks and rest. This is actually essential to many people's processes.

From a nutritional therapist standpoint, I would say eating well needs to be a priority even if it doesn't feel like it. Some of us have had health issues for so long that we have forgotten how vitality feels and often when we pay attention and change some things, we can increase our capacity for this creative work along with living a fuller, more vibrant life. Eating nutrient dense foods, lots of fruits and vegetables and plenty of protein and fat from well-sourced animals would be top on my list. Being aware of what isn't working for us (like sugar or dairy) and getting support to make changes is huge too. If we are in an inflammatory state, our brains aren't going to work as well, so finding what works for your body is key, because dairy might be phenomenally beneficial for one person, but debilitating for another. Just like our writing, we are all unique and need to listen to our bodies. This is probably our greatest work. And to enjoy this life, which for me includes lots of writing and lots of good food!

I’m making Jenny’s strawberry shrub next, featured in her newsletter for perimenopausal people, and folks who want to learn more about their health.

What are you making to satisfy you as well as serve your artistic projects?

I LOVE when clients make something moving and essential. June Blue-Spruce’s essay is in a new anthology, Boyhood Reimagined: Stories of Queer Moms Raising Sons. The book weaves together interviews and personal essays by LGBTQ+ mothers who seek to dismantle outdated narratives about gender while providing a blueprint for progressive parenting. Find it at an indy bookstore or online.