Hydration and the Writing Life

I think about writing the way I think about hydration. Not all of it looks the same, and that’s exactly the point.

The disposable water bottle is speech-to-text during a commute or somewhere in the middle of housecleaning. My hands are full, my mind isn’t. A voice memo costs nothing and catches everything. No shame in the convenience — sometimes survival hydration is the only kind available.

The reusable bottle, packed with crushed ice and filtered water, is the sticky note. The note app. The napkin. My hands are busy but not too busy — there’s a thought forming and it needs a place to land before it doesn’t. Quick, functional, surprisingly satisfying.

The reusable glass — homemade seltzer, ice from the tray, lemon and a straw — that’s when I actually sit down at the laptop with intention. A dedicated block of time, like a Wednesday crockpot meal. Easy, dependable, and exactly enough. I write until the ice melts. That’s my timer and my permission slip both.

And then there’s the fancy one. Italian sparkling water with fresh squeezed lime, sliced cucumbers, strawberries and cherries in a proper tumbler with square ice cubes. Fluffy pajamas, a new pen, a fresh journal page. That’s character work. That’s margin sketches and descriptions that don’t have a home yet but feel important. That’s the writing that feeds the writing.

Every version fills a need. None of them is more legitimate than the others.

Writing can fit into your life in various ways, from the simple to the elaborate. Just like hydrating the body, writing is life to the soul of an author. Desert writing spells and dehydration are tantamount to poor outcomes — for authors and humans alike.

— Henley K. Parks