I have a candle in a pretty tin—a splurge from Anthropologie for my 43rd birthday. The scent, pomelo sea salt, is delicious, butI long ago burnt it down so the wick is gone.
It’s not just a nice smell; it’s an evocative one. My partner, Inti, and I took this candle with us on our first camping trip. Although I had my doubts, it turned out I loved the experience. The first few times we went, we always burned this candle.
Years later I can open up the tin and flood my thoughts and feelings with everything about those outings—our bright-green tablecloth, our Ticket to Ride board game, hoppy craft IPAs, Spotify jazz on a Bluetooth speaker.
What odor evokes an entire set of concrete associations and feelings for you? Think how powerful aromas are. I mean, an entire holiday industrial complex is built around pumpkin spice!
So what does this have to do with writing? It’s “one weird trick” that actually works.
(I know, I know. Stay with me. :)
Scent activates a group of neurons in your brain. Positive emotions sparked by other elements of an experience activate a different group of neurons. Over time, these neurons start to grow connected. As neuropsychologist Donald Hebb puts it, “the neurons that fire together wire together.”
Smells do not have to pass through the thalamus (a kind of relay station) before going directly to the hippocampus (seat of memory) or other higher areas of the brain. Scent can also directly access the amygdala (emotional responses).
How can that help us write?
With writing, showing up counts for so much. But we resist showing up, and we need to overcome that. The way we do that is to build a habit. The way we do that is to make a tiny commitment and reinforce it with rewards.
Enter nice aromas: We can wire some smell-good neurons to some keep-our-butt-in-the-chair neurons.
We need to show up consistently—never mind the writing quality or quantity right now; this is just the habit-building part. Over time we will produce great writing.
Light a candle, sit down to write. Fifteen minutes later, blow out the candle, have a tiny treat (I’m partial to sea salt caramels), and move on with your day. Resistance breaks down. We train our unconscious it is safe—even pleasurable—to spend 15 minutes in the chair. We teach our muse that we will consistently welcome her into our space.
Is it gimmicky? Yes. Is it Pavlovian? Yes. Does it work? Yes.
Let me know how your writing is going and what weird tricks have helped you. I have a few spots left on my fall and winter editing calendar. Contact me today!