What happens when we pay attention differently? Note: for folks who prefer to read instead of watch or listen, an article version is at the end of this. If you’re watching or listening on a podcatcher, you can find the original article at DonnKing.com/113. I went looking for a bench and came home with a question about how we experience the world. I hadn’t been to Ijams Nature Center in Knoxville for years. But I’m writing a novel that includes a scene along the Tennessee River, and I wanted to get the details right. I remembered a bench beside the boardwalk, but I couldn’t find a photograph or description that confirmed it was there. So I decided to go see for myself. I’ve spent years looking at places through a photographer’s eyes. This time, though, I wasn’t trying to make beautiful photographs. I was taking pictures of stairs, narrow trails, changes in the landscape, and details that might help me reconstruct the experience later. I was looking at Ijams like a writer. That got me thinking about the ways writers observe everyday life: the interesting phrases we overhear, the facial expressions we notice, the small details we collect without knowing whether we’ll ever use them. But why should writers have all the fun? In this episode, I explore what might happen if any of us deliberately paid closer attention to the world around us. Maybe the world wouldn’t change much. But our experience of it might. And that could make a difference in how we live. The Big Takeaway The way we pay attention shapes the way we experience the world. Noticing something doesn’t necessarily change the thing we’re observing. But it can change our relationship with it. And that change may influence how we understand other people, recognize what matters to us, and engage with everyday life. In This Episode * The search for a bench. Why I returned to Ijams Nature Center to research a scene for my current novel, and why getting real-world details right can help make fiction believable. * A photographer’s eye versus a writer’s eye. How my years as a professional photographer shaped the way I see places, and why I found myself taking very different kinds of pictures this time. * Externalizing memory. Why I recorded photographs, videos, and spoken observations along the trail, and how tools such as Obsidian help me preserve thoughts that might otherwise disappear. * The habits of a writer. Listening for interesting language, noticing gestures and expressions, and asking “What if?” about ordinary experiences. * How observation changes experience. Why paying attention to a river, a conversation, or a facial expression may not change the thing itself, but can change our relationship with it. * An invitation to notice. What anyone, writer or not, might discover by approaching familiar people and places with a little more curiosity. A Few Things to Try I’m not suggesting we turn this into another project. Most of us have enough things on our to-do lists already. But here are a few ways to experiment with seeing like a writer. 1. Visit a familiar place as though you’ve never seen it. Imagine you’re going to describe it to somebody who has never been there. What would you need to notice? What details have you been overlooking? 2. Listen to how people say things. Pay attention to word choices, expressions, and gestures. Sometimes the way someone says something tells you as much as the words themselves. Respect people’s privacy, of course. 3. Make a note of something that catches your attention. A phrase, an observation, an interesting question. You don’t need a complicated system. Just somewhere to capture a thought before it wanders off. 4. Notice what you notice. What draws your attention? What makes you curious? What do you tend to overlook? You might discover something about your own values and interests. 5. Ask yourself, “What if?” It’s a question writers use all the time. It might also help you see new possibilities in situations you’ve begun to take for granted. The point isn’t to collect more information. It’s to experience more fully the life you’re already living. Quote to Ponder “The world may not have changed because I was paying attention, but my relationship with it has. That in turn changes the world at least a little.” That’s a thought I’ve been turning over since my walk. How much of our experience is shaped by what we choose to notice? And what might change if we became a little more intentional about that choice? Resources and Links * Ijams Nature Center — The Knoxville nature center that prompted this episode, and the setting for a scene in my current novel. * Obsidian — The note-taking and knowledge-management software I’m learning to use to externalize my memory and creative process. * Google Earth — One of the tools I use, along with Google Maps, when researching real-world settings for fiction. * Devon Marin — My fiction-writing alter ego. Follow along if you’re curious about the novel that sent me looking for that bench. One Question for You Whether you’re a writer or not, what would change if you started looking at the world as though you might someday need to tell its story? I’d love to hear what you notice. If you get value from the show, consider supporting us in one of the following ways. You can make a one-time contribution or sign up for regular support through Buy Me a Coffee. You can also subscribe on Substack for free OR upgrade to a paid subscription. Your support helps me continue helping you and others, and thank you in advance! Article version I’ve been thinking lately about what it means to see the world like a writer. I didn’t really set out to think about that. I set out to find a bench. Let me explain. I went out to Ijams Nature Center in Knoxville today. Ijams has been one of my favorite places for years, although I hadn’t actually been out there in quite a while. Part of the reason is that, as I’ve gotten older, it’s become harder for me to get around. Some of those trails aren’t quite as easy for me to navigate as they used to be. But I’m working on a novel under my pen name, Devon Marin, and I’ve decided to set part of the story at Ijams, specifically, along one of the trails beside the Tennessee River. Now, I could do a lot of the research from home. There are plenty of pictures online. You can look at maps, read descriptions, and get a pretty good sense of the place without ever leaving your chair. If I’m writing about a city or a town, Google Maps and Google Earth can give me almost everything I need. But when it’s a tree-covered area far from a road, you have basically two options: photographs and videos other people have taken, and direct observation. There’s something you can’t quite get from a photograph. For instance, I remembered there being a bench along the boardwalk, next to the river. That bench might be useful for the scene I’m writing. The problem was, I couldn’t find a picture that confirmed whether the bench was actually there. I couldn’t even find other people’s descriptions. I could have just made one up. After all, I’m writing fiction, not a documentary. But I like to get as many of the details right as I reasonably can. Partly, that’s because I think accurate details help establish a sense of reality. There’s a word for that: verisimilitude. It’s one of those words writers like to use when we’re trying to sound as though we know what we’re doing. Basically, it means making something feels true. The interesting thing about fiction is that when you get enough of the real details right, readers are often more willing to follow you when you need to bend reality a little. Plus, if somebody happens to know the location, there’s an added pleasure in recognizing it. A little Easter egg. A moment of thinking, “Hey, I’ve been there! I know that bench!” Besides, the weather has finally started feeling like October around here, and I figured some outdoor time would do me good. So off I went to Ijams, camera in hand, on a mission to find a bench. Somewhere along the way, I noticed something else. I was looking at the place differently. I spent years working as a professional photographer before moving to the Knoxville area. Even after leaving that work, I still tended to look at scenery with a photographer’s eye. If I’d gone out there primarily to make photographs, I would have been looking for interesting compositions, good light, unusual angles, that sort of thing. But that’s not what I was doing. I took a bunch of pictures that probably wouldn’t win any photography contests. In fact, some of them wouldn’t even qualify as particularly good snapshots. And that’s fine, because I wasn’t trying to create photographs. I was trying to create a record. I wanted to remember where the trail narrowed, where it widened, where the stairs appeared, how the boardwalk related to the river, what you could see from one point and what you couldn’t see until you got a little farther along. There were stairs I didn’t remember being there at all. I shot several short videos as I walked, sometimes narrating what I was seeing and experiencing, not for me to publish, but for me. I wanted to be able to, in essence, come back later when I was sitting at my computer writing the scene, and remember not only what I saw, but what I was thinking and experiencing as I walked. In other words, I was externalizing my memory. That’s when I started thinking about how writers experience the world. You see, I don’t just do that when I’m researching a scene. I do it all the time. Honestly, I don’t know if I’m a writer because I think that way, or if I think that way because I’m a writer. But I’m not sure if everyone does it. Maybe they do. I’ll hear somebody use an interesting phrase, and I’ll make a mental note of it. Sometimes an actual note. I just went throu