by Marcie Colleen

Lately I have been reading and studying the poetry of Mary Oliver. Slowly. Intentionally. Not to rush through it or “get” something from it, but to sit with her language and the way she notices the world.

Reading her work has made me think a lot about attention—about what we choose to notice, and what we allow ourselves to linger with. Mary Oliver’s poems don’t hurry. They observe. They stay. They remind me that paying attention is not passive. It’s an active, generous way of moving through life.

That way of noticing has been echoing for me because it’s the same kind of attention that lives at the heart of my picture book THE BEAR’S GARDEN, illustrated by Allison Oliver (Macmillan, 2020). In that story, the world is busy and rushed. Whole neighborhoods are forgotten. Broken. Overlooked. But the child sees something else. She notices small bits of beauty where others see only neglect. A reflection. A shape. A possibility. And because she notices, she begins to tend.

She doesn’t force the garden to grow. She watches. She believes. She whispers encouragement. She stays with it—day after day—through heat, wind, and uncertainty. And slowly, because of that attention, others begin to notice too. First quietly. Then together.

This practice of slowing down and choosing what to pay attention to has been with me through this first half of StoryStorm. Thirty ideas in one month can invite comparison, urgency, and the feeling that creativity needs to be performed on command.

So let’s gently set that aside.

Your job this month isn’t to perform.

It’s to live with attention.

Creativity doesn’t need to be summoned or proved. It doesn’t respond well to force. What it responds to is presence as your daily life unfolds, even when nothing particularly dramatic seems to be happening.

Living with attention means slowing down enough to notice what usually gets brushed past. A feeling that lingers. A moment that makes you pause. A thought that quietly returns when everything else moves on. These are small things. They’re easy to miss. And they’re exactly where stories begin.

You don’t have to catch every idea. You just have to savor enough moments that curiosity has room to grow.

Mary Oliver understood this deeply. Her poems remind me that noticing is a choice. That attention shapes meaning. That what we turn toward matters.

And THE BEAR’S GARDEN reminds me of something else: that noticing is an act of belief. Belief that what looks small or overlooked is worth caring for. Belief that tending—even quietly, even imperfectly—matters.

When we allow ourselves to savor a moment rather than rush past it, curiosity naturally follows. It asks gentle questions: Why did that stay with me? Why does this matter? You don’t need answers right away. Curiosity doesn’t demand them. It just wants space to exist.

Some days, that curiosity will bloom quickly. Other days, it will barely stir. Both are part of the work.

Some days will feel quiet.
Some ideas will barely whisper.
Trust them anyway.

Quiet days are not empty days. Whispered ideas are not weak ones. Many of the stories that stay with us the longest begin this way—small, unassuming, easy to underestimate.

StoryStorm doesn’t require brilliance on demand. It asks for openness. It asks you to notice what you’re already living. To write down what sticks, what returns, what gently taps you on the shoulder when you’re not trying so hard.

If you miss a day, that doesn’t mean you’ve failed. If an idea feels incomplete, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t count. An idea can be a sentence. A question. A feeling you don’t yet have words for. Write it down anyway. You’re not finishing stories this month—you’re planting them.

And perhaps most importantly, you’re practicing trust.

Trust that your life is already full of material.
Trust that attention is enough.
Trust that you don’t need to force meaning for it to exist.

Because when you savor life—really savor it—stories follow.
Not all at once.
Not loudly.
But faithfully.

So let this month be gentle. Let it be curious. Let it be quiet if it needs to be.

You’re not behind.
You’re not doing it wrong.
You’re living with attention—and that is the work.

Marcie Colleen is the author of numerous acclaimed books for young readers. Her writing spans picture books, chapter books, and comics. No matter the format, her stories reflect a deep love of community, creativity, and joyful connection. For more information about Marcie’s projects, visit ThisisMarcieColleen.com. You can also find her on Instagram @marciecolleen and Bluesky @marciecolleen.bsky.social.