Hi friends,

When I first began working with tarot, I’d pull a card a day and write down singular words or short phrases that came to mind. Over time, I had a list for every card. (I highly recommend this method if you’re just getting started with tarot!)

One day, I was staring at a page of words for one of the cards, when I thought “this feels lyrical.” Something inside of me cracked open a little, and a poem spilled out.

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to use tarot cards as a way to inspire my writing practice before this moment. It was probably because, at the time, I spent zero percent of my time thinking about or doing any sort of personal writing. I just had a baby and was running editorial content at a chaotic startup that required a two-hour commute each day and all of my emotional energy. Daily card pulls and collecting a handful of words were all I could manage outside of collapsing into bed at the end of each day. Turns out, that’s all you need to be doing. I didn’t think it was good enough, but it’s plenty to work with.

I didn’t have to change anything about my daily tarot practice. I just changed my orientation. Instead of only using tarot to help me make complicated decisions (like whether or not I should quit a job three months in), I expanded my practice and started thinking about my interpretations as short poems. I stared at the visuals and wrote down words, feelings, associations, memories, dreams. I soon found that I could conjure tarot poetry and enter into a flow state without the physical deck in front of me. By simply reflecting on the language of tarot — the archetypes and symbolism — I could push my own creative work forward.

In our upcoming Wheel of Fortune print anthology (which will be available for order soon, within the next few weeks!), poet Sarah Ann Winn reflects on her own creative writing practice with tarot. She shares the lessons the Wheel has for us — from creative inspiration to deepening our relationship with the unknown.

In her essay for our publication, titled “Practicing Faith & Fractals,” Sarah writes:

“I find the paradox of a card that symbolizes both endings and beginnings encouraging. We must keep moving. It's also one of the best reminders that no matter how belief figures in your life, we all live by faith — especially writers. Think of the trust we must have each time we approach the empty page, every time we begin our tarot practice.”

You’ll have to wait until The Rebis is available to read her essay. In the meantime, today’s newsletter features Sarah’s non-linear introduction to tarot, how she incorporates tarot into her writing practice, and why she doesn’t use the word “blocked” to describe a dry creative spell — a practice I plan to adopt.

Until next time,

Hannah

Sarah Ann Winn holds up the Ace of Wands from Tarot of the Divine. She interprets it as validation of all the new generative energy building up around the manuscript she’s working on. “It feels revitalized,” she says. “I’m on residency right now and have found new openings in the manuscript I’d set aside since being here. Exciting!”

Poet Sarah Ann Winn on using tarot for creative flow

I grew up in a very strict religious household. I wasn’t allowed to listen to the radio, go to school dances, go to the movies. I remember the scandalized sense of delight and recognition I had at about 8 or 9 years old when an aunt said “Are you sure we should teach the girls to play rummy? Their grandparents probably think cards are the devil’s picture books.”

The cards were simple Hoyle playing cards, so I had no idea what she was talking about. But like many things that were forbidden to us, the rituals I associated with it were so alluring. The way my aunt always banged the box on the table before opening it, the shuffle and deal to the right, the three taps she gave her hand before fanning it in front of her. It gave me a sense of illicit delight even just to say the word “gin!” and slam my cards down.

My non-linear introduction to tarot

Because of my cloistered childhood, I didn’t really think any further about the occult and cards until I read Robert Zelazny's Nine Princes in Amber, a few years later. After that, I tried to find more connections to tarot in literature and art, without much success. (This was before the internet!) I’d never even seen a tarot deck in person. Nobody I knew had a deck, and I didn’t know how a person might find one.

It wasn’t until after college that I finally bought my first deck. It was the Vertigo Tarot, based on Neil Gaiman’s work, with art by Dave McKean. The images scared me (I’m still very sensitive to images, thanks to those early years of avoiding violence on the screen). More than that, it seemed inscrutable, and I didn’t feel invited to find personal connections in the cards.

I didn’t connect with a deck until I went on a writing retreat with Judyth Hill. She invited us to pull a card from the Rider-Waite-Smith deck that she left loosely shuffled, face down, on a table, and just write towards our intuition, not worrying what the card meant to others. She encouraged us to look for details, and try to find connections in our lives to what was on the card, to put it in conversation with what was already present, which is what I try to do even today, years later. I rarely look at guides that come with decks after the first read-through, preferring to rely on intuition and the muse once I get to know the deck’s images.

Ways I incorporate tarot into my morning writing routine

I use tarot as a lead-in to my morning writing practice. I usually make a daily draw, and think about the images on the cards, and any resonances I find in my week, or in memory that seem particularly present. Sometimes I challenge myself to jot a single word down that comes to mind when I look at a card, even a familiar one, and then associate from there, or sometimes I place cards from two different decks in conversation and listen for what might emerge in the juxtaposition of images that feels true to the moment.

For my morning meditation draw, I set down a soft handkerchief or scarf, choosing one that feels related to where we are in the Wheel of the Year. My favorite spreads are three-card spreads, especially the simplest, “what’s happened / what’s in front of me / what might be next.” This inspires introspection and listening for the muse, which leads me into writing.

Like many rituals, it takes me away from the idea that I know (or should know) what I will write about, which can lead to blocks and dead ends, or a feeling of scarcity.

How I keep words flowing during “dry” spells

When it comes to getting creatively stuck, I try not to use the word blocked. Words have power, especially the words we use to describe ourselves, our past, our process. If I framed my work in the sense of something that could be walled away, I might feel powerless to move forward.

Instead, I came up with tactics to keep words flowing, and to keep the sense of play in my writing process, which so far has helped me keep going, even when I’m not able to draft a poem. For example, I rely on Lynda Barry’s Daily Diary format, with its constant and deep wellspring of images I’ve collected over the years. When I was in graduate school, I took a course on Creative Processes with the dynamo teacher Dr. Lynne Constantine. In studying Hungarian-American psychologist Mihaly Cziksaintmhaly’s work on flow, I realized that having the tools to enter the state of flow necessary to create would also help ward off dry spells.

Like many people, I've found the last two years have greatly impacted the number of poems I write. But if I measure my creative life only with capitalist outcomes — “Quantity of Product Produced” being the be-all-end-all — I would lose hope, I think.

Instead, I try to meet with my muse every day, even if it’s “just” to collect images, to note connections from the cards I draw, or to take my internal weather report. Having that routine opens a sliver of time where a line or two can fall out, even in the “driest” of seasons.

I also find reading the work of artists like Austin Kleon and following visual artists on Instagram inspires and invites the muse.

Recommendations & resources

Sarah’s deck recommendation: Like so many, I adore MJ Cullinane's decks. My two favorites are The Guardian of the Night Tarot and The Urban Crow Oracle, but I also love the Roots & Wings Oracle.

Cards and symbols she’s currently drawn to: Three of Cups, The High Priestess, and lily pads/water lilies.

Sarah’s artist and author recs: My top three books at the top of the pile behind my desk are from Laura Kasischke, Sumita Chakraborty, and Tracy Fuad.

I also really love Anne Louise Avery. She’s very active on Twitter as well. Her brief vignettes helped get me through these last two years. Her Patreon is worth every penny — I highly recommend subscribing!

I don’t remember what rabbit hole recently led me to the work of Refik Anadol, but wow — I’m glad it did! He uses thousands of images of nature along with computer-assisted AI movement to create these massive installations that are mesmerizingly beautiful.

I also am loving the artist Geninne D Zlatkis’s work — I wish she’d do an oracle deck!

Editor’s note: Follow Sarah on Instagram. Her retreat, “Our Emily Dickinson: Poet Camp,” is taking place in Plainfield, MA and is currently open for registration. She is teaching two upcoming classes, including “Tarot Poems” as well as “Very Superstitious: Poems of Everyday Magic” in 2023. You can sign up for the Poet Camp newsletter if you’d like to know when they open for registration! Sarah also has a beautiful book of poetry called Alma Almanac, a collection of poems about landscape, place, and memory.

The Rebis

Poet Sarah Ann Winn on using tarot for…