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way I do, I not only physically remove myself from
exogenous threatening sounds and the demands of
my smartphone, but also expose myself to natural
light, which results in a better quality of sleep.
I realized a while ago that I could use my adven-
tures to help others who also struggled to sleep.
Words have the ability to soothe and calm. By writ-
ing about my wild sleeps, I could bring my fellow
insomniacs with me. When we were kids, many of
us were read to by a grownup—the bedtime story
was (and still is) a classic way to get restless children
to nod off. But many of us decided we were too old
for this, that we had grown out of it. Which is why I
began to write special nonfiction bedtime travel sto-
ries for adults—the aim being that they would never
reach the end.
“When you try to sleep, your mind monitors
your efforts, which actually keeps you awake,” says
Dr. Steve Orma, a clinical psychologist specializing
in insomnia. “Doing something calming before bed,
that’s designed to help you let go and take you else-
where, will prepare your body for sleep.”
In my Sleep StorIeS, each word is chosen care-
fully. Adjectives—which in literature are often re-
moved or allowed only sparsely—are necessary in a
bedtime tale to transport you to the place I’m in, so
we can wander together through lavender fields in
Provence, meander along the waterways in Oxford-
shire, travel aboard South Africa’s slow and steady
Blue Train, or listen to the wind in the leaves amid
the giant cedar trees in Morocco’s hidden forest.
The sound of words is also key. I must choose
them in such a way that they delicately inform what
we can see, in a tender and comforting way. No loud
sounds are found in these sentences, only peaceful,
lulling prose. Then there are the other senses. Smells
evoke images and sensations that relax and reas-
sure. Sights must be captivating enough that you
want more, yet magnificent enough that you are lost
within them.
There was never a rule book for writing Sleep
Stories —my techniques started with intuition and
the drive to try to create something that I would like
to have read to me when I was snuggled up in bed,
surrounded by the warmth of my duvet. As time has
moved on, as it always does, I listen to feedback I get
from listeners, for places and themes that people tell
me have made them feel most comforted, most re-
laxed, and then decide on my next destination and
the journey I will take them on with another tale.
The process to write these stories can take many
hours, but I always begin penning them in the same
setting as I did the first time I wrote one on that win-
ter’s night. Everything must be perfect: the lighting
dim as though I were outside in my camp, the sounds
soft, the phone off and out of reach, and my imagi-
nation allowed to feel as free as though it were on a
mountaintop.
Only then can I begin to take you with me on
a journey, one whose ending you may never even
reach. But in which I know you will become im-
mersed, snuggled into a world I’ve created for us
both, where candlelight flickers, where all the world
remains on the other side of the door. When my tale
becomes your tale, we are both free to dream.Smith is the sleep storyteller in residence for the
app Calm and the author of Extreme Sleeps:
Adventures of a Wild CamperNo loud
sounds are
found in
these
sentences,
only
peaceful,
lulling
prose