I’m Susan. Part writer, part psychologist, all cat-lover. Living in Northern Ireland with lovely husband, Chris, having recently returned from a year out travelling around Scandinavia and Western Europe in a van. Bliss. Currently working out what’s next and excited about turning whispers into shouts on this blog.
It was National Poetry Day this week. Twitter was awash with gorgeous poems – the sheer volume of sentences and stanzas was a bit overwhelming. Because sometimes it’s just one word that hits home. A word to finish a stream of thought that tightens the throat and stops the breath.
Words have power. I don’t understand the alchemy of it but it’s magical. So without further ado here’s the poem that never fails – never – to stop me in my tracks.
The Committee Weighs In
by Andrea Cohen
I tell my mother
I've won the Nobel Prize.
Again? she says. Which
discipline this time?
It's a little game
we play: I pretend
I'm somebody, she
pretends she isn't dead.
It’s my blog-aversary this week – Shedwriting is one year old! The baby blog is learning to walk and talk now. And it’s taking on its own personality.
This thing started off as a way to nudge me into the light. For someone who spent much of their adult life hiding in the shadows, I felt it was high time I stepped forward and tried out a bit of visibility. Pass me the microphone, I stated confidently, I’m ready to speak up. But when the light shone in my face, and people looked at me expectantly, I found myself wide-eyed in shock, and didn’t know what to say. I usually wanted to shuffle back into the safe shadows and take a breath.
But this blog was also a way to hold myself accountable that this writing thing was something I planned to do with my life. My inner critic had warned me to avoid stepping into the light, anxious about people pointing and laughing, telling me it was safer to stay in the background. But I set aside those fears and did it anyway. I suppose the bottom line is that I’ve given myself permission to be a writer.
And here’s the thing: it worked. I’ve learned how it feels to have no views, little engagement and even negative reviews. If I’m serious about writing, I’ll need resilience tricks like this. Most days I’m standing in that light and shouting into the void, not sure if there’s any point. But some days I know that at least one person has heard, and that’s worth all the sweaty fear and trembling that comes from putting yourself out there.
It’s also worked in pushing me to show up and do the work. I’ve been intentional for fifty two weeks, sitting at my desk and wondering what to write. I’ve connected on Twitter (another shocking thing for one such as myself) with lots of other writers, I’ve started a monthly newsletter. And if someone had told me this time last year that Shedwriting would have a piece in The Simple Things, be a contributor to BBC Radio’s Thought for the Day, and have secured an agent, I would have scoffed.
A week in the van in the west – it was blustery. There’s nothing quite like the bite of the Atlantic, falling asleep to the sound of the waves is the best lullaby in the world. On occasion it’s perturbing in the van if the wind picks up (I’ve been known to sit in the footwell, rocking back and forth with my eyes closed, picturing us toppling over at any moment). But being out in proper Irish weather certainly blew away all the cobwebs and opened my soul a little bit more to what nature can do for us. Sand between the toes, hood up, face misted with ocean spray and always, the wind. Wonderful.
It made me think of this poem by Ted Hughes. Best enjoyed in a cosy cabin as the wind howls down the chimney.
For the past week I’ve been living out of a suitcase again and it’s completely brilliant. First my weekend writing retreat just outside Downpatrick and now bumping along the Wild Atlantic Way in the west of Ireland.
I’d forgotten what travel felt like what with lockdowns, jobs and general Real Life happening. Our Big Trip in the van for a whole year around Europe and Scandinavia feels so long ago and yet here I am again, sitting on a deckchair beside Hans the Van, towels flapping in the (not insubstantial) breeze and feeling like this is real life.
So the great retreat, I hear you ask, how was it? Did you get your sample chapter written? Well, it was great and, um, nope. I had aimed for 8-10,000 words and ended up with 6,000 or so. Not bad I suppose, but in the end, the main outcome of the writing retreat with my creative writing group was getting to know them better, and taking some big deep breaths in beautiful surroundings.
Funny isn’t it? You can have a list of things to achieve with a colour-coded (I know) plan to tick as you go, but it turns out there’s been a secret list in front of your nose all along. Generally it involves surprises, unplanned detours, shared giggles, midnight sparklers under the stars and just being. It’s stopping all the hustle. And anyway, what’s a writer to write about if life happens and we don’t take notice?
So I’m pleased with my progress. The Thomas Hardy chapter (a laugh riot, as you can imagine) is not quite done yet, but I know a little bit more about each member of my writing group, and I know a little bit more about what it means to stop and stare at a river for hours at a time.
I’m sure my agent will understand the delay in sending the finished proposal…after all, the working title is ‘The Literary Pilgrim’ and here I am, being a pilgrim. That’s important research isn’t it?
I’m in the middle of packing a bag (chocolate – tick) to go away on a writers’ retreat for the weekend with my lovely writing gang. The Rivermill in the lush countryside outside Downpatrick awaits. It’s not the South Pacific island of Tetiaroa, once owned by Marlon Brando, where Barack Obama wrote his memoir, but it looks amazing. I’ve been drawing up a colour-coded chapter outline (I know) so I feel prepared. C’mere sample chapter of my non-fiction book proposal, let’s be having you.
Some questions:
1. Will I have any bright ideas at all?
2. Will I do some writing or spend most of the time looking out the window and going for walks?
3. Will I love it so much I’ll want to move in?
4. Will I tell my agent I’ve done lots of work (even if I haven’t)?
5. Will I talk to my writing friends too much? (We’re bringing wine…)
6. Most of all: will I get the damn chapter done?
They say a change is as good as a rest. Having spent over a year waking up somewhere new in a van all around Europe, I’ve since moved into an actual house, with walls and everything. And with lockdowns aplenty, I’ve grown accustomed to the same rooms and the same views, even the same cutlery, for crying out loud. I wonder if sameness might dull the senses, the brain not even trying, as days turn into other days and time barely shifts.
Looking at things anew – this simple act of getting in the car and driving somewhere new, will hopefully shake my mind around a little and wake it up. Many creatives say that stepping out of routine and taking a break from life’s tasks can be the perfect way to fill up the ideas pot. Mine’s a bit empty lately.
I’ll report back next week. And hey, if it’s good enough for Barack Obama…
