Whilst recovering from my Covid booster at the weekend, I confess that my brain has not been working at optimal levels. By Tuesday evening, I was still in a bit of a fog and had not settled on this week’s post. ‘Any ideas?’ I asked at dinner. ‘I need an idea generator.’
Mariia and my husband Googled it and yes, such a thing does exist, but the site was a tad suspicious. My husband then went old school and suggested taking a random word from the dictionary. ‘Worth a try,’ I thought.
For reasons best known to himself, he picked my rather neglected Swedish/English dictionary and fortuitously opened it in the English section. With high drama, he flicked the pages, closed his eyes and then plonked his finger on an entry: Writing.
‘When in need, the universe will provide,’ my husband beamed and I had to agree that this was an especially happy accident, not least because writing has been so much on my mind of late. So, writing it is.
Composition
My first thought was that writing consists of two things: the physical act of writing and composition. I’ll begin with the latter.
The myths surrounding composition are legion, but the most persistent and damaging of all is the notion that one cannot compose without the aid of the Muse – for which I blame the Romantics. Writing, like all arts, is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration. What makes it to the page is often the essence of what has roiled around the author’s brain, been scribbled on now scrunched up paper and selected from a swathe of research. And when inspiration is especially coy, it’s time to do some editing, further reading or even typing things up (as I have done in my slightly addled brain state this week) because it is all valuable in attaining one’s goal. If I sat waiting for the Muse, I would be lucky to write one sentence.
Whatever you think you can do or believe you can do, begin it. Action has magic; grace and power to it.
Goethe
I love this quote, because beginning it is all. Unlike in my youth when I was cowed into inaction, because, who could write like Shakespeare? I now just get going. It may be rubbish; it may consent to being shaped and polished or it may simply help me clarify my thinking, but in beginning, I am setting in motion the very things I need to occasionally reach success.
Morning pages
Three journals and several months later, I am still doing my morning pages as recommended in The Artist’s Way. This crazy, morning free-writing works. Once written, my head is released from the worries and fretting that normally clutter one’s thinking. Just writing three pages every day gives you a solid proof that you can always find something to write about – even if only rambling thoughts. But it hones your skills and sometimes an interesting idea or line or image is birthed in these pages.
Poetry revival
With our lovely Ukrainian staying with us, I have become a little time (and often energy) poor. My novel plans have had to take a back seat, at least for the moment, but I still need to maintain my intention to enter a writing competition or submit a piece of writing every month. So I have reverted back to the form I used when my children absorbed almost all my waking hours: poetry.
I’ve written and submitted four original poems. Their chance of success is minimal, but the discipline of writing for a specific audience under specific time restraints is reward enough for me. I’ve also dug out my old poems and dusted them off. Anything worth keeping, I’ve typed up again and I’d like to share one with you which most perfectly speaks to the season.
Indian Summer
Just when I had given up,
you returned,
as bold as Leo, ascendant.
My skin tingled in anticipation,
longed for touch,
the ripe exposure of naked skin.
I shucked my outer layers,
worshipped you,
a sunflower supplicant.
Ignored the warning signs:
packing swallows,
bees humming valedictions
to bleached lavender stems,
pregnant dews,
dawns slow to shake sleep.
Then one morning, I woke,
eager, full of plans
to find you gone.
Writing buddies
Another small step I have made in my writing life is to enlist the help of a writing buddy. A dear friend writes (and performs) the most brilliant monologues and since we were talking about our writing, I asked if she would be my writing buddy – prodding me to create when necessary, rejoicing or consoling my victories or losses. Each Friday, we need to send each other something and I am very excited to have a companion in this often isolating profession.
The art of writing
I have always loved the physical look of words and being taken on by an accomplished calligrapher has made me even more enamoured of the art of lettering. My teacher Mary, at eighty, is never short of brilliant ideas and approaches. She accepts no slovenly work and pushes me to think far outside my comfort zone. I confess that sometimes our lessons descend into coffee mornings, but I always come away enthused to do more. My rather long, current project has been to produce an alphabet for my granddaughter. I am almost there!
Pen and ink
Writing by hand may be a bit unfashionable, but I still find it is the best way to generate ideas. After all, a pen and a bit of paper take up almost no space and can be used anywhere. I prefer to use a cartridge pen with colourful inks. When I make a change, unlike on the computer, I can see the original without erasing it. I can also doodle, make crazy cloud plans and so forth which my computer skills don’t allow.
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Once, I remember listening to an author who wrote everything in long-hand. ‘Why?’ asked the interviewer. ‘Because it is slow,’ replied the author. And she’s right. When you take time to write, you gain a little time to think. It has its merits.
Personally, I mix and match. Pen and ink for thoughts; computer for writing up. This post began with a randomly generated word, progressed to notes, to outlines and then to this. It is a process I am only just about to finish. The idea generator worked this time, but I think I won’t rely on it. Had my husband’s finger landed a few millimetres out, I should have been saddled with: wriggle, wrinkled or wretchedness. They would certainly have stretched my creativity.