I asked a fellow writer last week how we were supposed to write over the school holidays. We’re not, she said. With five children between us, at varying ages and stages, she is probably right.
Then my in-laws arrived in Sligo with a caravan and left it parked in our garden.
Hmmmm.
I have started to disappear for snatches of the day - early morning, 5pm screen time, that quiet lull when we return from the sea. The tiny home on wheels sits beneath giant sycamores and I can see streaks of lake water through the hazel. With the half door ajar I can hear so much more (including, of course, my name yelled from the belly of the house). At eight am, the sun crests the hill and shines on the table. There is a wren’s nest in the wreckage of a felled tree beside me. I send a photograph of the hideaway to my writer friend.
The Long Game
At a Cairdre Festival event this week, I asked author Seán Farrell about his journey from aspiring writer to published writer. He summed it up in a word: long. There were years of reading. Years of petitioning agents. Years of writing for an audience of three or four. Have you read his book?1 It was worth the wait.
At the same event, novelist Elaine Garvey spoke about the funding she received to make the writing of The Wardrobe Department2 possible. The funders told her it reflected how they value the written word and the novel as a whole. You only had to sit in the room last night to hear how important fiction is for people. Sean and Elaine were interviewed about their writing process, their inspiration and their characters, whom they talked about as if they were real people. The audience participated and every question was a story in itself. We need good writing - it helps us make sense of the world.
For the past year, I have dedicated my reading to books by local authors. What a feast. Here is the pile of books I have read so far.
Most are set in the west of Ireland or are written by authors who hail from here. I love the diversity of voices and experimentation of style. They are all so different. Reading them inspires me to write. Seán talked about the importance of reading for writers. I have heard this a lot over the years but it is definitely true for me. Reading, not to distract myself from my life but to deepen my connection to it, is essential.
Just Write
My friend likes the idea of a caravan. She, like me, is putting in the years3. Petitioning publishers. Sequestering herself in a room with books for company and a burning need to write. She’s scribbling in the margins of busy days with young children, in between the paid work and the voluntary work and the labour of love that stuffs the days so full they almost burst. We’re in it for the long haul, she and I. Staying true to that seam of ore running through us that is so valuable we’re betting our lives on it.
Last night I listened to three marvellous poets read their work. Saoirse Anton, Salena Godden and Alice Kinsella filled the Yeats Building with words about cats, the circus, writing as a dirty bit on the side, and more cats (Alice’s latest collection The Ethics of Cats4 is a treasure). When a member of the audience asked if they had any advice for the writers in the room, Salena said:
“My advice? Don’t listen to advice; listen to yourself - to that part of you that loves writing. Because the world is a hard place to be at the moment and it needs writers to show things more clearly. Just write. Keep writing.”
She reminded me of Alan Wilson Watts’ directive: “Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves.”
I have never been able to write fiction when my children are around. It was true for our decade of home education and it is true over the school holidays. I want to be with them in the long messy days of summer. I cannot divide my attention well. But if there is one thing I learned in those years of not-writing, it is that nothing is ever wasted. It’s all fodder for the page somewhere down the line.
So, I will be pausing my paid subscriptions for the rest of the summer to give myself permission not to write. My days will be inhabited by the pressing needs of three children to surf, take over the living room with recording devices, see friends, learn to sail, bake cakes and go to the library (again). I may sneak off to the caravan from time to time but mostly I’ll be wiping my kitchen counters and rinsing saltwater from wetsuits.
See you in September…
x
Now I want a hideaway caravan! I like that thought of writing as though you have one last thing to tell the world xx
Bethany, every word of this is beautiful. I’m also pocketing it for moments when I need to hear these words again 🙏❤️