On my writing days, I always keep
office hours. I remain in awe of those people who write in the early morning or
late at night. I have a day job but I’m very lucky that I only have to do it
three days a week.
I’m usually at my desk by 9am. I begin
every new writing day by staring at the page and feeling like I have no idea
how to write. Every day, I wonder how I’ve ever written before and how I’ll
ever write again. Every day, I question my decision: what am I doing, why am
I doing this, who do I think I am, am I nuts, who the hell would want to be a
writer? It used to get me down, this daily existential crisis, but now I
know that it’s just a part of my process. I allow myself a few minutes to have
this perfunctory panic and then I move on.
I usually warm up by writing
stream-of-consciousness in longhand. The stuff that comes out is often mundane
and occasionally quite cruel—more of the “why have I decided to be a writer?”
stuff—but invariably turns into a pep talk. I’ll remind myself that I can do
this and that it’ll feel great to have written. I think every writer innately
understands what Dorothy Parker meant when she said: “I hate writing, but I
love having written.”
Once my brain and little typing fingers
feel limbered up, I get to work. If I’m writing a first draft, I just pick up
where I left off the day before. I have a map that tells me where I’m going. I
don’t outline, but I do come up with the story beats before I begin. These
beats act like buoys to help me navigate my way through a story. I always know
where I’m going, I just never know how I’m going to get there. If it’s a good
day, I start writing and at some point it feels like the writing takes off. If
you’ve ever made powdered custard, you’ll know what it’s like to stir and stir
and stir the watery mixture until, all of a sudden, it thickens and becomes…
something. That’s what writing feels like to me, on a good day at least.
When the writing is going well, I eat
all meals at my desk, forget to get dressed or leave the house. But I often have
bad writing days. The existential crisis lasts longer. The pep talk fails to
energize. The custard never thickens. I keep checking the time, my inbox,
Twitter. Then I’ll prescribe myself a walk. I love walking around my
neighbourhood. It doesn’t matter what the weather is like, it always cheers me
up. After that, it’s back home, to wring another hour from myself.
These writing days, they’re
excruciating at times. Writing is both a compulsion and a chore. But they’re
also precious. And then it’s 5pm and I have to stop. I shut my laptop and
life’s responsibilities come barreling back in. I must tend to dinner or
groceries or the not insignificant task of earning money. Over the years I’ve
been a film instructor, a nanny, a screenwriter’s assistant, a freelance
journalist. The job that was most conducive to writing was nannying. It’s a set
schedule and a set paycheck and it certainly paid more than freelancing…
Now I am reckoning with a new
responsibility. It arrived just a few weeks ago: my screeching bundle of chaos,
my very own pram in the hallway. He is wonderful, this brand new son of ours,
and seemingly intent upon bringing my writing life to a standstill. I am told,
however, that new mothers find a way again.
Bronwen Keyes-Bevan is a Toronto-based writer. Her
writing has appeared in The Irish Times, She Does The City, Post
City, and elsewhere. Her debut screenplay is in development with director
Gloria Ui Young Kim and was shortlisted for the Sundance Screenwriters Lab. She
is at work on a novel. Find her at www.bronwenkeyesbevan.com or on Twitter at
@bronwenkeyesbev
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