When my kids were small it was much easier to have a fixed
routine. We got up at a set time, walked to school, and I had the house to
myself for long uninterrupted periods. Nowadays, with two young adult children living
at home, and elderly parents a couple of hours away, things are much more
amorphous. I try to set objectives at the beginning of each month, and tick
them off as I go, prescribing routines for fixed periods of time. I find that
being in a state of flow is the only way anything comes to fruition: A writing
life rather than a writing day. This can be a difficult balance. I’m quite
suggestible and easily distracted by things I find ‘interesting’. One way of
dealing with this is to have a list of five priorities at any given time. These
must include family, and mental and physical health, which includes exercise of
some sort (Feldenkrais, yoga, walking, gardening, swimming). So, when an idea,
proposition or suggestion arises I use this list to assess whether it can fit
in with my long-term agenda. In theory, anyway.
Another, and important, practice is to write last thing at
night when my mind has already entered a dream state. I’m at a late stage of
drafting a middle-grade novel, much of which was composed in this way. Longer
poems sometimes emerge fully formed; and a haiku practise is an excellent way
of anchoring yourself. Writing as you fall asleep seems to free up the brain,
and results in productive dreaming. I will then wake up during the night to write
things down in short bursts (aspirational – see below), because if the phrase
is lost, it is gone forever. The ideal for me is to wake up early having slept
and dreamt deeply. In that sort of fugue state I can pick up a pen straight
away and write up whatever has presented itself.
The desk is the last place to go when in creative flow, and
is best for transcribing work written in longhand, or for editing. I’m about to
embark on a redrafting of my novel, which is going to require iron discipline,
computer with internet disconnected, and lots of large sheets of paper stuck up
on the wall for maps and narrative arcs. I’m currently front-loading other
commitments in order to devote myself completely to this.
My official work space is a zone of multiple distractions,
so I attach a photograph of a wild place at the end of the garden to which I
can retreat with my notebook. Ideal conditions for writing include plenty of
silence. I find listening to anything while I’m thinking stressful and
distracting. Physical activity is helpful – gardening, walking, swimming, any
type of crafting that I’m moderately good at and can get lost in. As soon as
the mind is empty, something will materialise – often fully formed. I’ve
learned to have confidence in the process. My ‘writing day’ for the last 24
hours (interwoven with domestics, phone calls, emails, gardening, and trying to
recover from ten days of conferences and festivals) has been something like
this:
Yesterday afternoon: I
managed to edit two haibun I’ve been working on for a couple of months and
submit them to a journal which prefers hard-copy submissions, (walking to the
post office = the physical activity quotient of the day) and to finish a
couple of poems which I’ve been tinkering with for a while. I have unexpected
visitors arriving this afternoon, which necessitates trying to clear a path
through the various piles of books, papers, shoes, clothes and cat toys strewn
around our house. As usual, forced myself to write in my sleep-state before
dropping off. Often feel this is pointless but the results can be surprising.
Today:
6am tried to remember the poem that had drifted into my
head after I turned the lights off last night. Failed. Cursed. Got up, showered
and dressed; various domestics.
8am critiqued a couple of poems for friends I exchange work
with.
9am – 11am Prepared for a bilingual reading that I’m doing
with Gabriel Rosenstock next week. Formatted it, emailed him a copy for his
appro, then printed it out. I’m going to stay with my parents for a few days, so
it’s good to have done this well in advance. Now all I have to do is prepare my
intros for the evening, as I am also ‘emcee’-ing.
11am. Started to promote the forthcoming reading by a
posting on Twitter and a mass email.
12. Rewrote this article for the fourth time.
12.45. Collected daughter number 2 from the tram. Dropped
into local shops to buy pears for a pear frangipane tart.
1.30. Quick lunch.
2-3pm Various online displacement activities.
3. Some email exchanges re an article I wrote recently.
My brain goes into a slump from 3.30pm to 10pm, so it’s
time to make that tart. Guests due any minute.
Amanda Bell is a
Dublin-based poet, writer, editor and reviewer. Her most recent book is the loneliness of the sasquatch, a
transcreation from the Irish of Gabriel Rosenstock (Alba Publishing, 2018). Her
poetry collection First the Feathers
(Doire Press, 2017) was shortlisted for the Shine Strong Award for best first
collection, and her poem ‘Points’ was shortlisted for Irish Poem of the Year
2017. Her haibun collection Undercurrents
(Alba, 2016) came second in the Haiku Society of America’s Merit Book Award and
was shortlisted for a Touchstone Distinguished Books Award. She has written an
illustrated children’s book (The Lost
Library Book, The Onslaught Press, 2017) and is working on a middle-grade
econovel.
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