Allowing the Creative Well to Refill

The realities of taking time off as a writer

Photo by Gary Meulemans on Unsplash

All the time I was writing the first draft of the book I was holding on to the idea that on the glorious day that I pressed send on the manuscript I would then down tools completely and allow myself some time off. I mean, proper time off. My husband had taken a week off too, the idea being that I would first have a week to myself in which the only needs that I was taking care of were my own. I would finally weed the garden and reclaim it from brambles. I might paint the patio wall, I would lie on a nest of cushions and blankets and read all the books on my To Read pile shelf.

I would take bike rides on my lovely bike that hasn’t been out of the house for a year. I’d take walks on the beach and then, when my husband took his week off we’d cycle to the beach and have a day swimming in the sea and reading books on the sand, we’d go out for lunch and join the tourists to explore. I’d make delicious salads for us and we’d eat out on the patio. None of it worked out like that. It’s my own fault, I hadn’t planned properly. The things that I thought would take minimal work, didn’t. I’d broken my own cardinal rule and planned for time (off) that I wanted, rather than time (off) that I had. Although I’d taken no new work on, work that was rolling on still existed. I am the founder and editor of a literary magazine, Spelt, a magazine that seeks to validate and celebrate the rural experience through creative non fiction and poetry. We feature interviews with authors and have four creative non fiction columnists and the magazine is a print magazine, which means a lot of work needs to go into it. I work with two other editors, but really, this is my project, my baby and so I tend to take on the lion’s share of the work. No one gets paid, we all do it for the love of being a part of a system that creates platforms for writers who we feel need more recognition and a place to show how nature writing can be something other than a practice of romanticised observation. We recently suffered a set back financially and we’ve been limping on with the magazine while we try to raise some funds through the annual competition. Because I was writing the book, issue nine was behind, is behind. Because I was writing the book the competition wasn’t getting the promotion it needed to be successful. I realised I needed to catch up on those commitments before I could really take time off. My compromise was three hours work between 6 and 9 am, in the hope that after that I’d be able to take time off, but what happened was that the lovely, elderly dog needed his daily care - the glacial pace slow walks that keep him happy and healthy, the attention to his coat (he’s long haired, and I can’t get him to the groomer anymore as he gets too upset and stressed) in the heat of summer, his occasional incontinence and his need to be with me, the reassurance that he needs. If you’ve ever lived with an elderly dog, you’ll know that at this stage of their lives, they need a lot of care giving. I don’t imagine we have a long time left with him, and I want to make sure that every one of those days is of gentle happiness and companionship. By the time I’d be done and got him settled it would be lunch time, and I’d be exhausted because I was up early every day to work, and I just wanted to sleep. And then, because of the monster anxiety - because I knew that I would need to jump back onto work and be prepared to, like a Flintstone car, run as soon as my feet touched the ground, after my ‘time off’; making space to work on the edits of the book when it’s returned, setting up work around it to enable me to continue to pay my mortgage and bills while I do, meant some planning and prep work. And then the day was over and the elderly dog needed his glacial evening walk and then it was bed time. Reader, there was no walks on the beach, and the weather has been very rainy anyway, so that put paid to even simply sitting in the garden. I even lost most of my usual sacred morning space to write and reflect because I was filling that space with work to allow me some time off.

It made me extremely grumpy. Yesterday all this came to a head when I had to deal with a complaint about the fact we don’t accept cheques for the competition. We don’t accept cheques because there is just me in my office doing all the admin for the competition and it takes an enormous amount of time. To add cheques that need to be kept track of to make sure they clear etc would cause so much more work. I felt explosive. A lot of what’s happening is anxiety based. I’ve just sent a poetry manuscript off to a publisher and I feel quite jittery about it. I’m waiting for edits to come back on The Ghost Lake, a book I’ve been researching and writing for years and at the same time I am changing the way that I work so that I can streamline and reduce all the extra admin around running courses and mentoring, and all of that comes with a big bag of change related vulnerability and anxiety.

I haven’t done any actual writing for a while, since I handed the MS in and I want to, I want to write for the joy of creativity, without purpose. I’m looking forward to embracing August’s writing challenge and joining in for a change, something I don’t often get to do when I run courses. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life and my work and my dog, of course, but I feel drained of creativity. The final weeks of the competition are always stressful. I don’t know how I imagined I wouldn’t be stressed in the final push towards covering judge’s fees and prizes and pushing for a small profit to plough back into the magazine.

Yesterday I did the thing that I said I was going to do and, after I had dealt with the old dog, my husband and I left the house and went to be tourists at Burton Agness Hall.

As soon as we were out of the village and crossing the Wolds I felt better. As soon as we were pouring ourselves through the fields of wheat and barley, the golden summer landscape, I felt better. We saw a stoat cross the road like a small fire burning and my heart expanded, loosening all the tense muscles around it. We spent hours walking the grounds of the hall, being moved by the stories of people long since dead,

soaking up the extraordinary art on display

walking thorough the gardens lulled by the hum of bees, the scent of flowers

then dinner at the pub, then home. When I walked the dog that evening I felt grounded. I wasn’t thinking about what was next on the list. I was communing with the place that I live, connecting to the ground beneath my feet, the breeze, the prickle of rain. Two roe deer were in th top field as I passed. We stopped to watch each other, then carried on with our lives. I felt like I had come home, not just physically, but mentally. This morning, i am up and at my desk to write. The world will not end if I don’t answer my emails. Today I am giving myself over to writing time. I don’t know what I shall write, it doesn’t matter. Maybe an essay, maybe a poem or a flash fiction or the start of something bigger. It doesn’t matter. It starts here, with this essay, with these words. Thankyou for bearing witness to it.

For a well to refill with water, snow or rain must seep into the cracks in the ground under the land's surface. It then reaches the saturated zone where it accumulates and fills in the well.

I needed to place myself gently in the way of experience, of beauty, of the earth and the sky to refill, and it worked.

August Writing Challenge

Next week my free August writing challenge: Deep Summer, A Sensory Experience begins.

I hope you’ll join me for journalling, writing prompts, a slow way of connecting to the still part of the season.

And don’t forget that The Dawn Chorus - my early morning writing group is back in August. We start the hour with a quote, a poem, a passage of nature based creative non fiction, and a simple prompt. It’s a gentle form of accountability for your writing and always nourishing.

And we are now down to the last five days of the Spelt Poetry Competition. We are looking for poems with a nature theme (open to interpretation). It’s just £10 for up to three poems, and you could win cash prizes and a chance to be published in the magazine. Enter here:

Until next time

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