Sometimes
life is quiet and calm, uneventful and languid, nothing much happening. Life in
lockdown - as far as I can gather - has been like that for a lot of people.
It hasn’t been like that at all for me. The last month has been one of extreme drama, and turmoil, enormously hard work and a huge amount of stress. This was not because of Covid-19, thankfully, none of my loved ones has got ill so far. It was all to do with my working life, my day job, and I very much hope that the storm clouds are starting to clear.
It hasn’t been like that at all for me. The last month has been one of extreme drama, and turmoil, enormously hard work and a huge amount of stress. This was not because of Covid-19, thankfully, none of my loved ones has got ill so far. It was all to do with my working life, my day job, and I very much hope that the storm clouds are starting to clear.
But it got
me thinking about writing as therapy, when it works and when it doesn’t. There
have been times in my life when writing felt impossible. The trauma was all
consuming, my mind too taken up with the dizzying whirl of events to be able to
concentrate or invent, or use my imagination at all.
But sometimes I have been able to take a difficult situation and channel emotions through writing. My first book, When I Was Joe, was written in 2008. We had moved countries six months before, our house was a mess, we didn’t know if we were staying there or moving somewhere else, we were frozen, in limbo, with everything new and strange and yet (because we were back in London after eight years away) familiar as well. Stress levels were high, I felt that I had no control over my own life.
But sometimes I have been able to take a difficult situation and channel emotions through writing. My first book, When I Was Joe, was written in 2008. We had moved countries six months before, our house was a mess, we didn’t know if we were staying there or moving somewhere else, we were frozen, in limbo, with everything new and strange and yet (because we were back in London after eight years away) familiar as well. Stress levels were high, I felt that I had no control over my own life.
Writing a
story was my way of escape. The story I decided to tell put me in the head of
someone very different to myself (which was freeing) who was in a situation
much worse than my own (witness protection). As I wrote about his fears and frustrations,
my own stress levels dissipated. They didn’t go away - the situation remained the same – but I felt
better, more able to cope. It was cathartic, and enormously helpful.
If I were starting a new project now, I think I might write about a prisoner. Or a prisoner’s family. Or a dystopian world riven by chemical warfare. Or a historical novel set in a time of plague. Or, possibly, a romance played out in crowded bars and festivals, restaurants and cafes, theatres and concert halls, so the lovers are never able to be alone until suddenly, shockingly, they are marooned on an island.
If I were starting a new project now, I think I might write about a prisoner. Or a prisoner’s family. Or a dystopian world riven by chemical warfare. Or a historical novel set in a time of plague. Or, possibly, a romance played out in crowded bars and festivals, restaurants and cafes, theatres and concert halls, so the lovers are never able to be alone until suddenly, shockingly, they are marooned on an island.
I am panting
to write something like this! I need to transform some of my lockdown emotions! But instead I have the day job (which didn’t look very likely two weeks ago, so
I am not complaining) and as well I have edits to do on my next book. And then there’s the cooking and the
exercising, and the writing of shopping lists and the cleaning…
Maybe I need
to start getting up an hour earlier every day?
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