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Every so often I go for a one-to-one with my writing guru, Briony Goffin. We discuss what I’ve been writing – and what I haven’t – and talk about blocks and obstacles. Most of which are, of course, self-imposed - for no good reason at all, as far as I can see.
It’s strange, I love writing with a passion but I will always come up with a million and one reasons for doing something else, like mowing the lawn. (And what is that all about?) I’m not talking about writing for clients or even blogging, both of which I do in my office under the eaves at the top of the house, using my iMac. (Maybe this means that I see the blog as an extension of my professional life . . .?)
One of the things Briony suggested was ‘Morning Pages’ à la Julia Cameron. I haven’t got the book but as Morning Pages cropped up twice elsewhere within a few days, I thought that someone, somewhere, was trying to tell me something. So, I went to Julia C’s website http://www.theartistsway.com/ and got the idea. Three pages, handwritten without stopping, every morning, stream of consciousness stuff. And don't re-read for at least 12 weeks. This is how we write in our weekly group, except that we share what we've written. As a result, the blank page no longer holds the terrors that it did three years ago. So, I have been doing Morning Pages for a couple of weeks now, very early, in bed - with a mega cup of tea on hand.
But it’s the other personal writing, the stories, the everlasting novel, the ideas for characters, faces, places, plots and fictional conversations that I needed to do something about. In discussion with Briony, we agreed that it might be better to do this writing away from the office in another part of the house, as long as it was somewhere that was conducive to making the words flow.
And I remembered my small, antique writing bureau: Edwardian, mahogany inlaid with rosewood, and a flap that you open out that is just big enough to take an iBook or a large notebook. I could make it the focal point of a sort of sacred space, just for writing from the heart (as opposed to the head). It smells of polish and old wood.
It’s in the perfect spot, alongside a large picture window with views across to the vineyard. I still have to do some furniture clearing to give myself room to breathe (and to minimise distractions) but I’ve already bought some white, scented lilies and put them in a glass vase on top of the bureau . . .
I am going to sit down and start plundering all those dozens of notebooks full of stories that didn’t get finished or that need polishing. May the writing muse sit on my shoulder, keep an eye on my efforts and ensure that inspiration is forthcoming.
