Return to Writing

Between the blog I wrote on 8^th May and today I have changed a lot. My Nana, a woman who has inspired me in my life, was diagnosed with lung cancer. At first we believed she’d battle through it, like she did with everything else, but within a month of the diagnosis she had passed away. The months of May and June were unbearable. We spend every day fighting the natural urge to believe there was no hope, so when we were told it was terminal it was a big blow. We didn’t allow ourselves to weep but focused on completing my Nana’s wishes. Firstly her 60^th wedding anniversary was coming up in October and she wanted to be able to celebrate it, so on 26^th May 2012 we threw a party for her, my granddad and close family and friends. The rain clouds had hidden away and the sun was shining her face down on us. It was a very emotional and beautiful day.  My sister and I wrote a speech and poem about how our grandparents had guided and inspired us, my mum created beautiful flower arrangements and a family friend did all the catering, and together we saved to buy my Nana a diamond bracelet (which I will be wearing on my wedding day on 26^th May 2013).

Two days after this celebration, she got much worse and spent the next week in hospital. It became mine and my fiancé Lewis’ role to compile her poems into a book and get them printed. My Nana wrote the most beautiful poems. She could twist and turn ordinary words to create vibrant images that stock in your mind, but most importantly she told you a story.  A week after her anniversary party I received a phone call saying she was doing to die and I needed to make the 4 hour journey up to Wales as quickly as possible. Never in my life had I felt so helpless. Lewis put his foot down and we drove in a wild panic up to Wales, getting stuck behind tractor after tractor on the way. It was when we were stopped, five minutes away from the hospital, by a crossing train that I broke down. I wept. I couldn’t bear the thought that I wouldn’t get to say goodbye. I clutched onto the book of poems, which had arrived that morning, as though it were the Holy Bible. Nothing would tear me away from it and I knew I would protect it with my life. We made it to the hospital and I jumped out the car, whilst Lewis was parking, and run up to the room with my sister, who was waiting for me. We found Nana surrounded by the family and memory of her appearance, so different from that of my Nana, will never leave me, no matter how much I want it to. Being the fighter she was, Nana clung on for nearly a week. Conscious for two days and then asleep for the other four. Those first few days were a miracle. We were on borrowed time, time she wasn’t meant to have, but for some reason had been given. She seemed to brighten up and at times it was hard to believe she could be dying.

We spent wonderful hours with her watching the initial Jubilee celebrations and reading her poems; she even found time to tell us a story so funny my Aunty and I were crying with laughter, about the Queen tripping over her corgi and being unable to do her royal wave, so my Nana having to do it and her hand be superimposed onto the royal footage. Seeing my Nana’s eyes light up with pleasure as she saw our reaction to her story was something I’ll never forget. On 8^th June around 2am, she passed away in her sleep.

After her death and funeral, I developed a love hate relationship with writing. Writing has always been my escape. I write to be transported to a wonderful place of life and possibilities,  but this has always been somewhere I’ve shared with Nana, so I felt that I couldn’t go there anymore because I would just write about her, and I wasn’t ready for that. I even struggled with my amateur dramatics rehearsals because I just didn’t feel like I could let myself feel anything , this meant my acting was wooden and shallow. I couldn’t talk about it and I certainty couldn’t write about it. But then something changed. There was a moment were my passionate for writing was re-ignited.

Lewis had gone off to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, to perform in his Improvisation show, and I’d been left home alone. I was so scared of the emotions I hadn’t let myself feel, coming out, so I booked in with the University’s counsellor. I figured it was healthier to moan and cry to a counsellor then it was to sit alone in a flat and sob myself to sleep; and it did help. I talked for an hour about all my fears, my memories, my worries and cried until my eyes were sore and inflamed, and my head felt like it would tear open. This was step one of my return to writing; letting the pain out.

Two days later my future parents-in-law held their 25^th wedding anniversary party. As Lewis was away, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go, as I’m very awkward in social situations and struggle to spark conversations. However, as the alternative was being alone with my thoughts, I decided to chance it. About half an hour in, a man came over and introduced himself; his name was Darin. He was tanned, with light hair and had pale blue eyes that had an x-ray quality; when I looked into them I was sure he could see into me. As it turned out, he was a literacy agent and a family friend of the in-laws. I started speaking to him about my current work-in-progress (YA Fantasy) and he was actually interested in the story. On some level I’d always believed it was a good story, but I’d never imagined anyone else would be interested in it. Darin really inspired me that night and made me realise exactly what the real story within my story was and where it needed to go. He made me realise how much of me is in this story and why I was compelled to write this one first. I left that party feeling confident and most importantly, desperate to get behind a keyboard. This was step two of my return to writing; revitalisation and letting myself get excited about my story again.

It just so happened that two days after this party I had booked to spend four days and three nights in a converted stables in a village near Telford. I’d booked it months and months before, for the purpose of being a writing retreat. After my nana’s death I’d feared going somewhere unfamiliar, being alone and writing, but after my encounter with Darin I was actually excited, though very nervous. I spent the first day writing out everything that happened in my novel and working out what order and in what chapter it should all take place. It was hard realising that certain characters and events weren’t needed and needed to be cut out. Though it stressed me out, after this waffle had been cut, I felt refreshed and excited about my story again. Strangely enough, the hardest part of getting back to writing was actually doing it. I had forgotten how to write. And I don’t mean I’d forgotten how to write dialogue or spell, I mean I sat down by the computer and…nothing happened. I tried everything. I tried having a cup of tea next to me, having chocolate, being outside, being inside, playing music, having silence, but  I just couldn’t do it. In the end I found I needed to be outside with a bottle of water and one head phone in, listening to music that had similar emotions to what I was writing. In truth it didn’t matter, I could have written hanging upside down from the ceiling (though I agree it would be difficult), but because I was starting again, writing anew, I was scared and needed to feel comfortable. This was the third step of returning to writing; remembering what works for me and doing it.

So this is where I am now. By the end of that trip I had written drafts of my first three chapters. Since then I haven’t done much and yes I could blame it on the new job, moving house, planning for the wedding and my play’s, closely approaching, opening night, but in reality it’s my fault, because I haven’t followed the fourth and final step of returning to writing, and that’s creating a routine. I haven’t continued writing regularly and so that means that it doesn’t feel like a priority, more like a treat. I admit this something I know I need to work on. I need to put my foot down and drag myself to the computer and rather than writing blogs (oops), write stories.

Anyone been through a break in their writing and have any advice?