Our Impoverished Lives
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Write a non-fiction piece prompted by these words by George Monbiot.
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Writing outdoors
/At the slightest excuse I unchain myself from my desk, break out of the building, and write in nature. I love to write outdoors because, in the act of writing about it, in the words of American poet, E.E. Cummings, the world becomes ‘mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful’. There is no better feeling than when words canter on the broad savannah, dive deep in the dark ocean, and swoop in the vast blue sky.
Why are you a writer-in-the wild?
Please write and tell me about it.
Prowling your territory
/Go out into your garden, or into a public green space. What is the history of the land you stand on? Using your knowledge of how the land has been used over time, the evidence of objects you find, and your imagination, write a 1000 word story about it.
The Wild Animal
/A visualisation:
Close your eyes and imagine that the writing project you are currently engaged in is a wild animal.
- What animal is it?
- Can you see the whole of its shape and movement, or are you are currently just glimpsing a part of it?
- As you write, imagine following it into its natural territory.
- Where does that take the writing?
Wildness and craziness
/Wildness and craziness are not the same thing at all. ‘Wild words’ are connected, contained, channelled, a healthy expression of our thoughts and feelings. ‘Crazy words’ are disconnected, rambling, unfocussed, out of control.
We want our characters and situations to ‘live’, and to ‘jump off the page’. They must, however, do it on our terms, not theirs.
Look back at the written work you’ve produced over the past month/year/decade(s) (depending on how long you’ve been writing). How often when you’ve written, have you had a sense of being in control of the words, and how often have the words controlled you?
From block to flow
/Think for a moment about the word ‘block’.
‘Block’ is a metaphor that has its origins, (like most metaphors) in our embodied physical experience.
- How do you experience writer’s block in your body- as constriction, or tension, or hardness perhaps?
- Where in your body (if anywhere) do you feel it?
Now, think about the word ‘flow’.
- Again, where do you experience flow in your body?
- How would you describe the qualities of it?
Move your attention precisely but gently between the place in your body where you feel block, and the one where you feel flow. By pendulating between the block and the flow in this way you should notice the block gradually start to unwind, or ease.
I’d be fascinated to hear your experiences of undertaking this exercise, if you’d like to put them down in writing and send them to me.
Inner And Outer Worlds
/One of the most magical aspects of being a writer is that fact that while we are washing up in our humble abode (or undertaking similar mundane tasks), we can simultaneously be living out a whole other life in our imagination.
Write a piece of poetry or prose that explores the similarities and differences, the agreements and contradictions, between our outer and inner worlds.
Helen Ellwood on Life and Writing
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Helen Ellwood talks to me about her writing and life process...
When I began writing 'Message in a Bottle', I wasn't thinking about publication,
I simply wanted to escape the pain of a spine-damaging car crash. By thinking about my time living as a South Seas castaway, and recording my memories on a Dictaphone, I was able to distract myself from my disability.
As the years rolled by, and my health improved to the point where I could sit up and use voice-activated software, I began to believe in my story. In reality, who goes to an uninhabited desert island to get away from their troubles? I did, and it was a story worth telling, yet for some reason I couldn't finish the wretched thing.
Originally, I'd gone to the island to have an adventure and thereby heal my grief. My mother had died only the year before, and I couldn't cope. I ran away to ‘paradise’, tried to face my demons and returned alive, but did that really make a story? Self-doubt kicked in.
In 2011, I gained a few writerly tools and a dose of self-confidence from Bridget’s writing course at Swanwick Summer School, and a year later gained the interest of literary agent Meg Davies. At this point, I was still focusing on the travel adventure; putting my inner journey second.
I failed to hold Meg’s attention, but my next re-write, in which I focused more strongly on the inner journey, got long-listed for the Mslexia Memoir Competition 2014. So far so good, but Bridget felt I hadn't yet reached the heart of my story. Something indefinable was missing.
I’d gone to the island to find freedom from grief, yet once there, I’d remained emotionally restrained. Why hadn’t I been able to yell and roar – to heal? Why hadn’t I been able to challenge my companion when I needed to? Why had I let the press walk all over me?
As I read through my manuscript with an open mind, I realised my book was actually about authenticity.
I was brought up to be a well-behaved child. Unfortunately, I became too well-behaved; I grew into an adult afraid of authentic self-expression. I was a wild child in conformist clothing. This inability to speak my truth dogged my adventure on all levels. I had found the heart of my story. My journey was complete.
By writing my thoughts and feelings in italics, and showing my actual speech and behaviour in normal text, my latest rewrite explores the mismatch between the two; giving rise to insight and personal change, with a refreshing touch of humour, all set in an exotic and claustrophobic environment.
I am very grateful to Bridget for helping me give birth to my Desert Island memoir.
Winter Solstice Competition Runner-up: Hannah Ray, with You Were Born in a Pandemic