March has been long and cold, marred with so many virus and rainstorms. In an ideal life, that would be the perfect time to hunker down in one’s study, by the fireside, to write deep stories in the long afternoons and evenings.
But with this picture you can look what writing looks like in real life. My writing right now, with two boisterous boys and a tiny apartment. I can’t claim a room of my own, but I have cafés everywhere, with comforting hot chocolates when the weather and the muse don’t cooperate.
I have learnt to jot words on paper (and into my phone) at random times, in public places. Last time I heard a published author say aloud that writing (in comparison to blogging) had to be done in long chunks of time, I sighed and felt rather
I don’t have long chunks of time. But I still plow on. I treasure those few minutes and I don’t waste any of them. As soon as I sit down in the café my brain is focused on the writing, any writing. It’s crazy to see how much my writing process changed from a few years back. This March I posted rather little on the blog, because I was busy with a memoir-slash-essay I wanted to finish. Or at least the first draft. I wrote everyday but for 3 days.
And somehow I did finish the essay! Although I haven’t got back to edit it just yet, it felt great to write the last sentence, as if I was freeing myself from a burden. The last few words were written in one of those cafés, and last Sunday, I brought my older son at a M&S cafeteria at the nearby mall where he studied the Lego catalogue while I was writing away. Apparently he rather enjoys it, provided it doesn’t last too long.
The awesome news is that I have applied to a writing retreat for June. A whole week by myself (with adults! writers! workshops! feedback!) to write. I can’t really imagine it just yet, but it seems so luxurious. I feel so grateful that we have found a way as a family to make it possible. A little more than two months and I’ll be there!