WriteWhereYouAre

 

You possibly won’t have noticed, but I have changed my banner to read ‘WriteWhereYouAre’.

The reason is simple. I’ve remembered.

There was a time when I wrote almost constantly, wherever I was, whatever I was doing. I’d have a notebook and pen beside the ironing board, another in the kitchen, yet another beside my bed. I’d write on trains, on buses, in waiting rooms, in cafes, in bed, in the bathroom. Literally, wherever I was, if the muse took me, I wrote. I wrote in notebooks, on my laptop, on the back of the cheques in my cheque book, on scraps of paper, even on my arm or my underskirt if nothing more suitable came to hand. If all else failed, I wrote in my head, storing stories for the first opportunity to transfer them onto something more likely to last than my hopeless memory.

So, when did I forget? When did I start thinking I needed laptop or paper and pen on a well-lit desk, a comfy seat, time set aside? When did I start flexing my fingers and expecting inspiration to come at my bidding, stifling creativity till suitably seated and equipped? I had all but stopped making progress with my next novel, staring at the blank screen, the empty page waiting for someone else to fill it.

We had ‘annus horribilis’ and I couldn’t get past it: first my mother was seriously ill and died, then my mother-in-law. My creative flow dried up. Writing seemed an impossibility.

But it’s in my blood, I’m sure it is. I’ve always written. It’s who I am: one of the things that makes me ‘me’.

I began to feel like the hardy little snowdrops that flower in our garden. Every year, no matter how hard a winter, they push their shoots up through the frost-hardened, snow-covered ground. Their shoots grow firm and strong. Fragile, slender stems appear, new buds swelling, gently bulging on the thinnest of stalks. It seems impossible they can survive yet another blast of icy wind, yet another snowfall. But they do. And those buds open slowly, oh so slowly, to reveal perfection in all its glory.

Now, I know my writing is not perfection. Let’s not get carried away with the illustration. But I also know that somehow, I have weathered the winter of this past year and, though the stem of my creativity is still a little fragile, it’s beginning to bear blossom again.

So, if you see me scribbling in the snow, if it looks like I’m studying the freckles on my arm, or I’m leaning back, eyes closed, unable to hear you…don’t assume I’m ‘losing it’.

No! I’ve found it again! That love of writing…anywhere…

Have you written in odd places? Or on unusual items? I’d love to hear from you, if you’d care to leave a comment telling me how you WriteWhereYouAre.

Look forward to hearing from you, snowdrops,

Christine x

 

10 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. jennieorbell
    Mar 28, 2013 @ 06:48:29

    Loved this post Christine – especially the imagery.Many things go through a stage of dormancy before they bloom so why not writers?

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  2. cicampbell2013
    Mar 28, 2013 @ 11:20:28

    Absolutely, Jennie.
    Have you ever written in rather odd places?

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  3. cjbro
    Apr 02, 2013 @ 05:13:52

    Good post, Christine. I too keep a notepad handy to jot down sudden inspirations, ideas, quotes … Saw a great quote at a museum once and didn’t have the notepad so I tried texting it to my husband’s phone — only to be reminded by the security guard no cell phones allowed. I sometimes jot down my dreams too (if they have the makings of a good story). Also enjoyed reading about Gus’s biking adventures! You can find my blog at caroljbro.com
    Carol B

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  4. cicampbell2013
    Apr 02, 2013 @ 22:00:04

    Thanks Carol. Enjoyed your blog too. Great blog about your mum: made me feel as though I’d met her. Enjoyed the photos: it was nice to see what you look like these days.
    Christine

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  5. viqe
    Apr 03, 2013 @ 14:02:25

    Love this… This is exactly what one of my poems is about. U have it, u can read it now with this in mind: Confession. Totally feel what it’s like. I used to carry a green notebook with me everywhere I went and whenever, wherever I got inspired, I just started writing. I would go for long walks in the city, sit down on the ground, the grass, benches… I would write during classes, on buses. Sometimes in restaurants on napkins, on my arm just like you, etc. Anywhere, anytime. And then life happened and gradually forgot how to…

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  6. cicampbell2013
    Apr 04, 2013 @ 00:45:00

    Yes, Viqe,
    I understand your poem better now. And you’ll go back to writing wherever & whenever the muse takes you from time to time. I know life gets in the way for a while, but, like you expressed in your poem, writing has a way of drawing you back.
    Check out Kristin Lamb’s blog on the Three Phases of Becoming a Master Author…it’s very good.
    Christine

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  7. jorobinson176
    Apr 05, 2013 @ 10:41:43

    So true! I used to write in scrappy notebooks on the couch all the time. It’s funny how the computer takes over. Great that you’ve found you love of writing again – you sound inspired. Good for you!

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  8. Christine Campbell
    Apr 05, 2013 @ 20:43:28

    Thanks for your comment, Jo. Yes, it’s wonderful to be writing again. I thought I’d lost what had been a ‘friend’ through all sorts of difficult times. But, yes, the computer is definitely taking over slowly but surely.

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  9. Karen Wyld
    Apr 09, 2013 @ 09:07:15

    Congratulations on getting your writing mojo back. Thanks for the timely reminder (I have had IT issues lately) that a writer doesn’t need a computer with all the bells and whistles to be creative; a writer just writes – on any available item or surface.

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  10. cicampbell2013
    Apr 10, 2013 @ 00:14:23

    Exactly! Funny though how we forget that from time to time. Must say, sometimes I write my shopping lists in my best handwriting, just to enjoy the flow of the pen on the paper. Then I know its time I did some serious writing by hand. Judy Reeves, in her excellent handbook, ‘A Writer’s Book of Days’, encourages writers to do daily writing exercises by hand. She reckons, “If you keep your writing hand moving, you’ll bypass the censor, the editor, the critic, and if you’re lucky, maybe even the ego.”

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