Go Away

Here is a thing which Agatha Christie wrote in the 50s:

“I can’t imagine why everybody is always so keen for authors to talk about writing. I should have thought it was an author’s business to write, not talk.”

Here is a thing which Shirley Jackson wrote in the 60s:

“I think that the popular notion of the writer as a person hiding away in a garret, unable to face reality, is probably perfectly true. In my own experience, contacts with the big world outside the typewriter are puzzling and terrifying; I don’t think I like reality very much. Principally, I don’t understand people outside; people in books are sensible and reasonable, but outside there is no predicting what they will do.”

Here is a thing which Sophie Collins posted on Twitter yesterday:

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by unrelenting admin.”

Here is a thing which I have thought at least once every day for the last fifteen years:

“When will these people ever go away and let me have some peace to write?”

At any given moment on any given day I am usually thinking, I wish I didn’t have to do what I’m doing because I’d rather be writing or -at a pinch- reading. I am not as nice as I pretend to be. I suspect a lot of other artists are wired very similarly.

I understand that people are a necessary evil. Friends are great; who doesn’t want friends? And I’ve come to realise that the hectic round of book events and festivals, PR, interviews and social media is a prerequisite now if you wish to have a career in writing. I don’t resent it, (at least not very often). In fact, I mostly enjoy the whole silly circus of being a writer: meeting interesting people, discussing ideas, seeing the world; what’s not to like? Admin is the notable exception. There’s honestly nothing I find as frustrating as losing afternoons, and occasionally entire days, to filing out invoices and booking flights and emailing off reams of headshots and author bios, when I could be working on a book. Admin just doesn’t feel like a good use of time.  

I think most people who aren’t book people, assume there’s some kind of practical person, (an agent, most likely), lingering in the writer’s wings, dealing with boring stuff like admin so they can focus on being consistently inspired. There isn’t. At least I don’t have an admin angel yet. I manage -or more frequently mismanage- this side of things myself. On a good day I’ll get ten to a dozen emails requiring some kind of response. Since the beginning of Lockdown, this number has risen to fifty or more requests. I get everything from ‘can you read my manuscript and give me feedback?’ to ‘can we interview you for a Spanish journal?’ to ‘will you write a lifestyle piece for our magazine about Brexit or facemasks or what you’re watching on TV these days?’ I get approached via email, text, phone and every conceivable online platform. Occasionally I even get old-fashioned mail.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly grateful to be working at a time when the arts sector is so under pressure. I’d rather be inundated and exhausted than sitting around twiddling my thumbs. But the truth is, these last eight months, I’ve spent 80% of my time being a writer, (interviewing, teaching, waffling on at over 200 online events), and given my writing, the scrappy ends of whatever’s left. If you only take one thing away from reading this blog, please learn from the mistakes I’ve made, (and endlessly continue to make). Always prioritise writing over being a writer. If you don’t, you’ll end up like I was, a fortnight ago: completely exhausted, writing drivel and starving for some creative space.

There’s a happy conclusion to this blog. I have made some decisions and a fair few changes. I’ve saved up some money and am incredibly grateful for further support from the Arts Council which has allowed me to stick my out of office on for TWO WHOLE MONTHS. Two whole months without teaching or eventing or interviewing. Two whole months of saying no, no, like 2Unlimited, to everything that appears in my inbox. Two whole months of writing instead of being a writer. Just typing this feels like taking a very deep, much-need breath. In fifteen years of writing, I’ve never had this luxury. I’m six days into my retreat this morning. So far, I’ve politely turned down seven different opportunities. Some will be lost and, as a freelancer, never sure where the next pay cheque is coming from, I need to keep fighting the anxiety associated with this. Others will wait ‘til I’m ‘back in the office’ on January 4th.

I’m not really that bothered about what I produce in the next two months. I might write a book. I might not. To be honest, as knackered as I am right now, it’s possible that I’ll just read and sleep. Productivity isn’t the point. The main thing is drastically re-imagining how I manage my time and my creativity. I have a lot to learn and some boundaries I need to put in place. I’d like to come back in January a little healthier so I can give the first and best of myself to writing. Basically, I have two months, to learn how to say ‘no’ to the wrong things and ‘yes’ to the right things and work out the difference between the two.