Years ago I read an essay by Anne Tyler that made a huge impact on me, called 'Still Just Writing'. I'd like to trace that essay again and when I find it, I'll post a chunk of it here. Tyler's essay concerned the way she fitted writing around her domestic life, how sometimes weeks went by when she wrote not a word. Things got in the way - the dog had to go to the vet; children got ill; visitors arrived. Then, miraculously, chunks of time became free and she had a couple of weeks where she managed to sketch out a novel outline before again being overwhelmed by domestic chaos. The essay, of course, is hugely encouraging to women like myself who write in between bringing up the children, who know what it feels like when writing gets relegated to the sidelines. Because Tyler, in spite of all, kept writing, when she could, in small increments, and those chunks of time that she did recover for herself became wonderful, compelling novels.
So, in this past week, where I've hardly found time to work on my novel, let alone blog, I keep faith and I remember to 'still just write'. And when I'm not writing, to live in the present and never regret one moment when I am not at my desk.
As I write now, my husband is reading the diaires of Kenneth Williams. It's a huge volume, though I notice that his opening entries are absurdly short and pithy. Which makes me feel less guilty that I write so briefly here because doubtless it is better than not writing at all.
Would you send "Still Just Writing" to me?
Posted by: Helen | December 07, 2007 at 07:08 AM