As we approach the end of the eighth week since lockdown three, a week in which we learned what the next phase of our national Covid coping strategy might be, it seems fitting to share a little of what’s got me through this one. In large part, this journal.
Although I write for a living, it’s often and especially lately commissioned work, where a brief/the bones of an idea is given and I’ll either fill in the space between or put my spin on it. In the past few years as I’ve written more books and thus lengthier texts on subjects close to my heart – namely the natural world and the connections between plants and people – I’ve felt a growing urge to reveal my thoughts, opinions and observations in a more direct way as well. An unfettered stream of consciousness on what’s going on in my head, the world at large or both. I guess it comes from finding my niche, growing confidence and perhaps just getting older and bolder!
After several redesigns of my website, attempts sustaining an informative blog and trying to shoehorn a natural predilection for long-form content into the squares and caption boxes of Instagram, I realised that several major things held me back from posting consistently and thus keeping it up:
Time: Even a short post on IG can get stressful (see while juggling paid work, being the primary carer for two young and active boys and running a home. There also needs to be time for healthy living = exercise and socialising. This is just the truth of it.
Vehicle: Basically, I’m a keyboard kind of girl. I love writing emails, speed-typing articles and books and spending hours faffing around on Indesign. I hate typing with my index finger on my phone – my neck, shoulders, eyes and children do not thank me for it.
Perfectionism: As a professional writer, editor and artist, it often feels like every word, piece of punctuation, image and crop needs to be just so. This is great but can potentially inhibit the flow of behind the scenes ideas.
Ambition: I always want to do so much that I can quickly get overwhelmed with not fulfilling on that list.
Rigidity: When I need to get shit done, I often fall to a formula to help out and if I can’t fulfil on that I feel stressed.
Fear: What if I get something wrong/piss someone off/look too shouty/appear too insipid/let someone down/forget to tag someone/don’t have time to respond/suddenly don’t have the energy or time to engage or would just rather do the conversational thing in person etc etc
As our third lockdown loomed, however, and somewhat conveniently on the first day of the year, the urge to journal came up again. Partly to do with writing while work was a bit lean and I was homeschooling and partly inspired by a friend who keeps a journal as a sort of daily therapy.
What I didn’t want to do though, was go down the same obstacle course of a route. And so I sat at my computer and stared at a blank screen and then I looked out of the window and stared at the grey sky and to be quite honest right there, right then, on the 1st January 2021 the landscape and the immediate future seemed pretty bleak. Just me and my keyboard and the sky up above.
And there it was, my first Eureka moment. Just write the bloody thing and stick a picture of the sky on it. The sky from my garden, the sky from the flats, the sky in the morning, the sky at night, the sky in the rain, the sky set alight, in fact any sky of any time from anywhere will do – and if one day that sky is not shot within 1 mile of my house well that will be a major bonus!
This created some consistency but took the pressure off my desire to create the perfectly illustrated and captioned feature every time. Recording the sky through the seasons has also proven to be a beautiful and uplifting form of therapy in itself. Sometimes the sky is just what it is. Sometimes it perfectly reflects the mood of the day or even the nation. And sometimes I think I’ve actively gone searching for the sky that most says what I want it to on that day.
My second act of liberation was to make my journal public but just not to tell anyone – just a few trusted friends from time to time. Thus there was a certain amount of pressure to upkeep (that’s my work ethic and integrity right there) but with the emphasis on doing it for myself rather than anyone else. Creating a digital journal also works for me. I love the rhythm and flow of moving my hands across the keyboard and watching sentences come out and then get rearranged, editing as I go – somewhat akin to playing the piano (which is how I learnt to type in the first place; that’s another story). I also find it quite hard to write with a pen and paper these days – I can’t even read my own handwriting sometimes!
Finally, I purposely kept my headlines short and succinct and gave myself permission to just write ‘There are no words’ if the words didn’t come. So far, this hasn’t happened. In fact, I can’t seem to stop writing so on time short days I just write really fast. I also made a promise to myself not to edit anything aside from the ‘editing as I go’ and the odd but not guaranteed spellcheck. This journal is not about the finished piece and it’s certainly not about the grammar; it’s an ongoing log of my observations but also a soundboard for ideas and emotions.
After 56 days of writing every day, I’ve found that the words have started to write themselves. Some days I know what I want to write about the day before; most days I’m out quite early, running or getting some fresh air and I often have a thought or idea then based on a natural observation or something I’ve heard on the news or the radio, or read in a book or magazine.
But I’ve also found that the minute I sit down with a blank but now collective page, something always comes to mind. If it doesn’t, I just write about plants. Often I’m rambling on about the sky for ten minutes and then I tangent into something else. One day I subconsciously wrote a mini feature about hydrangeas. The week before that I planned out my garden.
There are odes to flatplans (tool of the trade), political bemoans, homeschooling meltdowns, spiritual enlightenings, yoga happenings and multiple walks, stomps and runs around Wanstead Park and The Flats. Magnolia bud awakenings, murmurations of starlings, a post title ‘Iguanas’ (no idea what that was about!) and testaments to soil and other snippets of published work. Frozen ponds, snow drifts and energy-boosting solar powering. And one of my best days – when I finally spotted the Little Owl. All, as far as I’m concerned, a part of the botanical world, which is really just the world at large.
Journalling it appears, is just a really good way of talking to yourself. And with reduced contact and prolonged conversation during lockdown, that has been a godsend. Without jinxing things too much, I think I’m in it for life and if you’re now reading this (as I’ve finally gone public), I’d highly recommend. You’re more than welcome to read my journal but I’ll still be selfishly – no, helpfully – writing it mainly for myself.
X