The Gods of Writing

Returning to Unfinished Work.

The gods of writing move in mysterious ways. This time last week I had in mind what felt like a well-formed writing project. I’d ordered some books. I’d started on the research, dipping in and out of various texts and letting ideas surface. Voices had begun to emerge. I needed this writing project. I always need a writing project and I felt happy to have found one. I had no doubt that the idea was sound and I could see the novel, though I hesitate to call it that, stretching out into a series of images. It had substance. And yet, I was uneasy, something in my writing world felt wrong.

By the weekend, when I sat waiting in the strangely empty, Sunday, ophthalmology, clinic at our local hospital (for my routine tests and appointment) I knew the project was stalling. I suspected it was doomed.

It was not the cold I spoke of last week that had stopped me in my tracks. What had stopped me, I realised; what had made me question the whole enterprise, was the heart sink I felt every time I came to it, every time I thought about it. It had suddenly became a great weight, a burden to carry. It felt hard. Too hard.

I know of course that no idea worth pursuing is easy, but there’s a hard that excites, and there’s a hard that drains your life blood, and I don’t need that kind of hard in my life right now. I know that another time the project would succeed and I would revel in its demands and complexities. However now is not that time. Now is the time to know there are many ideas open to me, ‘and the next beautiful book may be hiding under the weight of a project that feels like an obligation.’ Jane Friedman

Sunday afternoon into the evening, I sit with these thoughts. Then as if from nowhere, a song on the radio, an image of a north country quilt, and a flash of memory - a nineteenth century church reflected in skyscraper glass- has me turning to my laptop and opening up an old file. This is a piece of work begun, then left, then worked on again, then left, still only in its infancy.

I think about what it would be to continue this work. It feels good, it’s feels joyful even, a world away from striving to write about something of importance, about making a mark, about publication. It makes me think that perhaps this is the time to pick up where I left off with this manuscript and allow more joy and playfulness back into my writing.

So how do we return to a piece of writing we’ve left unfinished?

If like me you have more than one unfinished project, I suggest you pick the one you’re most excited about. You probably know in your heart or gut which it is.

It’s worth asking why it was unfinished. Was it life or circumstance that got in the way, or was something else holding you back? If there was a barrier it’s a good idea to acknowledge it. This should help to overcome it and move forward. It’s also worth remembering how easy it is to discard and undervalue our work.

 Restarting doesn’t have to mean you go from the beginning. You don’t have to rethink the whole project or make a huge plan.

Start tentatively, in small ways. No word counts. No plans. No deadlines. Reacquaint yourself with the manuscript. Open up the file and read the first few pages. Begin to edit some of those early paragraphs. Share the idea with your writing buddy. Make a list of three scenes that you’re going to write. Keep thinking about the book (or the story or the poems). Make a playlist that brings you back to the mood and the voice. Find images that evoke this mood and put them on your desktop or print them off. Find poems that resonate with the time or the place. Switch things around a bit, shake them up, change the context, the location, the season, the characters’ names - all or any of these will invigorate the work and help you begin again.

And you will not be alone. I am in the process of doing this, right now!

It occurs to me that there is always unfinished work in our lives. There is the autumn bulb planting we meant to do but didn’t get round to. (I’m guilty) I don’t recall where I read the extract, or who wrote it - perhaps you can help me - but I remember a gardener writing about spending a dark, Christmas Eve, digging and planting the bulbs that she’d so wanted to get in the ground, having failed to plant them earlier. To me this was a triumph of hope and creativity. And so much better than spending the day stuffing a turkey!

Now, coming towards the end of a year, seems to me, to be a good time for considering what we’ve left unfinished, what we’ve neglected or failed to do that was important to us. A time for reconnection, for valuing rather than discarding, and for taking our intentions with us to Christmas Eve, and beyond into 2024.

Thanks for reading

Avril x

Image - Ralph’s Photos Pixaby