a week in the life of a writer
gray summer days, lots of cups of tea, slow and steady progress
Summer in Ireland is a fickle thing. This week it fled again, leaving behind dull, gray cloud-filled days that don’t even have the decency to give you a spectacular rain shower. Or even rain at all. Summer comes back only in fleeting glimpses. Monday evening I went for a walk that could have been on any summer evening, sun breaking through the clouds, warm enough to dander about in a t-shirt. But the rest of the week was so gray and dull and long and boring that when I sat down to write this newsletter, I couldn’t even remember that I went for a walk on Monday evening until I looked at my notes. The dull clouds scrub everything from my mind except the tiredness I felt all week sitting at my desk.
The fun drinks have been replaced with endless cups of tea, necessary to maintain the fortitude to carry on. There’s a reason tea is so popular in this country.
A repetitive week. Almost every morning looked the same. But these are also weeks when work gets done. Even though I felt sluggish every time I sat down at my desk, the writing still happened. I haven’t finished reading my rough draft yet, I brainstormed the second draft of a short story instead of writing the second draft of a short story, but I’m still making progress.
Monday
I’m full of enthusiasm to start a new week until I wake up and the stomach bug hits me. No writing group for me this week. The weather outside matches my mood as I work from the couch, drinking lots of tea, and slowly picking my way through my to-do list. This is the last of my July Mondays where I’m focusing on my short stories, so I brainstorm the second draft of a story I wrote last month. I had wanted to finish a new draft of the story today, but it’s not just the illness keeping me from my goal. This story isn’t ready for a second draft yet. It needs more time to simmer.
The sun peaks out in the evenings, shining through the clouds, low near the horizon as it edges towards sunset. It hasn’t been cold today, despite the clouds, so I go for an evening walk and pretend that it’s actually summer for a few minutes.
Tuesday
The usual morning routine: get up, go for a walk, sit down to work. I’ve set aside today to focus on reading the first draft of my novel. This is taking me a lot longer than I expected. Almost like I have a whole book to read through. Imagine that.
Break for lunch. Get back to work. Don’t make it to the end of the first draft today.
Wednesday
Starting the day with a long walk/hike, I get out of the house before 8 am. It’s another flat sky this morning. Barely a quarter of the way up the hill, just past the first steep bit when the trail levels off, I feel a sharp sting on my leg and bat away the horsefly that’s just bitten my leg. This is the first summer living here that I’ve really noticed stinging insects about.
Further up, I catch a break in my gray, dull week. It’s sunny somewhere today. Not here, there’s not sunshine landing on my skin, but I can see it illuminating hedgerows and fields off in the distance. The patch-work sunlight out across the rolling hills paints everything in that dramatic light I think of quintessentially here. Sunlight reflects off the Irish sea in the distance, harsh and white. It’s a perfectly pleasant sort of cool as I sit at the top, listening to the wind rustling the long, golden grass. I linger at the top, mind quiet and peaceful.
Eventually it’s time to go back. Home, shower, get started on work. A mix of writing and non-writing today. For the writing, I continue picking my way through my first draft, taking notes on the story. Reading this draft has taught me to look at the story, not the words. Some of the scenes are amazing, a lot are so rough as to be almost painful to read. Those scenes force me into looking at what’s happening in the story, rather than just the words on the page.
Thursday
The morning begins with an extra 30 minutes of screen time, but I still managed to get out for a brief walk and I’m at my desk by 9.30 am. There’s a moment that’s showing up lately. In this moment, I sit down at my desk, notebook open, pen ready, tea hot. And in this moment I feel the overwhelming urge to open Instagram and scroll. I’ve finally pinpointed that’s a moment of being overwhelmed, stemming from all the big projects, the nebulous things that still need to be translated into the next tiny step.
Instead of scrolling, I knock out some non-writing things that have been lingering on my to-do list for a while. Then I head into town, stopping at Boot’s to pick up some hydrocortisone cream for the horsefly bite that’s ballooned on my thigh.
Then it’s off to the coffeeshop, an iced oat matcha and a few un-interrupted hours to sit and stew about my story. I it working through some outline problems; clarifying motivations, inciting incidents, catalysts, and the “all is lost” moment.
The middle of this story is still soft and mushy. If I had to write the outline out from memory, I wouldn’t remember what, precisely, happens in the middle. The events aren’t tightly connected to the plot and character arcs yet.
Friday
Out for a short stroll first thing, then home to make tea and I’m at my desk by 9.30 am. It’s the first of the month, so I start the day with planning out August. I love this part of the month, making lists and plans, notes on the calendar.
The rest of the morning flies by as I write, head down, focused. When I look up, it’s past 11.30, not that I could tell the time has passed by looking out the window. It’s as gray as it’s been all week.
I spend the afternoon writing this newsletter. Just as I finish, the sun comes out, a bright, warm beam of sunshine landing across my desk.