Welcome back to A Writing Life, and to the final of six guest articles from long-time 26 member Anita Holford. Each month, we invite her to share stories from her writing life, reflecting on what it means to live as a writer today.
It’s Sunday morning, less than a week before the deadline for this column. And instead of sitting at my computer to write, I did something counter-intuitive – at least for me. I walked to where the River Monnow flows under an ancient gatehouse bridge, on its way to join the Wye. It’s at the bottom of the high street in Monmouth, five minutes from where I live. I took my notebook, which in these last few months has started to fill again with words, phrases, and scraps of ideas.
Out of nowhere, some phrases came to mind, so strongly and persistently that I had to divert from my path to write them down. “She’s in a world of her own”. “Away with the fairies”. “Lizzie Dripping”. Phrases directed at me as a child that, at the time, made me feel ashamed (all except “Lizzie Dripping”, which was my Dad’s occasional nickname for me, and always delivered with a chuckle and a warm smile).
Yet looking back now, I realise that I should have been proud. What a precious thing – to be deep in your own thoughts, imagining, reflecting. And I realise it’s what’s so often missing from our adult lives – and certainly from mine.
I took a left, about one minute’s walk from my home, to a pond fringed with mature bird-filled trees, and packed with ducks waddling around with cowboy swagger. I rarely come here – but it’s the perfect place for writing. I vowed to come here more often, alone, and away with the fairies.
I had been hoping to come away with something that I could share as my final triumphant ‘I did it’ moment for this column. But creativity doesn’t work like that does it? At least not always. So, I left armed with pages of connected and unconnected words, phrases and reflections that may or may not become something. Then, on sitting at my computer, I started a rough draft, separate to the draft for this column. I became distracted by it, and it became this, very quickly:
Whatever people say I am, I’m not
Number 3 in a series*
What if a river isn’t beautiful?
What if a river isn’t all the things we say it is?
Ugly, not beautiful.
Angry, not calm.
Dirty, not clear.
Chaotic, not soothing.
Poisoned arteries, green scum rising.
What happened to humankind?
When did we abandon nature for greed and gain?
Come to the river. Look closely.
It masks its pain, but for how long?
* This is the third time I’ve borrowed that title from the song by the Arctic Monkeys. Firstly, for a map that wasn’t what it seemed; then for my daughter, who isn’t what the world’s categories say she is; and now for the river. I think it may be time to park it, but who knows?
Six months ago, I began this column with some trepidation, wondering aloud whether I was a ‘proper’ writer.
In April, I described the tab I hadn’t managed to open – the free-range imagination with no deadline, client or brief. In May, I admitted I was still circling it. And then, today, almost by accident, I nudged it open again. The poem isn’t what I planned to write. I was hoping for something that would let me end this column with a reflection about rivers and creativity and finding my way back to myself. But the Monnow had other ideas. And perhaps that’s the point. You can’t plan what the muse will give you – you can only keep showing up, and paying attention.
What these six months have also reminded me is that perhaps the ‘Me’ doesn’t disappear just because the ‘We’, ‘It’ and ‘Them’ take over. It’s already nudging its way into all aspects of life and work. And it’s always there, waiting, for the more free-range moments.
I’m not going to pretend I’ve resolved the tension I started with. I’m still a communications practitioner who writes for purpose, and I still feel the pull of that work. But I’m also slowly and imperfectly, making more space for the other kind. More Sunday mornings at the river, and more time away with the fairies.
Thank you for reading. It’s meant a lot to share this writing life with you.
Anita
If you’d like to know more about Anita’s writing life, explore her website or connect on LinkedIn.
We are now 2 years into this series of writings. Next month, originator Rob Self-Pierson will return for a special article, but from August, we will be looking for a new writer to carry the baton – either for a one-off, a short stint, or a long haul. Please get in touch with max@whiteweavearts.co.uk if you would be prepared to let us share your Writing Life.