Also Counts as Writing
I’m so lucky to be able to call myself a full-time writer. You better believe I appreciate it – I love my job and I'm grateful every day to live in Ireland where there is financial support for the arts. Family complain – ‘You’re always up in the attic writing’ (yes, writer-in-attic cliché unlocked) – and they’re not wrong. When my writing is going well, I would write all day, every day. Life, however, has a way of getting in the way of that. This week is no exception.
Actually, this week is all kinds of exceptional. On Monday, I had plans. I had a list in my desk diary of what I hoped to achieve. I’m doing the SmokeLong Fitness workshop, and I read the task on Monday morning. I thought about which of my (many) pieces awaiting revision I might apply the task to. And then, a lovely piece of news was announced on social media – I made the longlist of a short story prize in the UK, and I fell down a social media rabbit hole: twitter, Bluesky, Instagram, even Facebook. I liked, replied, reposted. Connected with friends and other writers. The rest of my day vanished into my phone and my family.
Tuesday was a whole new day. Determined to make up for the distraction of Monday, I locked into revisions. I made it to the gym, met a friend for coffee, then got down to work. I did writing sprints with a friend over WhatsApp. I revised three pieces, and submitted two of them. The third piece went to another writing friend for some feedback. A satisfactory day’s work.
On Wednesday, I realised how close it was to finding out about a writing competition where the stakes felt personally very high for me. I skipped the gym in favour of working hard on my writing to distract myself. By lunchtime, I had done the following – made five batches of chicken curry, done two loads of washing, cleared the dining room table and polished it, cleaned the entire kitchen, scrubbed the stove top including the burner covers, and…no writing. Anxiety cleaning is very effective – if not productive. I was convinced I wasn’t going to hear anything about the writing competition. This piece of writing is the thing I'm most proud of to date, and I was shattered at the thought it wouldn’t make it to publication. I may have cried. I vowed to apply myself to my work, get back to the feedback my writing friend had sent on my piece. I would stop refreshing my email obsessively. Just one last look… And there it was, the email saying I was one of the winners of the Novella competition. The anxiety crashed – just in time for me to get sucked back into doing family things.
And today (Thursday), I didn’t skip the gym, I vowed not to get distracted, I set a sprint with my writing friend, and worked on revision. And then the social media notifications started – the news of the Novella competition had been announced and I was flooded with lovely messages from the writing community. And now I'm writing this blog article.
This is not a ‘normal’ week. There are no normal weeks. The writing week is a random and unequal mix of reading, writing, submitting, the endless, endless rejections, literary citizenship (promoting others on social media, reading others’ work, giving feedback), procrastinating, art, music, family obligations, family joy, time with friends, life. Write what you know, the old saw goes. I’m not sure I agree with that. We write what we are. If we are full of words, and art, and friendship, and the highs and lows of submitting, and all the feelings – then our writing will be too. Whatever it is you’re doing – if you’re a writer, then it Also Counts as Writing.
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