From 7th October, I’ll be leading True Voyage Is Return, a literary experiment which turns The Exchange, University of Birmingham’s city centre public engagement space, into a hub for new writing. Every Monday, two different professional writers will each join me to produce new pieces in a week. There’s a public callout inviting submissions of new work from across the region. There’ll also be writers’ surgeries and panel talks and (eventually) an anthology and a podcast.
Alongside managing all of that, I’ve courageously/foolishly (delete as you see fit) committed to writing a novel of at least 90,000 words in the space of a calendar month (7th October to 7th November). Most days, I’ll be writing in full view of visitors and cafe customers at The Exchange. I’m terrified and exhilarated at the same time. My blog posts throughout this period will focus on documenting this experience as the project progresses and as the new book, I hope, takes shape. I really, really, really hope it does take shape!
Well, here we all are. 7th November has rolled around, quicker than I expected. The book isn’t finished, but that’ll come as a shock to no-one. I’ve only managed to do one day of writing since leaving The Exchange, but in between catching up on laundry and emails, I added another 4,361 words to Chapter 15, bringing the grand total for the calendar month to 112,271 words. Believe me, my hand has felt every single one of them. It can still feel them now.
At some point before the end of 2024, a blog post will pop up here to announce that Draft 1 has been completed, that the final full stop has been dotted onto the final page of the last A4 exercise book, and the finish line of the marathon has been crossed. I’ll let you know the final word count, and I’ll let you know what it’s been like trying to get these last eight chapters and epilogue done alongside everything else life is throwing at me. Obsolete Constellations will get finished, because it has to get finished. In order to say yes to continuing to write, I will have to say no to some other things. There isn’t room to do everything, and if writing time isn’t protected, it’s usually the first thing to fall by the wayside.
If there’s one thing I’d like to leave you with at the end of this special, exhausting, exhilarating month, it is this — say yes to your writing by saying no to something else.
There will, without question, be something in your life you can do less of, or none of, in order to carve out more, some or any time for you to write. If you don’t believe me, draw a timetable of your typical week, like you were made to when compiling your lesson schedule at the start of every term at Big School — and I will guarantee that there is some insidious and joyless drain on your time to which you can choose right now to say a total or partial no — bin it off or scale it back — and in its place, add the words: WRITING TIME: PROTECT AT ALL COSTS.
Whether it’s a whole day, part of a day, a few hours at night, an hour in the mornings, fifteen minutes just once a week: use it to write, with no care or concern for if it’s “good” — write for the pleasure of writing.
Write.
Just write.
You’ll be incredibly glad that you did.
You’ll want to keep doing it, again and again.
And you should. You really should.
Because you’re a writer. And writing is what you do.
