Reading the other authors’ essays about the merits of winter-writing has convinced me that if I ever get stuck with my writing, it’s not my fault, it’s because I live in a place that has an almost year-long summer!
In short, winter doesn’t affect my writing habits. I write every day, regardless of the season. The only days I don’t try to write are when I’m spending time with my family on holidays or on busy weekends. But even then I might work on something briefly. It keeps me sane. This is my desk (the kitchen table) and my cat, Venus, who is a very loyal writer's cat.
The biggest challenge I face writing in winter are my cold hands. Old Australian houses are not built for the cold. We live in what’s called a Queenslander, a pretty, timber 1880s cottage that stands on high stilt legs. The idea is that air circulates underneath, and flood water drains away. The house is not insulated – it has thin glass windowpanes and ‘single skin’ walls which means it’s built with just one layer of timber palings. There are cracks in the floorboards that let in a draft. The cottage has a lovely wraparound veranda with a bull-nose roof which keeps it shaded in the summer. In winter, the month or two when temperatures drop, it’s colder inside than out. Kookaburras nest in the top of our chimney, so we’ve never lit the fire. On cold mornings I wrap a blanket around myself while I type. Inevitably, my exposed fingers feel icy and stiff and I have to make a hot drink to warm them up. Thanks for your compassion – mine is a very sad, moving story of winter hardship!
Writing has its own winter – the bleak, lonely days of rejection, failure and despair. This winter can come when you least expect it, but thankfully, like a summer storm, it doesn’t last. All writers experience the frustration of not using allocated writing time properly, or of shelving lengthy manuscripts that didn't work. There are the moments of envy as writer-pals soar to amazing heights, the sting of a bad review, and that first gut-punch for new authors when you realise that you won’t necessarily get invited to literary festivals, book conferences and author events.
The biggest challenge I face writing in winter are my cold hands. Old Australian houses are not built for the cold. We live in what’s called a Queenslander, a pretty, timber 1880s cottage that stands on high stilt legs. The idea is that air circulates underneath, and flood water drains away. The house is not insulated – it has thin glass windowpanes and ‘single skin’ walls which means it’s built with just one layer of timber palings. There are cracks in the floorboards that let in a draft. The cottage has a lovely wraparound veranda with a bull-nose roof which keeps it shaded in the summer. In winter, the month or two when temperatures drop, it’s colder inside than out. Kookaburras nest in the top of our chimney, so we’ve never lit the fire. On cold mornings I wrap a blanket around myself while I type. Inevitably, my exposed fingers feel icy and stiff and I have to make a hot drink to warm them up. Thanks for your compassion – mine is a very sad, moving story of winter hardship!
Writing has its own winter – the bleak, lonely days of rejection, failure and despair. This winter can come when you least expect it, but thankfully, like a summer storm, it doesn’t last. All writers experience the frustration of not using allocated writing time properly, or of shelving lengthy manuscripts that didn't work. There are the moments of envy as writer-pals soar to amazing heights, the sting of a bad review, and that first gut-punch for new authors when you realise that you won’t necessarily get invited to literary festivals, book conferences and author events.
Writers learn to stave off the cold creep of writerly discontent. We learn that to write well, we must close the curtains on the pervasive bitterness of external elements that are beyond our control. It’s a difficult lesson to learn.
The most devastating thing that has happened to me in my writing career was in 2013 when the publisher of my debut novel passed on my second manuscript. Their polite ‘no thanks’ took me by surprise. I was so embarrassed and ashamed I didn’t tell anyone, not even my husband. For months, when people asked me when my next book was coming out, I forced a smile and told them, ‘I’m still working away on it.’
The rejection felt like a mortifying failure.
It was hard to tell friends and family the truth. Everyone was so excited for me when I signed that first contract. My mother’s group bought me a fancy passport wallet for the inevitable book tour I’d embark on. My dad asked me for the date for my USA launch in the hope he might be able to attend. I bought a stylish pink woollen coat that would be good for a New York winter, as the book was released in January. I soon learnt that most authors (and especially unknown Australian writers) don’t do international book tours. Instead, I organised my own book launch in a local bookshop and it was wonderful.
I was naïve about the publishing industry and didn’t realise what a rollercoaster it was. I thought it was more like a first-class train that once you’ve got your seat, you can relax and write in peace while it cruises along. Wrong! There have many ‘writerly winters’ since then and I know there will be more to come. Hopefully I’m better prepared and more resilient.
My pink coat did eventually go to New York, but not on a book tour. We went there a few years ago on a family holiday. By then the coat was a bit tight for me (d’oh!) but my teenage daughter wore it - it looked great on her!
To finish, here are some fantastic wintery thrillers that I have enjoyed lately.
No comments:
Post a Comment