pentowater.blog

02/07/25

Day 1

The first 20 minutes of the 5am writing residency.

The turning point method, the london snapshot method, finding Solice in writing, not knowing how to start, wanting to write a best selling memoir. 

This is me getting up at 5am to write. Except it’s 1.04pm and I got up at 10.20am, was glad it wasn’t midday, scrolled instagram and laughed a bit at a video of seagulls who have been given cartoon arms and phones and are having a secret affair, as narrated by the australian comedian who has come up with this genius concept.

I think focussing on why I am writing is not important and is just a distraction from leaning into the holistic benefit of writing, whatever happens.

Reading stories by writers grappling with alcohol addiction, with putting themselves into time travelling science fiction stories, wow, what a way to travel.

This is writing for catharsis above all.

There have been several turning points, or uncountable ones. There are the ones we tell to counsellors and therapists, GPs, the retelling of stories to friends where we create a purpose/narrative to help us make the world make sense. 

When the voice ‘what is the point in (insert creative process I am experimenting with)?’ creeps in it’s time to face that dickhead and carry on doing what I’m doing and getting my head down. 

This is too hard. I need some pointers. 

OK I’m not allowed to give up. I’ve set a timer on my phone which is a cute gadget for focus. You start a timer (20mins as standard) and a tree is planted. As the time ticks away the tree grows. If you give up the tree loses all its leaves (brutal!) and you’ve killed a tree which is probably worse than killing a human.

I went on a creative writing course for humans a few years ago at the Centre for Better Health in Hackney. 

The centre for better health is a lovely charity based Mare Street close to the cinema. I would cycle up there on my blue bike, whose name is River but that memory has only just come back to me. Her handle bars have blue and white speckled bar tape. The fork of the bike I had to get replaced after I bent it out of use with my rib. Story for another time but anyway that part of my bike is shiny chrome silver, almost gun-metal grey.

It was called writing for well-being. We were given a note book and pens provided and every week we would meet, a group of sad brave women, and we would write from prompts given by the facilitator.