Tag Archives: creativity

My Covid Months. Did I finish my next novel?

How has Covid affected you?

My ‘Covid World’ experience has been bugging me since February. I haven’t been able to organise my thinking or my writing for quite some time now. As a result, my work-in-progress, A Measured Man isn’t as close to The End as it should be. That isn’t because I don’t know the plot. I know it very well. But, actually writing it has been beyond me.

Instead, I’ve been on a mission to bake the perfect loaf of bread, grow the juiciest fruit and vegetables and keep my dahlias pristinely dead-headed and voluptuous.

Lockdown loaf
Lockdown loaf

I’ve needed physical occupation. Even though my CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome) lays me low some days I’ve wanted to be doing something as long as it didn’t involve too much thinking. CRPS affects my immune system. Neurological pain wears you out and inflames your entire nervous system. I usually catch everything that’s doing the rounds so at the outset of this new virus I knew I’d have to be careful. It proved impossible to settle though, to work at my next novel. I wasn’t able to sit still. Beating up a lump of dough and slicing green beans or hacking off wilted flower heads replaced my normal daily activities. I think it’s because I’ve been angry.

covid activity
beating up a lump of dough

Why I’ve been angry

I don’t want to get too political. As a writer of fiction it isn’t appropriate and I wouldn’t want to alienate potential readers. My characters can have strongly-held views: Celia Micklefield, the author very rarely comments but as myself I can’t help wondering what happened to common sense last winter. Viruses don’t travel by themselves: they need a host. People carry them. So why didn’t we stop people travelling way back in February to give us more time to prepare for the inevitable? We were completely without the means or even a decent plan to cope with such an emergency even though a 2016 exercise had pointed out the risks and pitfalls. So, we fell into the pit and panicked.

the Covid pit
falling into the pit

Shielding

I began ‘shielding’ long before the instruction. Similarly, the local care home went into lockdown and banned visiting. They already had their own stock of PPE. They refused to take in anyone from hospital even though they’d been instructed to do so. Their staff don’t use public transport because there isn’t any to reach many of our villages. We’ve been lucky being quite isolated here in Norfolk. We recorded a relatively low number of casualties in the population and in care homes but we expect the recent influx of holiday makers will change all that.

The best and the worst?

It seems the current pandemic has brought out the best and worst of humanity. Some thought their holiday was more important than the risk of spreading disease. Many chose to ignore guidelines and did as they pleased. Yet there have been stories of amazing selflessness and goodwill. People were more patient in the supermarket, even in the car park. Our two local pubs organised food parcel deliveries for folk who had to stay at home. Eventually my partner and I were allowed to visit his mother at the care home where we sat, appropriately distanced and wearing masks in the garden marquee. We worry what will happen when the money from the sale of her house runs out. It still winds me up that single people (her husband died two years ago) diagnosed with any form of dementia have to sell their home to pay for their care. Imagine if cancer patients were treated the same -or any other chronic condition? Surely there’d be a revolution.

Revolutionary thoughts?

Maybe that’s what we need: a revolution. Not in the violent battle sense but in our values and attitudes. I’m reminded of what the anthropologist, Margaret Mead said about the earliest signs of civilisation in ancient cultures. Her students expected her to name things like cooking pots, fishing hooks and simple tools. Instead she explained how skeletal evidence of a broken femur which had then healed was the first sign of civilisation. Animals who break a leg do not survive long enough in the wild for the bone to heal. They can’t run from danger or hunt for food and drink. A healed human femur shows that somebody else stayed with the person who was in difficulty, helped them to safety and tended them until they were well again. Have some of us forgotten that it’s in our genes to be compassionate and offer kindness to others?

I grieve for society. In a speech in 1977 U.S. Vice President Hubert Humphrey said the following:

“The moral test of government is how that government treats those who are in the dawn of life, the children; those who are in the twilight of life, the elderly; those who are in the shadows of life; the sick, the needy and the handicapped.”

What next?

I believe this year has shown us just how broken we are. We cannot continue to build our world systems of government based on a need for continuing economic growth that mostly benefits those already rich. How can we keep on building luxury apartments when there are so many without any home at all? Why are we still buying products wrapped in plastic? Why do so many people always want the latest upgrade of everything? I haven’t even mentioned climate change. That’s an even bigger catastrophe waiting to happen.

Sociologists say it takes 50 years to change people’s attitudes. If that’s the case I won’t be alive to see the changes I’d wish for but maybe I’ve witnessed the beginning of it. Hooray for the young people who successfully forced the U-turn on the ridiculous algorithm designed to give students results for an exam they didn’t have the opportunity to sit. Three cheers for the shoppers in my local supermarket who refuse to use the self-scan machines because somebody lost the chance of a job at an extra cash out. Good for you if you didn’t buy any clothes you didn’t really need this year.

See? I told you I was angry. People I thought I knew well have shocked me with their selfishness. People in the public eye have stunned me with their incompetence. There now, I’ve got it off my chest. Maybe I can get back to novel writing soon. In the meantime I must concentrate on the positives of my personal Covid year: I bake loaves of bread I can be proud of and my dahlias are show-stoppers.

Covid flowers
Dahlias and Delphiniums – English cottage favourites

Is there anything you can feel proud of doing/making/creating during this Covid pandemic?

Join me on my Facebook author page or leave a comment here. I’d love to hear from you.

Creativity block.Emotional abuse

Where’s my creativity?

(Edited) I removed this post from public view in May 2015. Now I’m in the right place to re-release it)

I have a creativity block. I’ve posted on creativity before. In the early stages of my CRPS I was in so much pain I had no energy to write fiction. Constant pain and exhaustion, not to mention medication-induced nausea, put paid to creating new short stories or plot ideas for novels. I know about physical pain.  At the time I wrote that post I didn’t know a lot about the other kind of pain.

creativity block
saps your creativity

It’s been nearly two months since the cruel discard. In that time I’m learning to cope with losing my relationship, my home, my life in my adopted country and all the friends I made there. I miss my home and my friends. I want to have my own furniture around me. (I’m still staying with friends in their home) I long for the warmth of the climate in southern France. Cool breezes in the east of England don’t help the pain of CRPS. I miss distant mountains and blue skies, Languedoc vineyards and villages. I miss writing my Wednesday Vine Report here on my website. I miss choir rehearsals on Monday afternoons with wine and gossip at the bar in Capestang afterwards.

But I don’t miss him.

His verbal cruelty killed that. His cruelly callous treatment of me has ensured I never want to set eyes on him again. I don’t miss his face. I don’t miss his voice. Both were impostors. Both were lies.

I still yearn for the way I thought it used to be even though I now know it was all a pretence on his part. I still grieve for the lost dream.

But I don’t long for him.

My personal creativity block

I long for ME. The person I used to be. The one who was excited about her writing. The one who was full of ideas and couldn’t wait to get them down.

But my brain is crammed full of unpleasantness.

writefromtheheart1
what if it’s broken?

My heart isn’t in the right place. I want rid of the nastiness so I can concentrate on healing. I think it’s going to take a long time to break the creativity block. I’m going to have to get it out of my system before I’m free. Whenever I try to free my thinking from this frustrating situation, I’m disappointed. Free thinking doesn’t last long. I keep coming back to the same old, same old that’s troubling me. It’s like banging my head against a brick wall.

creativity brick wall
if I bang my head on it enough will I break through?

Creativity needs space. Space in your mind. And in your heart. Space in your intelligence. The right side of my brain where creativity comes from is all tied up with thoughts of what am I going to do? Where am I going to live? How am I going to be able to manage on my own? Do I stay in England or go back to France? What if he continues being awkward and refuses to pay me for my half of the house in France we furnished together?

creativity
my brain is overloaded

There’s no room left for creativity. Right now all I can write about is pure non-fiction: the stranger than fiction facts that have brought me to this place in my life. Until I’ve dealt with it and feel confident I can settle into a new life I’m stuck in this dark place. Fictionless. I can’t even read any.

On the website Insights on making ideas happen by Mark McGuinness there’s a list of things to help overcome creativity block. I’m concentrating on number four.

4. Personal problems.

Creativity demands focus — and it’s hard to concentrate if you’re getting divorced/ dealing with toddlers/battling an addiction/falling out with your best friend/grieving someone special/moving house/locked in a dispute with a neighbor. If you’re lucky, you’ll only have to deal with this kind of thing one at a time — but troubles often come in twos or threes.

Solution: There are basically two ways to approach a personal problem that is interfering with your creative work — either solve the problem or find ways of coping until it passes.

For the first option you may need some specialist help, or support from friends or family. And it may be worth taking a short-term break from work in order to resolve the issue and free yourself up for the future.

In both cases, it helps if you can treat your work as a refuge — an oasis of control and creative satisfaction in the midst of the bad stuff. Use your creative rituals to set your problems aside and focus for an hour, or a few, each day. When your work is done, you may even find you see your personal situation with a fresh eye.

I can’t comply with Mark’s first suggestion. I’m unable to solve the problem. As I write, I continue to depend on the goodwill of friends to put their roof over my head. Himself simply does not care about the situation he has deliberately caused.

And so I’m going to keep on writing about it. Maybe this will help break through the creativity block.

surviving the discard
writing as catharsis

I’ve already made a tentative start to a new non-fiction book. FOLLOW CELIA to see how I progress.

Don’t be shy. Leave a comment. I’ll get back to you. Your email remains private.

Edited: Password protected since May 2015. Password removed October 2017

Creativity restored and third novel: The Sandman and Mrs Carter published on Amazon.

Sign up for news of my next book People Who Hurt. Publication early 2018