So frequently am I distracted from my writing by the coffee machine, Pop Master, a rug that needs hoovering or a dog that needs a fuss, that I have decided to explore other venues and means of improving productivity. My den is lovely and cosy and usually serves me well enough, but it has the disadvantage of being too close to the fridge and the larder, the clothes that need washing, and the ironing basket. I saw a post on Facebook from a writer I follow, with tips for successful writing strategies. Procrastination is a common problem for many writers, and those who manage to write whilst holding down a full time job are champions when it comes to ignoring the distractions, and the most motivated to optimise what little time they have for writing (and also the most knackered). I need to become more focused and prioritise my writing, approaching it as a job, rather than something I do for an hour or so once I have finished the shopping, and before I start making tea. It would also be great to start to make some money, although I may be fooling myself that I have the potential to do so. The world is full of would be authors, according to the agents I follow on Twitter, who apparently receive literally hundreds of submissions every week. I know there is little chance for me, but I will keep trying for a little longer. My first book, 'Magpie' needs to be fully edited and polished in order to make the approaches, and then I have other works in progress on which I could also be working. So you get the idea; I need to crack on and stop faffing around.
The famous author with his writing tips said that he has a special playlist and particular joss sticks which he only lights when in writing mode, so that his writing brain has come to associate these scents and sounds with writing and is able to work most efficiently under these conditions. Another writer said that she uses a tomato shaped kitchen timer to write for 30 minutes, has a 10 minute break and then writes for another 30 minutes, which works for her. I need to find my own tomato equivalent. JK Rowling wrote in Edinburgh coffee shops, which are a bit too far away for me and also contain the same hazards as my fridge and kitchen cupboards. And as I am trying hard to switch off my eating brain and resist the temptations which would sabotage my weight loss, I need to distance myself from those dangers too.
Radio 2 provides the backdrop to my life, and I had not realised the degree to which it disturbs my thoughts and therefore my writing flow until this week. I tried retuning my radio in the den to Scala radio, a commercial radio station playing classical music, after having watched a programme which explored the suggestion that listening to classical music improves concentration, and the results (not especially scientific, just 2 twins on a waltzer trying to do a number puzzle) suggests that it does indeed. Well I tried it, and it seemed to work. I missed not having music I like to listen to and could not tell you what I had heard, other than The Liberty Bell, the Monty Python theme tune. Mr C and I watch Quizzy Monday nights on BBC2, and for University Challenge, we have stock answers for the classical musical questions – if it's 'what British composer', I always say Elgar or Britten; French - Debussy; German -Wagner or Mendelesohn, Russian -Tchaikovsky and Chopin for piano. I am hoping that I will subconsciously absorb and acquire knowledge of classical music, and that it will result in me being able to answer many questions correctly, rather than one accidentally once in a blue moon, as is currently the case. We also have stock answers for the art questions, the favourites being Constable (countryside) Stubbs (horses) and Whistler (portraits), Degas (dancers), Monet or Seurat–dots, Canaletto– venice, and for anything that looks old I always say Titian, apart from last Monday when I didn’t say it in time, and it was Titian.
Last week, in the hope that a new setting might improve productivity, I thought I would try writing in the local library, which is located in a community centre on a new housing development on the outskirts of my village. The weather was cold and rainy and I forgot that it was half term. Put all of these factors together and you will find what I found; a library full of annoying teenagers. Having left my own annoying and currently overly stroppy teenager at home, I was loathe to encounter more of the same, although at first glance, they seemed less ferocious.
I found it productive to be in a different writing environment, and it helped that there was no internet connection. I usually flit backwards and forwards from screen to screen to find synonyms and to check details for accuracy, needing the answers to questions such as ‘what year did Dragons Den begin’, and accidentally being sucked into the social media abyss and before I know it, it's time to put tea on again. I am a member of a couple of online writers’ groups, and in one of them there was an amusing discussion on the search histories of a writer, featuring such gems as ‘how to hide a body’, ‘how long does it take for a body to decompose’, and ‘what are the signs of death by asphyxiation’. And in a world where discussions at home with family members about e.g. whether to buy an environmentally friendly shampoo bar, are shortly followed by adverts for shampoo bars on my feed, I wonder how long it will be before the police are at the door. (Incidentally the shampoo bar has turned my hair to straw, so ignore the ads and reach for the L’Oreal.)
Back to the library; so I managed to rewrite a few passages and edit several pages when the door behind me opened and a man apologised but said he was going to need to leave the external door open as he was unloading, and I might want to move. I said I would see how cold it got, and would move if it was too much for me. He asked me if I was on the parish council and I said I wasn’t. He said he was delivering books he had donated to the library and had just spoken to the clerk of the parish council who said that the books would be sold to raise money. He was unhappy as he had donated them on the understanding that they would available for loan to the local community, and didn’t want them to be sold. We discussed what he should do about it, had a bit of a chat and then he left. I wrote some more, until an old lady approached me to ask where the craft books were, and complained about the teenagers, who she said were throwing bits of paper at each other and messing about. I said I didn’t think they were that noisy, and they weren’t bothering me at all. She said maybe she was just being a bit grumpy and never mind, but it was a library after all. I sort of shrugged and tried to point her in the right direction for the craft books, which I had spotted a while earlier. I was sat opposite a row of book shelves and during one of my gazes into space, a book called “Crafty Minx’ had caught my eye. From my seat, I had checked the books in the same shelf and was relieved to find they were just craft books rather than anything more salubrious. She began to search through the books, and I smiled and continued to write on my mac book. She thanked me as she left. and I smiled again, this time at the irony that she had caused more disturbance than the teenagers. Shortly after she left, the teenagers moved on from chatting quietly to placing loud prank calls on their mobile phones whilst having a picnic and multiple wrestling matches. Ever the school teacher, I stood up and walked around and glared in their direction, hoping that they would leave, and eventually they did. The moral of the story is perhaps not to sit typing at a desk in the library whilst dressed in a tweed skirt and cardigan with pearly buttons, as they won’t think you are Daphne Du Maurier, but rather a librarian, there to serve. And perhaps that’s why so many people thought it was ok to disturb me.
I have decided that I will return, as it is a nice place to sit and write with fewer distractions than there are at home, half term aside. I tried again this week, and struggled to get a parking spot or a chair inside, discovering on entry that it was ‘cards and board games morning’, and the library was awash with noisy pensioners trying to beat their neighbours. It was nice though, and I enjoyed sitting and watching. And they were all gone by 12. I wrote a bit more and then the local nursery came in to read and sing in the children's section. Libraries, it seems, are not the quiet places they once were. They are also much busier; providing many more services and have a far wider reach. It feels more like a community hub, a meeting place rather than libraries of old, which were often dark, dusty solitary places where you had to whisper and not make eye contact. And you can still borrow books for free; or even upload them to read on your phone if you prefer. Many libraries are closing, and Northants Local Authority, charged with making colossal cuts to their spending, are due to hand over control of the library I use to the community, where it will be run by volunteers. We are one of the lucky ones. I have found another happy place, and will be using the library every week, although I have learnt from my mistakes, and if I want to finish writing my book, I will be leaving the tweed skirt in the wardrobe.
As it's World Book Day this week, I am posting a few book related pics - the girls reading on the beach, L disguised as one of The Railway Rabbits, and me as Sophie's Mum from The Tiger Who Came To Tea, although also looking like a librarian. Maybe it's my destiny.....
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