Thursday, May 10, 2007

the curse and joy of travel

The writer’s paradox: You can’t write without living fully, and you can’t live fully and still find time to write.—Monica Wood, The Pocket Muse

I am writing this at a park, not far from our house—listening to the sound of traffic behind me and watching a string of mid-morning walkers circle the ball fields. My Bavarian Chocolate coffee (which needs sugar!) is in a travel mug by my side.

Writing while away from my desk makes me think of trips and travel. We just spent a long weekend in Nebraska (soaking up some time with my younger sister!), and we leave soon for a week in Bermuda. In fact, we’ve hardly stayed still all spring, going and coming, and it takes a toll on that quiet, fragile, dreaming work of writing.

I always bring work along—I have carted my dictionary around the Midwest, reading pages in the backseat of our car, in coffeehouses, in hotels. And my characters have crossed Missouri six times, at least! But for all their sightseeing, they often get the short end of the deal. Like this weekend—I had great conversations with my mom and sister, climbed scores of stairs to move boxes out of Adrienne’s room . . . and spent probably half an hour, over five days, on my novel. And I took two days to recover, after we got home, before thinking of my main character again. Not surprisingly, she sounds like a stranger to me.

I’ve been reading Chapter after Chapter, by Heather Sellers, and I recently came across this:

“You can’t write if you’re exhausted, distracted, ‘too busy,’ hectic, and rushing around. Those states of being push writing out the window. If you’re drained, you probably won’t be able to sustain a creative life. After all, it takes a lot of creative energy to engage in a conversation, deal with annoying people, make meals, please co-workers, entertain children, and tend to the very elderly. ... You need self-awareness and a lot of energy—run-a-marathon energy—in order to write a whole book. Even a short easy book. It will take everything you have, plus more.” (her italics)

Aha! Hence my inability to focus, juggle all these activities, and write a spell-binding story.

The thing is, I’ve seen travel work both ways. I’ve scribbled down dialogue in Sicily, North Carolina, and Nebraska, and I’ve met intriguing people everywhere. There’s a brave and funny woman in Paris who is, in my mind, still walking her two dogs down a dark and damp sidewalk. Her name is Catherine, and I must write about the night I walked alongside her . . . just as I have to write about the outrageous students I met in Cambridge and other fabulous people I met while living in England.

Travel stimulates thought and reflection—aren’t our observations keener when we are in unfamiliar places? But then, there’s always a danger, and it’s a large one. Sellers says, repeatedly, that we need to stay “tethered” to our books-in-progress—to our characters, settings, and plot lines. In something so difficult as this, we can’t afford to forget them for awhile. And traveling makes a perfect opportunity to forget.

Enter Bermuda.

It’s a fantastic place—pastel, cheerful, and packed with island-British accents. I’m excited about revisiting pubs and having fish & chips, stirring up all that nostalgia! We’re taking Adrienne and Jon, her fiancé, as well, and our days are filling up: bus and ferry rides all over the island, beach days, city days, a trip to the Bermuda zoo . . .

But then, there’s my book. My quiet characters don’t say anything if I abandon them for a few days—no squawks or complaints, but no dialogue or whispered secrets, either.

So I’m taking them to Bermuda, the whole lot: both villains, the heroine and hero, the sidekicks, the sprawling families, the extras. Never mind that they’re from a pseudo-European country in the late 1500s, and that the whine of a moped will send even the bravest of them running. I plan to haul them onto the ferry, through the zoo, even to a pub dinner. I’ll write on the beach, in the bus, and before bed. Maybe I’ll find a plot twist out there, or ways to prop the book’s sagging middle.

However it works, I am determined to make space in my mind and days. To stay tethered to my silent and invisible people, despite the clamor of travel. I’ll let you know how it goes!—jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 05/10 at 01:31 PM
(0) Trackbacks • Permalink

<< Back to main