When Writing Time is Relative

                                                                    Picture Credit: dreamstime.com

The month of July is when my wife and I take our “long vacation” at our Cornish retreat in the heart of the Camel Valley. I say long, because we also take several short breaks during the year but the fortnight or so we spend in July – before the schools break up – is the one for the re-charging of batteries but also catching up with old friends we have made since we began coming here some seven years ago. I try to look upon this time when I can look for ideas and inspiration for future poems or articles or postings on my website, Faith Matters but am not always successful.

 As a Methodist worship leader, I am sometimes asked to take church services in the many chapels which can be found dotted around this part of the North Cornish shore, including my most recent one in the beautiful little village of Boscastle. There is something about Cornish life which reminds me so much of my teenage years in Ireland where like their fellow celts time was always relative using words like ish or dreckly or time enough! Like all good people of Celtic heritage, we are usually instinctive rule breakers with a healthy scepticism of bureaucracy and officialdom. We don’t always do what others might expect which to the unsuspecting “foreigner” i.e. those not of Celtic heritage can prove awkward, but nothing that a pint of Doom Bar ale and a plate of freshly caught mussels won’t cure.

 The subject of time is a feature of this month’s blog but for a different reason. Whereas most diligent, organised (and successful) writers follow a planned schedule I usually do the opposite. When I was at Theological college very often the nearer to a deadline I got the harder I began to work. Same thing with school days handing in essays and the like. This is something which clearly hasn’t improved especially since graduation, because I am writing this in the early hours of this morning before my 9am deadline for publishing.

 I sometimes find that my “best” work, where I am most creative is during the early hours because as my wife never ceases to remind me, I am most definitely NOT a morning person. If it’s not watching baseball keeping me up to the small hours it is trying to be creative in some way or other.

 Recently I was looking back at some of the material I wrote when I first began to explore my interest in matters literary in the hope of getting some new ideas. I came across the piece I have re-produced below from May 2012, which seems to sum up the chaotic way I organise myself, where writing time really is relative to actual time, and am left wondering how many of my fellow ACW colleagues can also relate to this experience?  

                                                             Friday Morning 01:30

The desk light shines its beacon across the top

Where the PC lies open, at a site called The Moth;

The China mug with horses’ rests on a Supa Dad coaster,

A treasured possession, that once belonged to my late father.

Insomnia grips me like an ancient affliction,

And yet, it seems the best time for new creation.

The artistic mind fights its battles on so many fronts,

Like Armchair Generals, always willing to retreat or is it advance?

At Writers Circle last evening, we plotted novels and opening passages,

Prose to stimulate & excite, characters fleshed out, plotlines made more concise.

                                                    A disposable fountain pen now sits in my hand,

Symbol of short-term society at a glance,

Retractable pencil is banished to the pot, while I try to at least

Give this new technology its chance.

Essay, poem, sketch or short story, which genre should I turn my mind to tonight?

I turn on iplayer for some much-needed inspiration,

Seeking something a little less topical in flavour perhaps.

Politics is so sterile today, nobody trades real insults anymore.

“Debate” is all about sound bites crafted solely for the 24hr news,

Not sure what they intend: to inform, to frustrate or to amuse?

                                               Perhaps I will write a poem, a short concise verse,

A few musings on those loved ones

Who have passed to their eternal rewards;

While those who are left, return to the grind

Knowing they are still being watched from heaven above.

The screensaver appears, of my Grandson, Michael,

Resplendent in his Ladies Man sweater, now nine months old

And already trying to walk, memories of his father in years past,

A new generation to bear the family name; a lot to live up to;

God willing, he’ll be equal to the task.

                                                     It is 03:30, and only the scratching of my pen

Can be heard against the enveloping silence;

I sketch out ideas, checks lengths of verse and use of iambic pentameters,

Even the creaking of old floorboards cannot disturb my literary thrall.

They say the darkest hour is before the dawn,

But at least the moonless sky guards against distractions.

At last I feel the arrival of welcome slumber

So I put down my pen and close the book;

Fortune indeed may favour the brave: but only,

When you’re lucid enough to join in that number.

 

Michael Cronogue originally from London now resides in Walsall in West Midlands region of UK. Writer and blogger discussing matters of faith and theology on his website www.michaelcronogue.com He holds a Bachelor of Arts in Theology from the Queen’s Foundation Birmingham (Newman University). He is also a Methodist Worship Leader and serves as a volunteer Chaplain with the West Midlands Police Service.