LIVING THE WRITER'S DREAM

 

Over the last month I have started to feel as if I am living my writer’s dream.

Every day I get up and go to my study (I have a study now!), where my vintage Singer sewing machine table holds all that I need: laptop, notebooks, a box of refills for my Cross ballpoint, a crocheted doll of me in my old work uniform. An old sampler we picked up in a knitting shop encourages me with its message: Be Thou Faithful.

Sounds from the harbour drift up from the bottom of the hill and the white houses opposite shine in the morning light. I sit on the bed to read but I’m actually watching the boats come and go.

Last month, we took the enormous step of leaving our home, our town, our sons, and my career, to move to Cornwall so that I could do a Creative Writing MA at Plymouth University. So here we are.

Back in May, I wrote about the death of a dream. That dream was of promotion at work. But it wasn’t to be. To be honest, I’m glad. This is the dream that was waiting to be realised instead. And I cannot tell you how right it feels.

It's not easy. I’m incredibly grateful to my husband for his support and working wonders with our finances so I can do this. But I’m aware of what an upheaval this is for him too.

I miss our sons dreadfully. I’m exhausted. I don’t enjoy the admin of moving and how much there is still to sort out. (How complicated can garden waste collections be?) I’m impatient to build new routines and friendships.

The course is demanding. There are weekly assignments to complete, set texts to read, videos and interviews to study, critiques of fellow students’ work to write. I’ve set myself a nine to five schedule but I often lose track of time.

And writing is spreading faster than Covid into the rest of my life. I wake up with dreams turning into major rewrites. I shower with phrases slipping out of my grasp like soap. I watch TV working out why a character is believable or not. I walk along the shore noting how sounds of birds, waves, wind might fit into a poem. I go to bed with talent envy from what I’ve read.

But I’m loving it.

The insecure girl who hates criticism finds the weekly critique exciting. My fellow students’ skill and experience isn’t threatening but stimulating. My head is fizzing with ideas and possibilities. The stretch of new learning and the pressure of deadlines is like finding an exercise class that I finally love doing.

I thought I would find it hard not to call myself an Occupational Therapist anymore. But I don’t miss it. I am a writer.

I know I am in a very blessed position to be doing this. I know that’s not the case for many others. But I do want to encourage you to think about what your dreams are, to tell God about them, and see what His response is.

Don’t ignore your dreams. See what God thinks of them. Sometimes He says no – I was not the best fit for that management post (and that post was not the best fit for me, I can see now). Sometimes He’s just waiting for us to ask so He can say yes.

Liz Manning lives in Cornwall and is doing a Creative Writing MA at Plymouth University, where she’s exploring fiction, poetry, and screen writing possibilities. She hopes to have something ready for publication by the end of the academic year.

She blogs regularly at https://thestufflifeismadeofblog.wordpress.com/