Many writers will tell you that where they write is a special place for them. I think most of us imagine writers are locked away, held captive not so much by a ball and chain as a ballpoint pen. There’s a common perception that noise and disruption are bad, that silence is necessary to write. This probably feeds into the somewhat pretentious image of the writer as a person preoccupied with abstract, intellectual matters. It’s the private side of the writing life. In reality, the writer has to work hard and seek practical advice, like anyone else. She or he has to analyse and improve his/her performance. This, along with publication, is the public side of the writer. But is this clear division between distraction and tranquillity, between public and private, necessarily the reality?
Many writers ply their trade at home. Some prefer a bedroom. Others have a separate study, while some adventurous souls take the notepad within arm’s reach of the kitchen sink. No matter where you roam in the house, it’s pretty much a private writing experience. Those who’ve tried to write at home around others often find the distraction too much. A quiet home is quite different, though. Either way, the importance of space is clear. Each room has a certain character, which reacts with the space for creativity in a writer’s head. And this kind of space is essential for a writer. There are some who rent an office beyond the home, but this involves only a brief flirtation with the public world before retreating into the private. And I think it’s fair to assume that not many writers can afford this particular indulgence.
Public places, however, have a lot to offer the writer. Sure, they tempt her/him with their smells of coffee, their intriguing snippets of conversation. And running into friends can be a disaster if you’ve planned a stint with ink and page. But all you need is a little restraint. Delve into those sounds and smells, the colours and textures. Let them trickle right through you. Be patient. Eventually, something is likely to come. And it’s liable to be different from what you produce at a well-worn desk. The various distractions might even provide very practical help, as if the world around you is offering clues in something poets (or more so academics) might call pathetic fallacy. In many cases, the solution could only have presented itself in that one place. This happened one time I was writing in a pub, trying to find a way to describe a language. I’d settled on the idea of a group of sounds, but “group” wasn’t quite the right word. I flicked through my thesaurus – still no luck. After letting my eyes wander, I came across the menu in front of me. “Monroes Tavern” it read. So I settled on “a tavern of sounds”.
Buses, planes and trains can be helpful for the writer, too. I personally find them best for the note-making stages, but I know some who’ve written thousands of words on journeys. And yet, a lot of writers tell me they can’t write when they’re travelling. I guess they feel unsettled when they’re hurtling along at a hundred kilometres an hour. It’s this notion that you need to be “settled” to write that needs to be examined. I suffer from it, too. But any time I’ve broken through that frigid surface and dived into the work against my will, I haven’t regretted it. You can come up with some bad writing in that mode, of course, but no more than when you’re stuck to the desk and ensconced in your regular routine. Anyway, I imagine all writers come up with some bad work on a fairly consistent basis. The important thing is to change your perception of journeys and time spent waiting in queues or clinical rooms. They’re merely writing opportunities in a different guise, even if they’re not what you’d consider ideal situations. It’s always good to have a notebook to hand, but even mulling over ideas in your head is part of the writing process, regardless of whether there’s any writing material nearby. So you’ve no excuse.
The modern breed of distractions are that bit more destructive, as they promote impatience, which is a poisonous quality for any writer. We’re constantly at the behest of emails, notifications and curiosity about distant events we could typically only access through a newspaper or TV in the past. Not only writers, but a lot of people, need to switch off, embrace the real world. And these online sirens can lure us with their binary song no matter where we are. A friend of mine uses a very old laptop for writing, as he can’t get an internet connection on it. An entrepreneur might see an opportunity there to re-brand battered machines as writer-friendly devices. But writers themselves have always been inhabiting a virtual world long before the Internet came along, haven’t they?
Scientists have studied the effects of distraction on creativity. Recent research at Northwestern University suggested it’s important for many creative people, and that such people are more likely to be distracted by noise than the average person. Darya Zabelina, the study’s main author, explained in the Huffington Post that “sensory information is leaking in…The brain is processing more information than it is in a typical person”. The study also speculated that this “sensory hypersensitivity” may enhance creativity by expanding the person’s scope of attention, and that people who take in more information would be more likely to make new and unusual connections between things.
So, even the scientists are saying it: distraction can be a creative force. For those writers who say they need to be settled to write, get out of your comfort zone and try other environments. Even if you’re happy with how things are going at the desk or wherever you might be. It might throw up something new in your writing. Try a new pub or coffee shop, somewhere unfamiliar. Study the people and the objects there. Let the sounds and colours bleed into you. It might lead you down a new path.
About Trevor
I'm a writer and editor of poetry, fiction and prose, based in Galway. I also write songs and occasionally dabble in film scripts, plays and making short (very low-budget) videos for my poems. My first collection of poems, Evidence of Freewheeling, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2015. I'm currently working on a second collection of poems and a GAA-based novel.
Many writers ply their trade at home. Some prefer a bedroom. Others have a separate study, while some adventurous souls take the notepad within arm’s reach of the kitchen sink. No matter where you roam in the house, it’s pretty much a private writing experience. Those who’ve tried to write at home around others often find the distraction too much. A quiet home is quite different, though. Either way, the importance of space is clear. Each room has a certain character, which reacts with the space for creativity in a writer’s head. And this kind of space is essential for a writer. There are some who rent an office beyond the home, but this involves only a brief flirtation with the public world before retreating into the private. And I think it’s fair to assume that not many writers can afford this particular indulgence.
Public places, however, have a lot to offer the writer. Sure, they tempt her/him with their smells of coffee, their intriguing snippets of conversation. And running into friends can be a disaster if you’ve planned a stint with ink and page. But all you need is a little restraint. Delve into those sounds and smells, the colours and textures. Let them trickle right through you. Be patient. Eventually, something is likely to come. And it’s liable to be different from what you produce at a well-worn desk. The various distractions might even provide very practical help, as if the world around you is offering clues in something poets (or more so academics) might call pathetic fallacy. In many cases, the solution could only have presented itself in that one place. This happened one time I was writing in a pub, trying to find a way to describe a language. I’d settled on the idea of a group of sounds, but “group” wasn’t quite the right word. I flicked through my thesaurus – still no luck. After letting my eyes wander, I came across the menu in front of me. “Monroes Tavern” it read. So I settled on “a tavern of sounds”.
Buses, planes and trains can be helpful for the writer, too. I personally find them best for the note-making stages, but I know some who’ve written thousands of words on journeys. And yet, a lot of writers tell me they can’t write when they’re travelling. I guess they feel unsettled when they’re hurtling along at a hundred kilometres an hour. It’s this notion that you need to be “settled” to write that needs to be examined. I suffer from it, too. But any time I’ve broken through that frigid surface and dived into the work against my will, I haven’t regretted it. You can come up with some bad writing in that mode, of course, but no more than when you’re stuck to the desk and ensconced in your regular routine. Anyway, I imagine all writers come up with some bad work on a fairly consistent basis. The important thing is to change your perception of journeys and time spent waiting in queues or clinical rooms. They’re merely writing opportunities in a different guise, even if they’re not what you’d consider ideal situations. It’s always good to have a notebook to hand, but even mulling over ideas in your head is part of the writing process, regardless of whether there’s any writing material nearby. So you’ve no excuse.
The modern breed of distractions are that bit more destructive, as they promote impatience, which is a poisonous quality for any writer. We’re constantly at the behest of emails, notifications and curiosity about distant events we could typically only access through a newspaper or TV in the past. Not only writers, but a lot of people, need to switch off, embrace the real world. And these online sirens can lure us with their binary song no matter where we are. A friend of mine uses a very old laptop for writing, as he can’t get an internet connection on it. An entrepreneur might see an opportunity there to re-brand battered machines as writer-friendly devices. But writers themselves have always been inhabiting a virtual world long before the Internet came along, haven’t they?
Scientists have studied the effects of distraction on creativity. Recent research at Northwestern University suggested it’s important for many creative people, and that such people are more likely to be distracted by noise than the average person. Darya Zabelina, the study’s main author, explained in the Huffington Post that “sensory information is leaking in…The brain is processing more information than it is in a typical person”. The study also speculated that this “sensory hypersensitivity” may enhance creativity by expanding the person’s scope of attention, and that people who take in more information would be more likely to make new and unusual connections between things.
So, even the scientists are saying it: distraction can be a creative force. For those writers who say they need to be settled to write, get out of your comfort zone and try other environments. Even if you’re happy with how things are going at the desk or wherever you might be. It might throw up something new in your writing. Try a new pub or coffee shop, somewhere unfamiliar. Study the people and the objects there. Let the sounds and colours bleed into you. It might lead you down a new path.
About Trevor
I'm a writer and editor of poetry, fiction and prose, based in Galway. I also write songs and occasionally dabble in film scripts, plays and making short (very low-budget) videos for my poems. My first collection of poems, Evidence of Freewheeling, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2015. I'm currently working on a second collection of poems and a GAA-based novel.