Issue #81: I'm taking a summer break – here's how I'll be spending it

More time in my nest, less self-sabotage.

Jul 04, 2024

What would you like more and/or less of? That’s the question asked by Lilah Raptopoulos, the host of the Life and Art from FT Weekend podcast, at the end of each Friday episode. Guests are asked to share what they’d like to see more or less of, in arts & culture.

I posed a similar question in my journal recently: what would I like to do more and/or less of, in my life, generally? When the answers came quickly – my intuition replying for me, almost instantly – I was obliged to follow up with a second, less straightforward line of self enquiry.

If I already know what I want to do (and do less of) in my life, then why aren’t I doing it? Why does my ideal self say one thing, my Screen Time app another?

I guess it comes down to self-sabotage – an instinct that seems as synonymous with our human psyche as hunger or thirst. It’s the same drive that makes us smoke, drink too much alcohol, overeat, procrastinate and stalk our ex’s impossibly-slim fiancée. Is this a primitive throwback, perhaps: an in-built short circuit system, that stops us from succeeding in ways too grand for our tiny brains and comfort levels? Are we doomed to stand in our own way, to keep ourselves small?

Or is self-sabotage something we can overcome, firstly through reminding ourselves of the activities that bring us joy and the goals that offer a longer-lasting satisfaction, and thereafter through establishing systems and time-management in our lives, in order to make those things happen?

The question is close to my heart right now, as I enter the final month of my six-month long novel-writing course with Curtis Brown Creative. I have at least 50,000 words to go (gulp) in order to finish my next draft, which I’m hoping to complete by next month.

That figure – 50,000 – just so happens to be the same length as NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month, a US-based (but now widely adopted) approach to writing where participants are challenged to write an average of 1,667 words a day for a month, although I’ve given myself a gentler six-week version of the challenge. I do worry my goal is at the ‘delusional’ end of the optimistic scale, but why not dream big? After all, the main thing putting the brakes on my writing right now is myself.

Myself or, more aptly, the self-sabotaging instinct within me that suggests my efforts would be better placed anywhere other than the blank page. The inner critic, who tells me that the projects I’m invested in, or the commissions I win after months of trying, are a source of stress and pain, rather than what they really are: a jumping off point for creativity and curiosity. These are things I get to do, not have to do. I don’t want to ruin it for myself anymore.

In order to meet my hefty writing goal (and avoid spreading myself too thinly, which would inevitably mean falling off track), I’m taking a six-week-long summer sabbatical from writing this newsletter, during which time billing for paid subscribers will be paused. All content will remain available to paid subcribers, so I’ll leave some links to catch-up reading below.

Before I go, I wanted to share my own ‘More or Less’ list of activities I will and won’t be investing time with over the next six weeks, to support my creativity and help me meet that big ol’ writing goal. I hope this will be useful, though, to those of you who are writers, although actually most of these points apply to creative/personal projects of any kind. And if you’ve got any tips for me… give me a buzz!

What I’ll be doing on my summer break

Time in my nest. Last December, I wrote about my nest: the spot on my sofa where I sit and invest time in the activities that nurture me most, including reading, journaling and writing. I’m writing this from my nest now, in fact – a plate of cherries on the handy table next to me. My creativity, I know by now, is sustained best through feeding myself, both literally and metaphorically, with the things I do here.

Yoga. Yoga is my religion. As much as that sounds like a T-shirt slogan, I genuinely feel, as a secular person, that it provides me with a similar structure: a punctuation to start or finish my days, a sense of tradition, a gratitude practice. And I will always feel better coming out of a class. When writing feels chaotic, that certainty is valuable.

Going to the cinema. If I ever need to completely zone out, a film in a darkened room is the solution. I find that period of prolonged attention (although I draw the line at anything Oppenheimer-length) sharpens my brain, driving me to put that same focus back into my writing.

London Writers’ Salon. Writing, best done in silence and solitude, has the potential to be one of the most lonely activities possible. That’s why writers need communities, and London Writers’ Salon (LWS), an online and in-person, global community started in the first year of the pandemic, is the best of the best.

Speaking to other creatives. Historically, I’ve had an internal resistance towards discussing the process of writing with other people. I think it’s a fear of coming across as pretentious. Which, when you think about it, is a little ridiculous. Would I feel the same if I was building something tangible, like furniture, or learning how to code? No. If there’s one thing my creative writing course has taught me, it’s that writing a novel – much like all forms of writing – is a craft, with rules, tools and techniques. And there’s nothing wrong with cornering a fellow writer at the pub to debate first versus third person prose. In fact, it’s a privilege to share that kind of discourse.

Less

Television. A cigarette is the perfect type of perfect pleasure, because it is exquisite and leaves one dissatisfied, wrote Oscar Wilde. I feel the same way about television, which I believe we are in a golden age of. There is simply too much to watch. When I start watching a show, I’m left on a perpetual cliffhanger, unable to form conclusions about what I’ve seen, simply wanting more, more, more. It’s endlessly entertaining, and it’s always there when I want it – but it’s not conducive to periods of creativity.

Hangovers. A glass or two of wine = great. More = bye bye good writing day.

Rubbernecking (on social media). In my non-fiction book, Alonement, I use the analogy of rubbernecking. Rubbernecking is defined as turning your head to stare at something, typically used in reference to car drivers taking their eyes off the road when they pass by an accident. I use it to describe what we often do on social media, which is fixating on someone else’s life rather than our own. I’ve noticed that I do this, predominantly, when I’m struggling to write. I contemplate the sparkling corporate career I could have had, or alternatively the husband and 2.4 children. At the root of it, I know this is out of fear. For the next six weeks, that’s a fear I need to put aside, while I commit to the road that’s directly in front of me.

That’s all for now. Back in six weeks!

Francesca x