The world has changed since I last wrote this blog three weeks ago. It was changing then, but the change was still some distance away, creeping closer, but still far away enough for it to be about other people not about ‘us’. Although stark footage from Spain and Italy warned of what was heading our way.

These are anxious times, where we adjust to new ways of living, fearful of an unseen, but very real, threat. In this post I explore how writing can help ground us at times of anxiety, and share a simple mindful writing exercise that might help calm troubled thoughts.

The 2020 story

Even as we welcomed in the new decade, with talk of 2020 vision and a return of the roaring twenties, the unseen Covid monster was reaching out its tentacles across the globe.

Now it’s here, and we are living in altered times.

In just the last two weeks, we’ve moved from a clampdown on gatherings, to pubs and restaurants closing, to social distancing and now we’re in our own version of lockdown.

We are living amid collective anxiety.

Social media is awash with posts about the crisis. Some helpful, some scare-mongering, some well-intentioned but mis-informed, some blaming, some throwing more heat than light on the problem. Claims and counterclaims about the behaviour of the virus flood the internet. There’s an overload of information – and misinformation – wherever you look, and it’s hard to separate the wheat from the chaff.

Mixed messages have added to the confusion. We’re advised to ‘Stay home!’ but also to ‘Get out in the fresh air for some exercise.’ There’s lack of clarity about what to do if you actually feel ill.  How far should you go with all the cleaning, disinfecting and distancing while preserving sanity?

And among all this noise are heartwrenching cries for help from those left without food, without jobs, without homes even, amid the escalating crisis. Stuck in our homes, we feel powerless to help.

I know I’m not alone in experiencing a tsunami of conflicting emotions. Each time measures have ramped up, I’ve experienced a spike of anxiety. I’ve woken up tearful. I’ve woken up terrified. I’ve woken up joyful – for a few minutes – until I remember… I’ve also woken up wildly optimistic – almost euphoric – and full of the joys of spring. Or I haven’t woken up at all because I haven’t slept.

Now we are safe, locked down (UK style), socially distancing with our loved ones under one roof, I feel calmer.

Hope

 

Amid all the angst there is undoubtedly hope and heroism. Reports of stockpilers emptying shelves are outnumbered by tales of selflessness and sharing. For every grim news headline there are hundred unreported acts of kindness.

And there are positives for the planet. For months, the likes of Greta Thumberg and David Attenborough have been advocating system change, urging governments to drive through changes to the way we live our lives, before it’s too late. Governments didn’t listen to Greta, but they’ve been forced to listen to Corona.

Now we’re in lock-down (UK style), I wake to the sound of birdsong, the hum of city traffic now subdued. While the humans hide away, the animals can play.

Planes are grounded, cruise-ships docked, and cars stationary outside houses as those that can, work from home. And it’s surprising how many of can work from home – who knew? The air is getting cleaner. There are reports of dolphins swimming in the Venice canals. We are realising we don’t need so much stuff. We are making food last longer. We are reaching out to our neighbours.

Let’s hope we can continue to live in a more altruistic way, where we value our resources, waste less, give the planet a chance to breathe, and slow the march of climate change – the other dire emergency heading our way.

 

Writing for wellbeing

How can you stay sane while adjusting to ever changing goalposts? How can you carry on as normally as possible at a time when things aren’t normal, and not everyone is keeping calm.

Writing can help!

Evidence shows writing helps us process emotions. It can break the cycle of ever-circling thoughts by getting those thoughts down on paper. It can distance us from our feelings. Emptying the mind onto the page is a kind of catharsis – a letting go.

I’ve seen creative writing work like this in the groups I run at Maggie’s Nottingham, and with refugees and asylum seekers. Often people turn up to my groups not knowing why they’re there, having never written before. The beneficial effects of writing are a revelation to them.

I’ve also seen those benefits in my own life. Ten years ago –  almost to the day –  I got diagnosed with breast cancer. I went through a rollercoaster of emotions from abject fear through anger and denial to acceptance. And – like now – I also felt a bizarre sense of euphoria.

After diagnosis I started a blog – mostly because I had time on my hands. I soon found it helped me process the gamut of emotions I was feeling. I found it therapeutic to write, and share my writing with others.

The blog started small and grew, as friends and colleagues shared with friends of friends who shared with strangers. Through it, I connected with other bloggers across the world who also had cancer. I discovered I had an audience, that people actually enjoyed reading my writing.

It set me on the road to an MA in Creative Writing, which led to me completing a novel and finding a publisher. I’m now working on a second.

There are parallels between that time and now. Cancer treatment lowered my immune system so I had to semi-isolate. I avoided gatherings and warned people who were bug-ridden to stay clear. The blog helped me stay connected through my isolation.

Writing in quarantine

Self-isolation ought to be an ideal time for writers to get stuck in and finish their projects, hone their manuscripts, and turn out a raft of Covid-inspired scripts. But I’ve struggled to sit down and write these past few weeks. My incomplete manuscript remains stubbornly unfinished. Corona-angst gets in the way, I find.

I’ve been looking for examples of authors from the past who composed great literature in isolation. Pestilence was rife in Shakespeare’s day and there’s a meme circulating that claims he wrote King Lear while in quarantine, but nobody seems to be able to verify this. There’s also been a letter doing the rounds, supposedly from F Scott Fitzgerald, written while isolating from the Spanish Flu – but this seems to be a work of fiction.

There are certainly many works which feature plague and pandemics.  Dickens’ Bleak House, Albert Camus’ The Plague and Daniel Defoe’s A Journal of the Plague Year, plus a whole host of futuristic novels that imagine a dystopian, post-plague future, like Stephen King’s The Stand.

Whether or not any great works were actually penned by writers in quarantine, is hard to tell. Perhaps, like me, they found that during such times they were less productive.

Freewriting exercises can help calm an anxious mind.  They may also help overcome the creative paralysis that can hit at times like this. Here’s one you might like to try.

A writing exercise to still the mind.

If you are feeling anxious and confused by conflicting emotions, here’s a simple mindful writing exercise to try. It only takes 10 – 15 minutes.

Here’s what you do:

Find somewhere to sit where you won’t be disturbed. If you have a view out of a window, that’s good, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t.

For the ten minutes that you’re writing, put your phone and other devices out of reach, and out of earshot, to give yourself a break from incoming alerts and messages.

Take a few moments to centre yourself in the here and now and observe your surroundings, using all five senses.  Now write down:

• What can you see? If you have a view, note what’s on the horizon, what’s up close, and anything in between. Notice light and shadow, shape colour and movement.
• What can you hear? Again, notice sounds in the distance, closer at hand, even the sounds of your own breath, the beating of your heart.
• What can you smell? (I struggle with this as I don’t have much sense of smell. Right now there’s an overriding pong of handwash!)
• What can you taste? 
• What can you touch? Describe the feeling of the pen in your hand, the touch of the paper as your hand glides over it. Pick up an a object that is close by and run your fingers over it, note its texture, is it warm or cold to the touch? (But if you are doing this in the current climate make sure you wash your hands afterwards!!)
• How do you feel, physically? Run through the body and note any sensations. Are parts of you tense? Does anything ache? Note it, write it down, and move on.
• How do you feel emotionally? Write a quick list of all the emotions you are feeling right now, however bizarre, unconnected or conflicting they may be, then stop writing.

When you are doing this exercise, it’s important to write freely, without thinking too much. Don’t worry about spelling, grammar or vocabulary, or whether what you’re writing actually makes sense. Nobody is going to read this, it’s just for you. And it’s up to you whether you choose to read it back or not.

If you’ve tried this exercise, I’d love to hear how you got on! Or if you have suggestions for other writing exercises you’ve found helpful in times like this, I’d love to hear them! Tell me in the comments below.