Writing During the Struggle

I often imagine what my perfect writing space would look like.

It would have a desk with plenty of room and no clutter, and a comfortable chair set in front of a wide window with a gorgeous view. All around the desk, there would be tall bookshelves of sturdy oak, holding quick reference or inspiration within arm’s reach. The desk’s surface would hold a cup of steaming tea, a pen and notebook, and my computer awaiting my genius to spring forth.

And of course, there would be quiet. Blissful, tranquil quiet.

But that’s not my reality at the moment.

I don’t even have a desk now. I’m sitting in my bedroom, my back against the headboard and my laptop propped up on my knees. My three kids are right next to me, drawing with crayons and asking if they can have sherbet for lunch. Not exactly ideal.

Besides immediate surroundings, there have been other circumstances that have pushed writing to the wayside. A season of unemployment and not knowing where we’re going to live. Old family wounds rising to the surface. And COVID-19 making long term plans unreliable.

The pandemic has rocked everyone’s world and has created less-than-perfect conditions for writers and artists. (Just the other day I was talking with one of my filmmaker friends who has no work because no one’s hiring.) The pandemic is killing our ability to write and create.

Or so it would seem.

Maybe it’s doing the exact opposite. Maybe this is the kind of environment that births great art.

Simple logic tells us better conditions create better writing while poor conditions create poor writing. Reality, however, doesn’t always conform to this logic.

In his book David and Goliath, Malcolm Gladwell challenges how we think about obstacles and disadvantages. One thing he looks at is class sizes in schools. The common belief is that smaller classes create better education while larger classes create worse education. Gladwell argues that this notion is flawed. Shrinking class sizes can help students, but only to a certain point. When classes get too small, the group’s energy level goes down and inhibits learning. Beyond schools, Gladwell reveals how many of our perceived ideals had their weaknesses.

So there comes a point where perfect isn’t perfect anymore. The same applies to writing.

A writer’s sanctum where work gets done can be a good thing. But there comes a point where the perfect conditions can actually inhibit our writing. If we spent all our time at our dream workspaces (i.e. my desk with a gorgeous view) we’d be cut off from the gritty realities of life and our writing would become malnourished. A good writer needs a healthy dose of hard times.

Think about the great writers that came before us. C.S. Lewis and Tolkien both experienced the trenches of WWI. Hemmingway fought in the Spanish Civil War. Dostoevsky spent four years in a Siberian prison camp. There’s no shortage of good writers who had difficult lives.

I’m not suggesting we seek out suffering and scratch out work in our own blood. But hopefully, we can shed this idea that our being swaddled in furs is what it takes to get our work done. According to Stephen King, “[your writing] space can be humble…and it really only needs one thing: a door which you can shut.” Maybe the pandemic has left everything less than perfect. But quiet places are still possible (even if it’s just a laundry room).

And while we’re tucked away in our less-than-perfect yet quiet places, may we take advantage of this crisis. Maybe it will become the fire from which we’ll forge great work.

How has your writing been affected by the pandemic? Has it helped or hurt your writing?

Please share in the comments below.