what sparks in the dark

...We talk so much of  light, please
let me speak on behalf

of  the good dark. Let us
talk more of how dark

the beginning of a day is.
 
from How Dark the Beginning by Maggie Smith

Hi friends,

For the past few months, I’ve been deep in the research for and drafting of a project I’m hoping will be commissioned in the new year. I’ve also been writing for other publications, recording lots of podcasts and facilitating others at various stages of their own writing journeys. I love these facets of my work and am so lucky for it all. Abundantly grateful, in fact. However, I’ve also come to realise that, in these busy times, something’s gotten lost from my own creative practice.

Something I’ve found in the dark.

On Thursday nights, I’ve been going to bed early. Before I head upstairs, I’ve set up a station at the single-seater in the kitchen with candles and matches, pencil and notebook. My heated blanket is plugged in and ready to fire up. I’ve checked my laptop is charged, the screen brightness is dimmed and the link I need is ready to open. There's water in the kettle and a big mug on the countertop. I know that next morning, I’ll shield my eyes as I reach into the fridge to get the milk out. I won’t want its glare to break the spell.

Upstairs, a few warm layers are laid out on the bathroom radiator. I get into bed, pop my phone on airplane mode with an alarm set for 5.40 and slide it under my pillow so that its vibrations will wake me but not my bedfellow. Sleep comes, eventually.

When the alarm goes off, I’m groggy. A bit sicky-feeling, akin to a hangover. One Friday, I slept through it. Or maybe I didn’t set it properly. I woke with a start at the sound of my daughter’s Google speaker telling her it was 6am and clattered downstairs knowing I’d be late, but late for whom? Did it matter? I told myself not really. Only minutes lost, and the guts of an hour that could still be mine.

Why the early start?

I’ve been getting up to gather with folks across time zones in various shades of darkness. For many, like me, it’s a dark that puts up a good fight against the weak, Scottish winter light. For others further west, the darkness is hours old and will win out for a long while yet.

We’re being held for an hour by

Layla O'Mara

and, after a short mediation, have been invited to use the time any way we wish. I’ve been free writing, mostly. Breaking to stretch or encourage the kitten away from the candles. I’ve been reminding myself there isn’t a goal. A word count to smash or a creative epiphany incoming.

But perhaps this freedom has led me to feel more creative than I have in a long while? Whether I’m taking in my surroundings, recording the dream I just had or processing the stuff of life, I’ve felt my writing come alive again. The words are playful. Curious. It’s reminded me most of the early mornings during lockdown and beyond when I did just this, in the same chair, writing significant chunks of the first draft of my memoir.

What got in the way of me continuing that when I know I do my most creative thinking not long after waking, in the dark when nobody needs me?

Layla’s been playing music, though I’ve been muting the sound on my computer and listening to the same album on my headphones. This is what she’s chosen for us, if you fancy thinking or creating to it, too:

This coming Friday will be our last group session and I’m already excited for it. I can see that ideas are flowing and connections are forming and I want to share a bit of this with the Membership on Wednesday in my final written post of the year. I hope that words from my notebook might encourage you to take time for yourself while the nights are at their longest. In that darkness, maybe you’ll also find or rediscover your creative spark.

FYI…

Memoir in a Month, which kicks off for a fresh round on Wednesday 15th January 7-9pm GMT, has one spot remaining. Visit this post for everything you need to know, and to nab it. The course runs for five weeks, including a 1:1 with me and written feedback on your work and is capped at eight participants:

I’ll be back on Wednesday with those final words of 2024 and then next Sunday with a post for all subscribers featuring a conversation for the Cost of Caring series with

Substack

superstar,

Claire Venus (she/her) ✨

in which we talk intimately about creative care-giving and the true cost of bossing it in solo business. I can’t wait to share it with you.

Lindsay x