Writing in the spaces

Very few people are able to support themselves financially through writing, so it seems to me that writing must be frequently relegated to the spaces real life leaves behind.

When I read Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own back in my teens, a fantasy of mine took shape and solidified. Since then, I have been desperate for a space – both physical and mental – that is mine alone and that I can retire to frequently. Instead, I hide in the bedroom of my shared flat, sit in cafes with snatched moments and stick the headphones in whenever I can.

These days writing is filling up the cracks and gaps in my time quite prolifically, but despite telling myself it doesn’t have to be this way, I always feel as though it’s consigned to the margins. That’s what makes me want to trash the day job, and god do I sometimes want to trash the day job!

But I do sometimes wonder if it’s not always such a bad thing. If by having writing as the thing I’m fighting to find time to do, it gets to be almost a treat. I doubt it would stay that way if I did it 24/7. Or maybe I’d find I enjoyed it even more. Who knows? Not me until I get brave or rich enough to try it!