The River: Putting the Fun Back into Writing by Sarah Salway

This post is part of the river of stones guest post series. The river of stones is our mindful writing challenge. Properly notice one thing each day, and write it down. Click here to find out more. Our guest post series features writers talking about the art of noticing, writing and more... 

Today we're delighted to host Sarah Salway...

Sarah writes: Recently I undertook an assignment for Psychologies magazine in which I had to do something fun every day for a week and keep a diary about it.

I know what you’re thinking – that this has to be the jammiest assignment ever.

Well, you may be surprised how many people commented that it sounded stressful, or how I’d even caught myself googling ‘fun’ as if it was something I needed to have the consensus of what other people considered fun before I could give myself permission to enjoy it.

In fact, it was only when I wrote down a list of all the things I’d loved doing as a child that I started to feel myself back into what was fun for me. (Try it, by the way, it’s a lovely thing to do and so personal. How could I have forgotten how much I’d loved cross referencing the fossils I would pick up on our holiday beach in Norfolk with my official illustrated fossil guide? It was a positive reminder of how much my love of order can support a love of discovery.)

Anyway, my major insight from the week was that I had the most fun after I allowed myself to be open to the possibility of surprise. Being too conscious and setting out to have fun took away any chance of spontaneity. It also diminished the chance of the random and often beautiful moments of connection that proved to be such a highlight, such as laughing with a stranger in a newsagent over memories of childhood comics, or a friend’s email telling me of her joy when she somersaulted for the first time in years.

So how does this apply to writing?

After the success of my list of fun things, I made a list of all the subjects I loved reading about as a child – secret doors to hidden kingdoms, supposedly helpless children who found their own ways to save their world, and unlikely friendships. And guess what? They’re exactly the things – in a slanted way – I’m writing about as an adult. Just being aware of how my child aesthetic has shaped my world view seems to give my work a firmer foundation.

I also think when we face the blank page, it’s too easy to have a road map set out which is full of what other people may consider it appropriate for us to write. Because the last thing we want to do, surely, is to make a fool of ourselves.

But what a lot we’ve lost by this self-consciousness, even on paper. So I’ve been trying, since I kept the fun diary, to keep the censors on one side, and to provide that important space in which I can surprise myself. It’s important for me now to remember that writing – just as a child moves or dances or even somersaults – can be fun all in itself. And because it matters for no other reason than the pleasure of the action, that pleasure is doubled when I remember the senses - in the same way that I found myself luxuriating over plunging my fingers into mud or playing music so loud it took over my body. I’m learning to incorporate this feeling of really experiencing even the most mundane things anew into my writing. And to have fun doing it.

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Sarah is the Canterbury Laureate, Chair of the Kent & Sussex Poetry Society and Royal Literary Fund Fellow at the LSE.

She has written three novels and two collections of short stories.

Find her online at her blog: Handmade stories & seeds of inspiration.