Tangled squared
Writing retreats and griefy weeds
This ‘coffee and croissant’ rating is for pieces that are meatier than a nibble, but not as rich as a main. A soup starter perhaps? It’s a piece to prompt some gentle thinking or give a subtle griefy insight. I think this is appropriate reading for any setting (e.g. in your coffee break at work or on the tube back home).
Earlier this year, I went on a week-long writing retreat (with the Arvon foundation!) to a very old and very beautiful house in mid-Devon. (It was all just amazing and if I start gushing now I won’t stop).
Naturally, on a writing retreat, people ask what you’re working on. So, I spent the first few days saying a lot of ‘I’m writing a book about grief*’. And then because there is only one word for grief, I’d also have to say ‘oh so when I say grief I mean grief for my mum who died when I was 20.…’. And then because grief can sound so sad and serious I’d add ‘oh but not like a normal book on grief - I mean like a digestible book on grief…’ And then because it could sound like I was naively suggesting grief was the same for everyone, I’d say ‘and of course grief is different for everyone’ so they knew that I knew that too. And then I wouldn’t really be describing my book anymore. I’d be tangled in griefy weeds.
I came away from these conversations thinking how boring everything sounded. I’d think who on earth would read a book on grief?! Even I hate books on grief!! ick ick and more ick.
So - as you do on retreats in old houses - I spent my afternoons in the poetry library writing about it…
Five reasons why I don’t like to say I’m writing about grief
Reason 1 – I don’t like the word grief.
It’s full of all my least favourite letters (except for e). It’s i before e is hypocritically rule abiding, and it ends with an f, which just feels like unfinished business. Or like I misheard you.
Grief also doesn’t even rhyme with anything! Except maybe leaf. Ok and heath. Ok yes it does rhyme, but it doesn’t have any good synonyms.
So, I add a y. I make it griefy. That feels a bit better. I’m writing about feeling griefy. Not grief.
Reason 2 – it just sounds sad
This is when you find out I’m a hypocrite. Because – despite the fact I write about grief - I don’t like reading about it. In fact, I actively avoid it.
While grief and sadness are very pally (best friends even), they are not the same thing. However, when you add a huge dollop of seriousness, and a sprinkle of sombre tones (with words like bereaved and loss and mourning and hope) – they can seem like they are the same thing. And that a book on grief is full of that thing.
So, I’ll tell you that while I’m writing about grief, most of my time is spent de-prickling the griefy prickles. Adding yogurt to the spice. Putting cushions by the falls. Am I going on now? Probably. But this is what I really want you to know. I write about grief so you can read about it without getting smothered in seriousness.
Reason 3 - It doesn’t say what I mean it to say
Imagine going into a bakery, in a world where there is only one word for bread.
(What would you like? Bread please? What type? Bread bread. Hmm do you mean sourdough? No! How about seeded granary ? No…. A croissant? Yes that! But wait that’s not bread?)
When I say grief, you probably hear a different grief. Maybe you hear front page grief, or well matured grief, or grief for lost love or for never found love. Like in the bread shop, I get into all sorts of tangles.
So, I’ll tell you that I’m writing about the ordinary, everyday of grief after somebody you love dies, and you’re technically grieving, but you have no idea what that looks like (beyond crying and being sad). I’ll tell you that I’m writing about the grief that makes you overthink the small things, and underthink the big ones. About its shape shifting sorcery and its mysterious mastery of manipulation (ok, maybe I’m trying too hard now).
Reason 4 – it sounds overambitious
If I told you I was writing a book about bread (in this world where there is only one word for bread) you would be forgiven for your surprise when you discover I have only written about cinnamon swirls.
I thought you were writing about all of bread? Have you heard of this bread? Have you ever made bread? Don’t you know how many different types of bread there are!!
So, I’ll tell you that grief, like love (and bread!), is so many things. But grief, unlike love (and also bread!), hasn’t had the chance to be as prodded and poked. This makes it harder to see that it is many things. Which can make it seem like it is less things. And that maybe it is only one thing. And if you think I’m writing about this one big thing– of course it sounds over ambitious! I agree with you !
Reason number 5 – it sounds boring
Is it that the more I say I’m writing about grief, the more bored I get from hearing myself say I’m writing about grief? Or that grief just feels like a boring topic. Or that I think other people will think it’s boring? Am I yawning because you’re yawning or are you yawning because I’m yawning?
So, I’ll tell you that I’m writing about why I keep ragged red pants in my top drawer, and how my Mum moments involve croissants with marmite and butter. I’ll tell you about my obsession with farming documentaries, and how I know that an acute sensitivity to seeing mothers out with their daughters is a sign that I’m feeling griefy. And so is fixating on the fixable and crying at a Tyson Fury documentary. That’s what I’m writing about. Not grief grief. Good grief no!
*
On the last night of the retreat, we all took it in turns to read out something we had written. I read out this list, and ended it by saying I think my five minutes is up now (a cheat ending that doesn’t work here…!)
So, instead of figuring out a more appropriate ending, I’ll tell you my two realisations from writing this list (another cheat!?). The first is that writing about grief is already tangly, so no wonder talking about writing about grief can get tangly too (tangly squared!). The second, is that not only are these the reasons I don’t like to say I’m writing about grief, but they are also the reasons I must write about it too (oh how full circle <3 ).
Anyway, here’s a link to where I stayed on the retreat. And here’s a picture of the poetry library, that really did make writing feel as romantic as I’d always hoped it would be!!
We had two brilliant tutors called Darran Anderson and Tiffany Watt Smith and if anyone is interested in Arvon writing retreats, I will happily gush at you for hours about this one.
XXX
*This is one of the reasons why my Substacks are even less frequent than their normal (in)frequency!!