If someone had asked me a decade ago what I would be doing in ten years’ time, writing a novel would not have been on the list, nor on the horizon. It wasn’t even on the planet.
I’d always thought of myself as Maths/Science orientated as I found those subjects so much easier than English and the Humanities—I wasn’t a wordsmith; I found writing essays difficult; I couldn’t ‘get’ the theme of a novel until it was pointed out to me; and I hated the ambiguity and subjectivity of interpretation.
So, I stuck with the more objective Maths and Sciences, where things flowed logically and made sense, and you were either right or wrong. Simple and straightforward.
I studied Medicine and became a doctor. I loved learning Medicine—it was like visiting a new country, opening my brain to a whole new world, and I relished it. When I had children, I expected they would be good at Maths and Science, and not so good at English, like their father and me.
However, much to my surprise, they loved writing stories, and not just at school but in their own time. A couple of these were pretty good, and they won a few Young Writer awards. At the time, I laughed and said, ‘They definitely don’t get it from their mother …’
Meanwhile, I was beginning to dread getting up in the mornings. I thought it was because I had four kids and too much on my plate. I dragged myself from my bed each morning, tossed the kids out of the car at the drive-through, and hit the pedal to get to work on time. I raced through each work day and charged out the door at the end, flooring the pedal again to be there for school pick-up and whatever after-school activity the kids had. I’d cook something ready-made for dinner amidst homework questions and music practice (that hasn’t changed), get them to bed, then tackle the washing, vacuuming, tidying, letter-writing and work miscellanea. Eventually, I’d collapse into bed and get up the next day and do it all over again.
I began forgetting things. I forgot about assemblies where my child was given a certificate. I forgot about the school excursion and that the bus was leaving early, and by the time we got there it had already left. I forgot to collect a child from a party. I forgot that a friend was coming over, until they were on my doorstep …
Just before Christmas four years ago, I hit a wall. I could barely drag myself out of bed in the mornings, and one night, as I was vacuuming at eleven pm, I started crying and couldn’t stop. I realised I couldn’t sustain it any longer …
I decided to stop work. Being the type of person I am, I knew I had to replace it with something, so I started a beginners’ writing course. I spent hours on the first homework exercise—our bio. Our second exercise was to describe a lighted candle. Here’s what I wrote:
THE CANDLE
You’re fat, frumpy, opaque. Not transparent, but might as well be.
You’re used but you still have hours of light left in you, thanks to your girth.
Tonight you dust off and don your thin-stemmed, elegantly curved stilettos for a night out.
You love the height. Already more confident.
And now alight. Wow, you’re transformed. Radiant.
You’ve cast away the frumpy you. Begone!
You’re someone else.
You’re the brightest light in the room.
Alluring. Spellbinding. Your tongue erect.
Kiss me, kiss me, you whisper to passers-by.
Feel my heat, you sing, temptingly.
Moisture pools, glistening in your little well.
Someone notice me, please, please, your tears cry.
Before I die again.
Here it is: the sexy candle in its stilettos
It’s still the sauciest thing I’ve ever written!
As soon as I started writing, I realised I loved it. I spent hours honing each homework exercise. In the mornings, my feet slid into my slippers and I raced to the computer, where I sat and typed, sometimes all day. One Sunday, I was still in my PJ’s at five pm, with a very empty stomach.
Then a few things came back to me from my childhood, like how much I’d loved reading, and how it had gradually slipped lower and lower down the priority list as I grew older and busier. I remembered, too, that I’d been chosen to write stories for the local Young Writers’ Awards. In Year Three, I wrote a story about Flossy the mare. Her foal, Andy, was gored by a bull, and the story became a will-he-or-won’t-he-make-it tear-jerker. Despite that, I didn’t win.
I also remembered my poem, which was published in the school yearbook, circa 1977/78:
How many whales are left?
Not enough.
Anyway, there’s other stuff
that could be used.
I won’t have the whale abused.
Through sun, wind, rain or hail,
I will SAVE THE WHALE.
Yes, I was an activist at the age of eleven!
I no longer have a copy, but I remember it looked something like this:
I think I drew it better when I was eleven …
More of my sophisticated poetry appeared in other yearbooks. One poem lamented the passing of a pet dog. I can’t remember how it went, which is probably a good thing as our family had never had a pet at that point …
So writing feels as if I’ve come back to that creative child and back to myself. Back to things I liked doing as a kid. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t regret studying Medicine and working as a doctor, for too many reasons to list (I’ve written about some of them here, here, and here), and I still love trying to solve a tricky Maths equation. But, more than anything, I want to write. Time away from it seems a waste. I love turning off the real world and getting lost in my world of words. I love digging, deeper and deeper through the layers, until I unearth a truth.
It took me a while to find my passion—nearly four-and-a-half decades. But that also means I have four-and-a-half decades of living behind me that deepens and enriches my stories. That can only be a good thing.
Amazing post!!!! (And I love your whale)
Thanks, Em 🙂 I’m pretty sure I drew him better when I was eleven. But maybe that’s my rose-coloured glasses …
Hi Louise – what a great post! As you know, I’m in a similar situation to you, being a doctor and a writer. Writing is definitely my passion, and I love the flexibility it gives me as a mum – I think it’s so important to be there for those assemblies and school excursions! I’m not working clinically at the moment but looking to get back into it part-time soon and somehow combining the two. Do you think you’ll ever go back to medicine?
Dawn
It’s great that you’re considering getting back into clinical work again. I’m sure you’re missed, as you seem to have so much compassion for and understanding of people. Plus, I don’t know that I could give up after all of that hard work getting a Fellowship!
For me, I don’t think I’ll work as a doctor again. I do miss it, sometimes, but not enough. I’d also need a lot of support while I was re-learning it. Plus I’m having too much fun writing! But, never say never—who knows what the future holds …
It’s hard, isn’t it? I’m torn between just enjoying my life of writing at the moment, and being aware that staying out of medicine too long makes it more difficult to go back again. And the writing industry is fickle and I don’t know how long my career as a writer will last! And thank you for your kind words!
Best of luck with your writing. I’m looking forward to buying your novel one day!
Dawn
It’s a really difficult question … The thing is, as you’d know, you’re not going to ‘harm’ your kids by working part-time. If it doesn’t work out, you can stop, so it’s worth a try. I know when mine were little, going to work was sometimes easier than being at home! I loved being around ‘grown-ups’ again and talking doctor stuff! Also, if you have a nanny that the children like, the kids are happy. I found it harder to work as my children got older. They wanted me more, not a nanny. As soon as I’d walk in the door, they’d burst into tears about something they’d been saving all day …
I’m so looking forward to reading ‘Let Her Go’—I’ve heard great reviews already. Emily said this morning that she enjoyed it even more than ‘Fractured’, and she loved ‘Fractured’!
xx
PS/ Are you having a launch party?
Ah, that’s nice to hear about Emily! And yes, I am having a launch and I’ll definitely let you know the details, it’d be great if you could make it! Probably on the 28th June…
Dawn
In my diary now!
Oh what a wonderful post, Louise. I relate to your writing on such a deep level.
When I was separated from my writer self for the last few months, your blog kept me connected, albeit from a distance. You know, as I read this post I thought, you’re still a doctor, but these days your words, for me, are your prescriptions. I’m so pleased Barbara and Freefall brought us together.
‘I love digging deep and peeling back layers, to unearth a truth’. These words speak to the depth of my being. Thank you. x
Thanks so much, Tricia. Your words warm me, too!
I’m glad you like that line. I wasn’t sure if I was mixing my metaphors … 😉
I’ll let you know when I next go to Melbourne and we must meet in the flesh! xx
Another lovely post, Louise. Made me feel weepy, for some reason. No, for my old self, the energetic woman who worked and wrote and looked after six children…and felt alive. Thank you for reminding me.
Maureen, now your words have touched me and I’m worried that you feel you’re not that person anymore. We need to have coffee sometime …
I’m thinking of you x
Gorgeous post Louise. So glad you found the thing you love to do and that it makes you so happy. Keep writing. x
Thanks, Natasha. Ever since you showed us your childhood writing that day at Mattie’s, I’ve been meaning to share mine in a blog post. So thank you for being the inspiration for this!
That’s so nice! I don’t think I did much to deserve your thanks but I appreciate it all the same!
You never know what leaves an impression on someone! And you know us writers—always looking for ideas!
I love the subtle humour that pervades your writing, Louise. Great post!
Thanks, Kristen. I read ‘Dot’s Garden’ the other night—it wasn’t chewed! It’s such a beautiful story …
Like Kristen I love your humour and wit, but above all I love your sense of compassion, Louise. While it might have taken you a while to find your passion, importantly, you found it! And we, us readers are the beneficiaries of your decision to sidestep medicine for writing.
Thanks as always, Marlish. You are always so supportive and encouraging and a true friend. I can’t thank you enough. xx
Agree with all of the above comments Louise, and I’m glad to have freefallen with you and I’m glad especially that you’re writing. The few years in my life when I wasn’t writing were the darkest and most depressing … I actually thought I was schizophrenic, until I remembered that writing always healed me, but it had to be truthful. I couldn’t write under constraint.
Writing is an amazing healer—I think it’s the reason that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. All of the arts have that effect—they save us in so many ways, both the creator and those that enjoy the creation. I’m sure it’s because they allow us to express ourselves, our true selves, and when we do that, not uncommonly we create something beautiful.
You are amazing and so fortunate to have found another passion that you are great at, I htink it’s your time now xxx Rae
Rae, that’s so nice. Thank you! All these lovely comments have made my day!
Ah yes, the Candle…Anne Linquist and BWW. Your description rocked. Has it really been four years?
Look at you now, a published writer; a novel; a recipient of writing honors; and a successful blog Bravo!
There’s no question in my mind that your journey into writing will continue to bring you well-deserved success.
Keep going, Louise.
Thanks, Penny. Yes, that’s where we all met! During that course with Anne. It doesn’t seem like four years ago …
Thanks for your words—you make it sound as if I’ve achieved heaps, but I haven’t really. I’m quite prepared to keep writing and pushing on, though, until I do achieve all that I want …
I think you’re just an all round brilliantly talented person. I loved the whale poem and candle piece.
Thank you Pinky! I love the whale poem, too—not for good reasons! But it is kind of cute …
There was always a writer there, by the looks. I loved the whale poem too. Medicine’s loss is our gain. As above, you are an all-round talented person who could do just about anything you set your mind to. There’ll be plenty of wisdom gained from your previous profession, and from your rich life experience, to pour into the writing. And I guess there’s not as wide a divide between science and the arts as we are sometimes led to believe. One complements the other – creative thinking and the ability to imagine is necessary for scientific breakthroughs, and for medical practitioners too, I suspect. Precise thinking, or the ability to think logically is necessary to get a narrative to hang together.
Thanks, Iris. There was always a creative person in there—I’m not sure about a writer, though! All of life’s experiences flavour and enrich our writing—I know mine do, try as I might for them not to sometimes! I also agree that the distinction between the arts and science is blurry—we need both the creative and scientific sides at different times in each.
Loved this post Louise. Thanks for sharing it with us. I’m a humanities person, but one who has no ambitions to write a novel. I don’t believe it’s in me, but anyone who can write such saucy poem about a candle clearly does! Good for you.
Thanks, Sue! You’re such a good writer and so well-read, I’m sure you do have a novel in you …
As a real novice and newby to blogging, I chanced upon your blog. It is so honest and personal. I could almost hear you.
I read through some of your site and came to the book review “Foal’s bread” by Gillian Mears. Now I am a great believer in synchronicity (Celestine Prophesy – the basic concept came from Jung -I think).
I remember Gillian- we once danced together about 9 years ago in Grafton where she hails from.
At that time, I did not even know she was a writer. I knew she had MS and that dancing helped her. Our dancing was nothing special. It was just in a casual group of ladies dancing for the fun of it.
I know her journey with MS has been such a hard road and it sounds like she is getting a bit tired. I can still hear her voice and see her face and remember that we enjoyed dancing.
So I shall get her book to read. I have great admiration for people who can discipline themselves to write a book.
Thanks so much for visiting, d! I’m sorry I’m late replying—I’m usually much quicker, but I’ve been at a Writers’ Festival this weekend. (In Margaret River, and it was fantastic!)
How lucky you are to have met Gillian! I watched the interview with Phillip Adams from a few years’ ago—her courage in the face of her illness is amazing. And ‘Foal’s Bread’ is a courageous book, too. It’s amazing—I don’t think I’ll ever forget it or the characters …
So nice to have met you. You must post your blog address now, so I can visit you at your ‘house’! x