I’ve been thinking a lot about rituals lately. Not so much religious ritual as writing ritual. The series of actions that, when repeated over and over again, help us produce words, pages, and entire books.
When I wrote my first novel, Florence Adler Swims Forever, I fell into a writing routine by necessity. I was working full-time and raising three young kids, and the only time I could write was in the early morning hours when my house was quiet and the day hadn’t yet gotten started. I’d set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. and leap out of bed, pull an old sweatshirt over my head, and creep downstairs, careful not to wake even the dog. I kept the lights low and made coffee. Then I curled up on the sofa, where I wrote on my laptop until it was time to wake my kids for school.
By the time I was halfway through the manuscript, I’d become almost superstitious about my morning routine. Whatever I was doing was working, so I was wary of changing anything. I wore the same sweatshirt each day—an old Carolina Gamecocks hoodie from college. I drank my coffee from the same mug. I turned on the same lamp, sat in the same spot on the sofa, and curled up under the same crocheted afghan my mother made before I was born. Every morning was identical to the one that had come before it, and after a while, I began to believe that the routine I’d established was important. A series of actions, undertaken each day, can become a sort of cue, reminding our bodies and our brains that it’s time to dive back into our story, to pick back up where we left off. Without realizing it, my routine had become a ritual, and I loved it.
Naively, I believed I’d write my second novel in much the same manner that I wrote my first—same sweatshirt, same mug, same sofa. But like so many other writers, I’ve struggled with how to sustain a writing routine, much less a ritual, in the midst of a global pandemic. Our houses are crowded with people who need things, and the resources we’ve come to rely on—coffee shops, libraries, co-working spaces—aren’t open or are operating at limited capacity. When we do find the precious time and space we need, many of us complain that our brains can’t catch up. Our real worlds and our story worlds feel very far apart.
I miss my writing rituals, but I’ve told myself that, to get through this strange time, it’s enough to just focus on the routine of writing. I carved an office out of an upstairs bedroom, and that’s helped some. A friend hosts writing sessions on Zoom, and I’ve attended others offered by the Center for Fiction and the London Writers’ Salon. Sometimes, when I can’t shake the desire to write in a café, I pour a Diet Coke over ice, grab my laptop, and go park my car somewhere with no Wi-Fi.
If we keep doing the work, from wherever we are, whenever we can, I’m optimistic that we’ll one day rediscover the writing rituals we love so well.
About the Author
Rachel Beanland is the author of the award-winning debut novel, Florence Adler Swims Forever, which was released in July of 2020 by Simon & Schuster. The book was selected as the Barnes & Nobel Book Club pick for July and was named a Featured Debut by Amazon and Indie Next pick by the American Booksellers Association. It has appeared on the summer must-read lists of Good Morning America and Parade magazine and was recently named one of the best books of 2020 by USA Today. Rachel has an MFA from Virginia Commonwealth University and lives in Richmond, Virginia with her family.