My husband and I took a biking trip with friends to Germany a few years ago. We biked the gherkin trail. Seriously, the pickle trail! It’s a real trail for bikes. You ride from Berlin to Dresden on this fairytale forested bike trail. The marshy forest floor flanks the paved, flat, seemingly unending ride. The thicket creates a dark green canopy over the path, flashes of sunlight sparkle through the leaves. The descriptor “Magical” sounds cliché, but the experience was everything that cliché brings up. As I floated along on my bike, my friends were out of sight both behind and in front of me, and I kept thinking that at any moment a gnome or fairy would pop out from behind one of the tree trunks, and no one would be there to witness it with me. So fairyland-esque that I still believe I missed, at the very least, a hobbit. And, yes, there are stops to eat those eponymous pickles. That’s why we take biking vacations so we can eat all we want. Weinerschnitzel, bratwurst, and sauerkraut too. There may have been a few beer steins emptied too.
That trip was not just awe-inspiring because of the gherkin trail, but we learned about the Berlin Wall’s history from post WWII to the fall in the 80s. I have never been so mesmerized by the personal stories from those who had lived on both sides of the wall. I’m not a history buff, but that trip made me wonder if I could be, and what I’m missing by not paying more attention in my history classes. And, did you know the most amazing libraries are in Germany, Dresden especially.
What does all of this have to do with writing, you ask? Despite the enthralling enchantment of the stories and the whole physical trip, I was in a pissy mood for the first few days . How can I be in a bad mood when everything is beyond, well, magical, I berated myself. I was snappy with my husband. I woke up sad, and wanting to not be around friends who are at the top of my list of Fun. We travel together all the time, and never quit laughing. I was laughing, and eating, and riding my legs off, but inside I had a little nugget of grrrr. Why?! I kept asking myself.
Then it dawned on me. I was on vacation, so I had stopped my writing routine of writing every day. That year I had succeeded at getting that routine down. I showed up like a dog shows up when “Treat” is spoken. I was nearing completion of my novel, albeit finding that ending can be elusive, and I felt the complete story in my veins. I showed up by telling myself that my writing was my job, and like a job I needed to be on time, and sit at my desk.
But being away, I had told myself I was on “vacation.” Being on vacation meant I didn’t have to abide by any of my self-imposed rules. It meant time off from work, although unpaid because my boss (me) offered no benefits other than the possibility to one day be published. Not a great 401(k).
Being on the gherkin trail was fantabulous, but that magic I felt every day sitting in my Aeron chair with the broken wheel had been disrupted. The writing fairies were taking their little irritating older sibling fingers and thumping the inside of my brain. They were mad because they had to go on vacation too, and they didn’t want to. I realized, I was grouchy because I wasn’t writing everyday.
How was I going to do that if I had to get up at o’dark thirty to don silly hot pink bike outfits, get on a bike, ride to a gherkin shop, drink beers, laugh with friends, drink more beers, and fall asleep with tremendous visuals flashing through my brain trying to get to my memory bank?
I knew I had to. Or, I would ruin both my vacation, and my writing habit. So, I pulled out my notebook, and wrote for 15 minutes. Just 15. Probably a page. For the rest of the trip, and every trip since, I wrote first thing in the morning when my husband takes up too much space in the bathroom, and before I had to be downstairs for our protein breakfast. I didn’t necessarily work on my novel, and I didn’t necessarily write a travelogue, but I did work the muscle that every day for the past year or so I had been working.
Maybe that creative muscle is just like my leg muscles—when I don’t bike or hike for awhile, they start to cramp, and start yelling at me to get out and move. Maybe I have muscle muses, and creative muses.
Maybe my body is like the gherkin trail, and at any moment a character or muse or cramp will show up to remind me what makes me happier. A little nudge from my subconscious saying, “Just a little bit every day keeps you in shape, and in the flow.”
Maybe I shouldn’t call writing “work.” It’s more of a part of me. And it did not like getting left behind.
Do you write while on vacation? Do you write every day? Do you have writing fairies who nudge you? Do you like gherkins?
IMPORTANT: A quick ad for the upcoming San Diego Writers Festival on April 6th! They need about 30 more volunteers. Can you help? It’s a great way to get to meet some of the authors, to be involved in the behind-the-scenes, and to make new friends in the writing world! It’s easy to sign up and find a few spots to fill by clicking on this link.
I enjoyed your article, Amy! I write whenever my Muses call, who are my four detective characters. I do take my laptop with me on "vacations," but some days, I'd rather play with my grandchildren. I try not to force myself into a schedule. So, I can usually avoid angst or guilt.
YES!! Since my retirement, I go through a similar process every day. I NEED to be working on SOMETHING in order to feel "worthy". Worthy of what? Danged if I know...