Word Seeker

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, but still find moments in life where the power of words – specifically creating them myself – surprises me.

Having struggled with my mental health since the pandemic began, this evening I felt the beginnings of a panic attack brewing. But I was able to pull myself back from the brink of overwhelming emotion – a flood which doesn’t stop once it’s started – by focusing on my task at hand: a piece of writing that came from the heart. And it worked.

It worked so well that I’m continuing to write now, at 11PM when I should really be thinking about going to bed or getting ready for work in the morning, but I’m typing away because I have a deluge of words and thoughts in my head and they just have to come out.

I started writing down story ideas as a child, when I was very young, I suppose, because I can’t remember when it started. Writing evolved naturally from storytelling and make-believe games when I was young, it made sense to me to try to make the imaginary worlds in my head physical somehow, either through art or writing. (One of my earliest memories is finger painting in nursery classes and having the best time.) I don’t think it took long for me to realise that being an author was a profession, and from that moment on, it was all I wanted to do.

My first foray into publishing was when I was 11 years old. I’d just finished my first ‘book’ of 80 pages and thought it would be perfect for Bloomsbury. After all, they published Harry Potter, so why not my book? And so I convinced my mum, who knew nothing about publishing, to ring up Bloomsbury, and I hovered beside her listening in and waiting for the good news.

That was when I got my first rejection, as the woman on the phone told my mum that I’d need an agent first. I wondered what an agent was and started doing the research to find out. I used to set myself time limits like “I’m going to be the youngest author in the world”, “I want to be published before I leave school”, but that created lots of unnecessary pressure I put on myself. I’m trying to be gentler and kinder to myself these days.

I’ve always been ambitious when it comes to writing, to say the least!

Now, I believe writing is something so powerful and unique and I’ve learned a lot about my own process. I can’t force myself to write when the words don’t come. Spring is usually a rejuvenating, invigorating time for me when my inspiration is at its highest; on the other hand, winter (especially the second half) is when I find myself struggling.

It’s interesting to think that I’m currently working in a job that values physical labour over any writing ability, and I haven’t been praised for my writing since university – which even then was only academic, never creative. A few weeks ago, I was in an interview having just submitted an application which I’d whipped up in less than three minutes (I’d been feeling passionate). After she told me my application was a strong one, I mentioned that I was a writer and she replied with a smile, “I can tell.” Instantly my heart buoyed and I continued with more confidence.

Someone recognised me! As a writer! Someone who doesn’t know me read 250 words and was able to tell that I can put passion and emotion into my words! Even just that small amount of recognition had a huge effect, to the point where it made me realise how starved I must be of this kind of appreciation.

It was this very same speech which I was working on that was able to pull me back from emotional distress which might have become a panic attack. Is there any better way to show the power of writing?

I’ve just come out of a period of intense writer’s block, where I’d been able to jot down sentences here and there but still felt very disconnected from my stories and jumped between a lot of different projects without making much headway on any of them. Now, with spring blossoms in the air (causing hayfever, but hey, I’ll take it if it means I get to write), I’m hyper-focused and relishing being able to dive into my work for hours at the weekend or in the evenings. Finally, I’m once again full of determination to write all the stories clamouring for attention in my head, get all my thoughts down on paper and to try to create the scenes that play out blow-by-blow, as visual as movies, in my head.

I’m determined to get published someday, but more importantly, I need to write. These novels aren’t going to go away until I’ve written them down – all of them. I say I’m usually at my happiest when I’m in the middle of a first draft, and I think it’s true, because if I can get stuck into creating scenes and building emotion out of thin air, words pouring from my fingertips and entering the world through the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of my keyboard… if I can do this, I can get through anything.

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If I had to summarise the atmosphere of In the Kingdom of Ice through sound, it would be this:

Surf lapping against ice. Crashing waves. Bowhead whales spraying water. Gulls squawking. Boots crunching snow. The groan of a ship held in winter’s clutches.

I finished this book almost a year ago, and it still plays on my mind. At first I thought it was slow, difficult to get into, but then I came to appreciate the rich, vibrant backstory Sides paints behind an epic tale of human survival. A real one. The Grand and Terrible Polar Voyage of the USS Jeannette is a true story, meticulously researched, and told in narrative style.

I’d never read a non-fiction book told in narrative style before, and I loved it. I’ve always preferred fiction to non-fiction; although the latter can be extremely interesting and informative, my heart lies with stories. Using letters written by the men (and women) involved in the expedition, Sides manages to create a narrative as intimate as if you were there with them, battling snowstorms and sickness, madness and starvation.

I found the captain’s wife’s letters very touching – some of what she wrote was included in the story, interspersing the voyage so the reader gets a sense of what it was like for those the crew left behind. Even though she had no way of sending them to her husband, they were a symbol of hope and love throughout the book.

One aspect of the writing I loved was the way Sides described the people. A few photographs had been included halfway through, and as I kept flicking through pages to look at them, I realised I could immediately tell who was who without even reading the names beneath the little black and white portraits. Sides imbues characters with life – he doesn’t just describe their face shape or hair colour, he weaves their energy into every descriptive sentence, and their personalities shine through clearly.

It was one of the many reasons I grew attached to the characters. Even though I knew the voyage took place in 1879, even though I had a vague idea of how the story would end (from the word ‘terrible’ in the title)… reading this didn’t feel like staring into the past through a grainy telescope at a tiny, blurred, monochrome picture. It felt like these men could have lived and breathed and dreamed only a few years ago. And that made everything even more real.

This wasn’t a distant thing. Even though in the 19th century it was widely believed that there was a warm ‘Open Sea’ at the North Pole and breaking through pack ice guaranteed smooth sailing, it wasn’t that long ago at all. I grew so attached to the crew that when tragedy befell them, it hurt. I read faster, skimming the pages, biting my nails as I tried to find out who made it out of the Arctic alive… and who didn’t.

I started reading this book for research, as I wanted to write a fiction novel set in the Arctic. I wanted to see what it was like to brave the elements. I finished reading with a profound sense of loss, as if I’d known the crew personally, as if I’d suffered with them along their heroic, heartbreaking journey which was full of all the twists and turns of an action movie.

And I’m so glad I picked this book up. I plan on reading many more of Hampton Sides’s novels in the future.

Because of the snowy weather recently, it seemed fitting to write this review as my first blog post! More will be coming soon, along with my thoughts on the writing process, how I write books, and possible mythological or historical posts. Because history is fascinating.

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What I’m currently reading: On Writing by Stephen King

Mythology fact of the day: The Inuit god, Agloolik, is a spirit which lives under the ice and is a guardian of seals. Agloolik provides game for hunters and fishermen to feed their families while protecting the balance of nature.

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“There was something peculiarly haunting and powerful about the raw prehistoric landscape – ‘this grand wilderness in its untouched freshness,’ as Muir put it.” – Hampton Sides, In the Kingdom of Ice: The Grand and Terrible Polar Voyage of the USS Jeannette, page 263

Word Seeker

Posts

On The Merits Of Writing

Book Review: In the Kingdom of Ice by Hampton Sides