40 Weeks

6.48am and I’m searching ‘gestation human baby’ online.

When Helena suggested the topic for this week’s writing: 40 Weeks — What’s happened?, I’d instantly thought of pregnancy and how long women usually carry their babies. But I wasn’t sure I’d got my facts straight. Numbers have never been my strength. So this morning I googled it. 40 weeks, it seems. You probably knew that. Now I do too.

Guess I’ve never really had to think about the technical details of pregnancy. I’d just notice my pregnant friends got bigger and bigger. “Kind of ready for bub to come now,” they’d tell me with a sigh. No need for talk of weeks or how long they had to go. Their waddle and puffy fingers said enough.

And yet, when it comes to the NTP’s, my ‘Not Too Precious’ writing group, I’ve found myself filing and tracking weeks. I have blue folders in other blue folders on my computer desktop, each filled with documents we’ve written, commented on and edited. 

I met Helena and Lib — my fellow NTP’s — online. The three of us were part of Patti Miller’s Advanced Memoir course, where we workshopped our fellow writers’ work each week. On the final day of the course, I sent an email to Helena asking if she might like to continue workshopping. In order to write, I needed to be held accountable. I’d also valued her well-considered feedback. Helena was keen, and suggested we also ask Lib. Thankfully, Lib came on board too. After a few emails back and forth, we formed the NTP’s. 

We started in December 2021 and we’ve had a few weeks off here and there, but generally we’ve written, submitted and met online every week. For 40 weeks in fact. It’s a long time. Average 3000 words a week each, and that’s a lot of writing. Getting close enough for a book.

That’s another thing I googled the other day. ‘How long is average novel?’ I knew it was a stupid question, but I googled it all the same and was quite pleased to discover I may already have enough words. Lib and Helena too. Better to think of what we’ve already achieved, rather than all the people and events we still haven’t written about. Can’t wait to sort through everything we’ve written and see what we’ve got. Structure is going to be the hard part. I might get a special writer’s program on my computer to help with that. It’ll be so good to dedicate a week to the book when we all go away. We’re planning to meet up for our own writer’s retreat somewhere on the east coast early next year. I’ve never spent a whole week writing. Just days here and there. In fact, before we started the NTP’s, I’d never really dedicated time or energy to my writing. I’d written for work and submissions, but never just for me. And certainly not memoir. 

When Patti asked me during the course what I was writing about, I had to admit I didn’t yet know. Many of the participants in the advanced course had already started developing their true stories. I’d only done a handful of exercises in the first few chapters of Patti’s Writing True Stories guide.

“There’s a recurring theme of a quiet girl who grew up spending more time in the garden and with animals than she did with other people,” I said. “And, the girl’s got an older father.” 

A young girl surrounded by nature. That was the theme I thought I wanted to write about, but I realise now that’s another book. As are the windowsill stories from around the world, the book of nicknames, and the book of men who were never mine. This book, the one I’m writing now — and it takes a lot of guts to admit that to the world — is about the very circumstances that have prevented me from ever dedicating much time or energy to writing. The circumstances which have made me who I am today. As for what they are, you’ll have to read the book.

When we started the NTP’s I was living in a small coastal town with my father as his full-time carer. I’d temporarily moved down from Melbourne to help him nine months earlier, but my father’s deteriorating health meant I couldn’t leave. I’d been a teacher for nearly a decade but my circumstances meant I could no longer teach. For the first time in twenty years I was unemployed. Writing was something I could do at home, in-between caring for my father.

Since then, my father has spent four months in hospital. He and I have spent most of this year navigating the aged care system and his physical and emotional transition into an aged care facility. It’s been one of the toughest years of our lives. But, this year, I have returned to my home in Melbourne. I’ve started my own business and am now working from home. Working for myself and from home gives me more flexibility to visit my father and take him to appointments. I have more time to dedicate to my writing, and my partner. My life as I once knew it has changed a great deal.

The one constant over the last ten or so months has been the NTP’s. Write and submit every Sunday. Maximum 4000 words. Meet online Tuesday, 5.30pm. We’ve settled into a routine. And that routine has kept me writing.

Some weeks I can’t be bothered. Like today. Don’t care if it's only meant to be 500 words. No pregnant waddle or puffy fingers, but I’m over it. Too many other things to do. Things I’d rather do. But I’ll write. Because I’m part of the NTP’s and that’s what we do. 

Since I started working full time again, I write through the night on Sundays to get my submission in on time. It’s the only spare time I have. Often it’s 3am by the time I crawl into bed and I’m up for work again a few hours later. But it’s worth it. I might read over the page — or 4000 words I’ve greedily written when I’ve got into ‘the zone’ — and think to myself that what came out of my head and onto the page wasn’t so bad after all. 

This writing group is the only thing that keeps me writing. Of course, there are humans involved, and Lib and Helena are a whole other story. I might write about them in the future, but after I’ve met them face-to-face. In the meantime, I just feel so lucky. Lucky to have Lib warmly encouraging me. Lucky to have Helena pushing me out of my comfort zone. Lucky to be part of the discovery, development and telling of other people’s stories too. I don’t get excited about much, but the thought that some time next year all three of us might have a finished book… that’s something I’ve always dreamt of. My own little baby — full of me and my hard work and love.