Wild Patience Diaries: Lists of What We Love

Tanya Shadrick on Downs for Foundle collaboration with sculptor Jo Sweeting and writer Louisa Thomsen Brits 1

On his lifelong practice of list-making, prolific author Ray Bradbury said:

Why did I put this word down? What does it mean to me? Why did I put this noun down and not some other word? Do this and you’re on your way to being a good writer…I tell people Make a list of ten things you hate and tear them down in a short story or poem. Make a list of ten things you love and celebrate them. When I wrote Fahrenheit 451 I hated book burners and I loved libraries. So there you are.

The Art of Fiction No 203, Paris Review (Spring 2010), Ray Bradbury

When I began my self-created artistic apprenticeship (during a bleak period of extended sick leave, as described in a previous entry), Bradbury was one of the authors I chose as guide to a more creative life. I admired his fluency and joy in the work. Starting so late at writing, and doing so around the care of young children, I couldn’t afford the models of creativity I’d encountered during my distant English degrees – artists bleeding slowly in life, on the page, both.

As I sat outdoors in that first season of trying to write, quiet in the daytime for the first time in seven years of working while raising small children to school age, I was as blank of desire as the page before me. What did I love? If I’d ever known, I’d forgotten.

Tanya Shadrick in residence at Bucks Mills National Trust - By Hand
Tanya Shadrick in residence at Bucks Mills National Trust

The difficulty seemed worthwhile. I would give a whole days to it, and make a list not of ten things but a hundred, more. Try in this way to recover appetite, as when we have to force ourselves to eat again after a long illness.

The first ten items were simply domestic, and very close to hand – ‘growing things from seed’, ‘apples eaten with a knife’, ‘my husband’s wedding jacket of brown corduroy, hanging still in our hall’. Then a spurt of cultural stuff – ‘The diaries of Virginia Woolf’, ‘The life of Iris Murdoch’, ‘The sculptures of Barbara Hepworth’.

Next came more evocative ideas and memories, while still on a modest scale. Colour, texture: ‘Knitting myself a winter jumper on a summer beach’, ‘the railings on my long street which I painted green this year’, ‘handkerchiefs worn as headscarves’.

It was only towards the end of that day’s long, awkward courting of my lost self that deeper feeling returned:

67. My sense of calm, of rightness, when I sit at the hospice with a dying person 
69. Lives lived wholly in one place: My mother, Granny Shadrick, Old Mr Phillips
81. The idea of this country in the two wars: How classes mixed; men and women
87. That I met what I thought was my death with courage and clear sightedness
93. Nobel Laureates of Peace and Literature
94. My ugly hands which mother, make love, knit, write: their strength and skill
99. Watching myself and my husband age together, this two decades

Until I arrived, finally, at a new and larger perspective of myself, and what I was pursuing:

100. That I am trying to live a connected and considered life after a difficult childhood: My life as a quilt made from the better stuff of friends – patched, borrowed, cobbled together – and yet, through my sincere effort, becoming something my own.

My first published work was still two years away – an essay about painting those railings I mention as Number 33, then a story called The Weather House about my childhood’s most beloved toy (a broken barometer shaped like a Swiss Chalet that my estranged father threw in the hedge as rubbish on a rare visit).

It would be a full five years before I could look back and see just how much of my second life’s work grew from that list made on an obscure out-of-work school day. Not only the material, but also the aesthetics: When I performed my two-season Wild Patience mile of writing by the historic lido of my home town, I wore a handkerchief as headscarf and had red polish on the short nails of my large hands that moved across the pool-length scrolls of paper – things from my list become emblems for the kind of woman, the type of writer, I wanted to be in the world.

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Published by tanyashadrick

Author of The Cure For Sleep: On waking up, breaking free & making a more creative life - a Waterstones Non-Fiction Book of 22 | Publisher at The Selkie Press | FRSA

6 thoughts on “Wild Patience Diaries: Lists of What We Love

  1. Loved the eating fruit with a knife example. Something small, and everyday, that provides exquisite pleasure. Is something atavistic? The sharp blade slicing through the pulpy fruit. The perfect portion expertly cut. Am inspired to write my own list, great discipline and self-knowledge. Thanks for writing.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I LOVE lists and use them often in my writing and art-gathering practice. Had to chuckle re: your red nails. I just painted mine thus as a way to keep from nervously worrying them in these strange times. There is something powerful in short red nails. Something that says, “I can do this.” I just subscribed to your beautiful blog posts. Keep em comin. (and if you’re ever bored, I have 12 years of content over on my own blog if you ever care to take a peek.) ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Wow, well this was an emotional one. Several days ago I say and numbered lines on paper 1-100 and this evening I sat down and wrote my list. It includes lone candles in a darkened place, ancient pathways, the direct response to an experience and the potential transformative effect, the hope and ability to make someone’s day just a little bit better and finding comfort in something far beyond my understanding. Please keep sending these weekly communications, particularly at this troubled time. Keep safe.

    Liked by 1 person

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