Caitlin Jones
Caitlin Jones
‘A recurring ideal, I find, is that of simplicity. At times there comes the desire to write with great precision and clarity, words so simple and moving that they bring tears to the eye’. – R.S. Thomas
My own reason for writing is dully simple, I love it. I’ve loved it since childhood, clichéd to death but, ultimately, true. Writing has always followed me: discretely in the margins of books I have annotated, in assignments, exams, diaries and the fantastical (thankfully forgotten) ‘novels’ written in childhood. Even when there is nothing to write about, I want to fill that ‘nothing’ with words. So, naturally, when it came to this week: I was terrified.
My work experience has been spent in Machynlleth with Julie Brominicks, (aunt to my close friend Kirin who joined me on this assignment), full-time writer and my mentor for the placement.
We stayed in her caravan, surrounded with vast woodland and fields in place of concrete and tarmac.
It’s practically alien to my typical routine — akin to that romanticised notion we’ve all had: to give up the familiar cycle of work, sleep, repeat — and retreat, Salinger-esque, into nature. Whilst that doesn’t mean I’ll be quick to acquire a compost toilet, it certainly is a beautiful way of life.
During the first evening of my placement, after being educated on the typicality of commission work, we sat on the fields beyond the caravan discussing the history of Welsh writers. I was astonished at how little I knew about the country’s poetic history, failing both as a literature student and as the descendent of unexplored Welsh heritage. If being immersed in this unfamiliar landscape has motivated me to do one thing beyond write, it’s to broaden my knowledge of other, Welsh, writers.
Income
A particular conversation that played on my mind throughout the week was Julie’s candid summation of economic distribution within the literary field. The lack of substantial income awarded to even the most prolific writers calls into question the social value given to creatives.
On a weekend I work in a cafe. Each shift I see regular customers casually spend plenty on coffee, cakes and full English breakfasts. Yet, local bookshops are fighting to stay afloat, a paperback, seemingly, a luxury.
Why is one expense (a momentary pleasure costing upwards of £10) drastically higher in demand than another that will last a lifetime? It’s an age-old question that has frustrated artists endlessly. An unfortunately insolvable dilemma for any future writer.
Appropriately, my leisure time this week has been consumed by Bradbury’s ‘Fahrenheit 451’, a cautionary tale of censorship and the neglect of books, one I worry is being forgotten all too soon.
Tir Stent at the foot of Cader Idris. Photo by Caitlin Jones
During the weekdays, fieldwork consisted of a variety of activities: from casual interviews of readers and shopkeepers alike, to a trek around the base of Cader Idris and a book talk in which I had the pleasure of reading an extract of my own work to Julie’s audience.
This sporadic schedule has illustrated, to me, the variation that comes with being a writer — certainly more invigorating than a 9-5. Throughout these tasks I have discovered how to successfully integrate quotes into my writing, the extent of research needed for critical pieces, and overcome my reservations about sharing my own project with others.
Compelling
Despite this, the most important lesson I learnt this week was that you don’t need a grand narrative to write something compelling. Seeing Julie, noting the smallest details of our walk with such precision, wishing to articulate every sense to the fullest, made me realise there is so much to capture in the everyday, the little mundanities we take for granted. You don’t need to ponder for hours, mapping out a detailed plan, to write something of merit, you simply need to step beyond your front door and feel.
One of these noteworthy treasures, hidden in plain sight within every landscape can be found in the place I spent a large portion of the week: the cabin. Just beyond Julie’s caravan, down a slippery stone path, the cabin looks out onto the stream.
At night, as well as being a much-appreciated shelter from the wind and rain, it was a haven in which I read, gossiped, slept and wrote alongside Kirin. Despite the door that never fully shut, not for all the force either of us could muster, it was always warm and inviting. A very welcome habitat after a long day.
Inside the cabin by the stream
Who could’ve imagined comfort could come in the form of a mattress, moths and dramatic battles with mosquitos? Still, to wake up to sunlit greenery beaming through a humble skylight is an idyllic way to start a day of writing.
Daunting
In terms of the week’s laboriously produced fruit: here it is! My focal assignment was to write an article documenting my work experience, which has felt both exciting and daunting.
I have written plenty of essays for college, diary entries for a future self and have become accustomed to the strict structure of exams and the fluid (at times incoherent) passages of personal work, but never have I written for an audience.
Maybe the lack of boundaries has enhanced my work, maybe they’ve hindered it — I’ll leave that judgement to you. One thing is for certain: this experience has affirmed my desire to write, regardless of the living (or lack of) that can be made from it, I won’t let financial rewards dictate the emotional.
Caitlin Jones is an A-level student. She is currently studying: English literature, film studies and sociology.
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