Louise O'Neill: Instead of being mindful, of staying focused in this moment, I am all too eager to find a way of escaping

I’ve written before about The Artist’s Way, a 12-week programme designed by Julia Cameron to help unblock creativity.

I’m superstitious about the book at this stage, rereading it before I embark on any new project. I’m currently on week four, which contains the dreaded Reading Deprivation task.

That’s right: No reading. No novels, no newspapers, no websites. You can’t listen to the radio or podcasts, watch TV or movies.

You can’t consume words of any kind because Cameron reasons that, “we gobble the words of others... rather than cook up something of our own”.

She writes that “without distractions, we are once again thrust into the sensory word. With no newspaper to shield us, a train becomes a viewing gallery.

"With no novel to sink into and no television to numb us out, an evening becomes a vast savannah in which furniture — and other assumptions — get rearranged... if you are not reading, you will run out of work and be forced to play.”

As you can imagine, it is absolutely torturous. I thought I would be good at it but I don’t think I realised that I equated silence with being alone rather than being left with my own thoughts all the time.

When I’m in the gym, without a podcast, all I can hear is the sound of my runners hitting the treadmill. A car journey to Cork City is eerily quiet.

I have a doctor’s appointment at 9.30am and a therapy session at 2pm and no way of filling the hours in between.

I go to see the Tactile Encounters exhibition at the Glucksman Gallery, and Heroes and Villains at the Crawford Gallery (both very good), before wandering around Brown Thomas and nearly convincing myself that a Givenchy handbag would be an ‘investment’ and an ‘heirloom piece’.

At home that evening, I stare at my bookshelves mournfully, whispering I’ll be back, I promise, to all the unread novels.

It reminded me of when I was a child and had committed some egregious crime; my father would ban me from reading for a few days. I didn’t care about being grounded — hanging out with people? Outside? No thanks! — so this was the most effective way of ensuring I didn’t reoffend.

Those were dark times, grasping at the box of Ready Brek in the morning and scanning the ingredients list over and over again, just to have some words to consume, then spending hours doing English homework that should have taken 30 minutes.

The adult version of that is writing copious amounts of work emails, which is not cheating, before you ask, because I am very busy and important and I need to be professional, OK? (Narrator’s Voice: It’s probably cheating.)

I don’t watch television but I usually spend around three hours every evening reading so last night I practically sat on my mother’s lap and forced her to talk to me.

Mother: I think I might just read another chapter of my —

Me: Don’t even think about it, lady.

My friends keep sending me interesting articles but I can’t open them which means I don’t know what Trump’s ‘Darkest Hour’ is about — has he been impeached?

Please god he’s been impeached! — and I also don’t know what’s happening in Angelina and Brad’s increasingly messy divorce. (#TeamAngelina).

How did people survive before the printing press? Before the internet and TV and radio? Did they all just sit around, play cards, and have deep, meaningful conversations?

In The Artist’s Way, Cameron lists a few things you can do when you’re not reading: Make curtains, go dancing, write letters. Sort out your closets.

Bake a cake. Repot some plants. Paint the bedroom. Spoiler alert — I have done none of these things because I am useless and lazy.

What the Reading Deprivation has done, however, is highlight to me how much of my day I spend lost in another world. Instead of being mindful, of staying focused in this moment, right now, I am all too eager to find a way of escaping. How many of us do that?

How many of us say we are “so busy” and “stressed” but if we actually took stock of the time that we spent watching TV, reading, or listening to podcasts, how many extra hours would that give us back? Hours that we could spend writing that book we’ve always wanted to write.

We could take an evening class to practise our Spanish or learn how to make pottery. Why are we always searching for ways to check out of our own lives, to sleepwalk through our days?

Why are we so afraid of the silence that emerges when we don’t fill up our days with endless noise? What is it we think we will find there, in the dark? Pain? Or even worse, forgotten hopes and broken dreams?

I am glad the Reading Deprivation task only lasts for one week. I love books too much and reading is too important to me to forgo it completely.

This column isn’t about encouraging people to read less — please don’t do that! Books are essential for fostering imagination and creativity and empathy.

Read more! Support your local bookshops! But if you want to be a writer, at some point you will need to put down the book and pick up the pen.

LOUISE SAYS

BUY: The Lighthouse Cinema hosts the Children Book’s Ireland conference on September 22-23 – this year’s theme is Dreams and Nightmares. Full disclosure — I’m speaking with the wonderful Sarah Moore Fitzgerald on the Saturday.

WATCH: Simone George and Mark Pollock’s TED talk about the tension between acceptance and hope. Eight years after Mark lost his sight, he fell out the window of a third story building and woke up paralysed. This video is incredibly inspiring and the palpable love between Pollock and George will bring tears to your eyes.