A fresh start (Kerry)

I rise to my feet, step up to the podium, and confidently face the audience. The room is full, and buzzing with excitement and anticipation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I begin, silencing their spontaneous applause. “Creativity blossoms when you have the freedom to experiment and the time to allow ideas to mature. Underlying the process is hard work, daily practice, hours with the muse.”

I pause to allow this fundamental wisdom to be digested.

The brief hiatus gives me an opportunity to reflect on the preceding years.

My initial devastation at being laid off was short-lived. Nobody likes being told they’re not wanted but I had to admit I had never felt that the job at the council was stretching me. Being laid off was the perfect time to launch into something new. I toyed with some other jobs but I knew that I wanted to be a writer and this was the time to get started.

That first day was so daunting. For the first time in my working life nobody was paying me. Or even paying attention to me. I was living on my own resources. That really put the pressure on but I was determined to make it work.

I had set up the spare room for my studio. This was the space for my imagination to bud. Of course I needed a desk and chair and a computer, the practical trappings, but I had spent days making the space really mine. I’d hung some paintings and filled the bookshelves with my favourite books to stimulate my imagination. In the corner beside the armchair was a vase filled with flowers from the garden. Through the window in front of the desk I was able to gaze out at the ocean. I likened its pounding rush to a mother’s blood surging around the womb. This was to be my creative cave.

With high expectations I sat at my desk on the first day. Alone.

“Creativity flourishes in company, in conversations with friends, in walks along Main Street and in sharing your life with others,” I continue.

The audience is listening in hushed silence.

I recall again that first day and my frustrated beginnings as a writer.

After an hour of re-arranging the papers on my desk, sitting with my head in my hands, and thinking ponderously, I rose and moved to the armchair.

I closed my eyes, relaxed and meditated for half an hour. Still no spark of inspiration had fallen upon me.

I took a coffee outside and wandered around the garden.

I was finally released from the agony of inactivity when my new neighbour called out from his back verandah and invited me in. We talked about the world and the state of the nation. We laughed about life and human foibles. We listened to each other’s disappointments and successes. I was connected again to humanity. My creativity ignited, I hurried back to the studio.

“To create you must participate fully in life,” I conclude.

The audience rises and claps rapturously as I humbly accept the Man Booker Prize.