Mothership Writers is two years old today. Here I take the chance to reflect – like a doting mum – on some milestones and highlights, from conception to fully-fledged toddlerhood.
I officially launched Mothership Writers on 10th January 2019, with a call-out for new mums to join a free 25-session creative writing programme here in Bristol, made possible by funding from Arts Council England and the National Lottery. Despite my belief in the idea, I didn’t know how it would be received in reality. When I was planning Mothership, I couldn’t find anything else like it out there – was that because new mums and creative writing just didn’t mix? The inspiration for the project came purely from my own experience – and a desire to share my love, and gratitude, for writing. I’d been in the middle of working on my third novel (which coincidentally featured a new mother) when my son was born in 2014, and I found that more than ever I relished the space that writing gave me – the freedom and control that otherwise felt in such short supply. I strongly felt that new motherhood was a seismic experience that demanded to be written about, and that the benefits of putting pen to paper were there for all, not just for seasoned writers, or people who were already used to seeing personal experience as creative possibility. Patriarchal society has long expected us to regard motherhood as something ordinary when it is anything but; as the poet Carrie Fountain said, ‘if men could have babies, there would be no other subject of poetry. It is the most remarkable thing that happens on planet Earth, and they can’t do it.’
Back to the project launch: I’d allowed three months to fill the programme, but within 24 hours the first 40 places had been snapped up. It unequivocally showed that there wasn’t just an interest in writing among new mums, there was a need: a strong desire for self-expression, and evidence of the rich relationship between creativity and maternity. I added a third group to the programme, funding it myself, but gratefully aided by a grant from the Literature Works Annual Fund, and prioritised mums from under-represented audiences. I remember being in the cafe of our East Bristol venue, St Werburghs Community Centre, my phone pinging with enquiry after enquiry, and thinking oh wow, this is ON.
In April 2019, the first Mothership workshop took place, with eighteen mums and seventeen babies in the room. The week before I’d mentioned the endeavour to another author and writing teacher – a man, as it happens – and he’d laughed: he thought it was insane. I remember stopping during that first session and thinking my god, this is actually working and then I knew it would! The workshops were roughly split in half; first focusing on the craft of creative writing, then on writing motherhood itself; the atmosphere was chilled, but no less industrious. On the way home I saw a tweet from one of the group, Amy, saying Mothership was a ‘feminist utopia’ and I walked the three miles back home to South Bristol with an absurdly large grin on my face.
Our second venue for the pilot programme was Windmill Hill City Farm, and in warm weather our room held onto all the heat of the day so we threw open the windows; more often than not, these Friday afternoon sessions had a subtle background soundtrack of baaing sheep. When I think of workshops at the farm there’s sunshine pouring through the windows, pens scratching across pages, soft gurgles and burbles of babies – and utter peace. Of course it got noisy sometimes, but nowhere near as loud as you might think. Some days I wish I could have recorded it; bottled it. Thinking of it now – meeting inside as a group of fifteen or twenty people (plus babes), passing babies between us, sitting on blankets on the floor writing as if at a picnic – it feels like a distant dream.
That first spring, in May 2019, we also held a Mothership Inspiration Day at the city farm, a free event for mums on the 100-strong waiting list. I ran workshops, and I was grateful to amazing author friends Emma Stonex and Lucy Clarke for coming and talking about what it was like to write their novels while mothering newborns. Through the whole of the pilot programme we were lucky to have extra baby cuddlers in our sessions, specifically writers Rosie Walsh, Jen Faulkner, and Meg Williams, who so generously gave their time every fortnight. And in November 2019 one of our crew, poet Deanna Rodger, ran three amazing poetry sessions for us, and I loved handing over the proverbial mic, borrowing a baby and opening my notebook.
Over that first year I got to know the most incredible and inspiring group of women, and saw at first-hand how transformative writing can be. Bristol had 58 card-carrying Mothership Writers then, and we made it to 24 of the 25-session programme before the first lockdown hit. When the time came for everyone to turn in their written pieces for the final anthology I was blown away by the stories they were willing to share. I knew that people were writing through not just sleep-deprivation, but depression, anxiety, birth trauma, bereavement, break-ups; the resilience and grace was humbling. Editing those fifty works of poetry and prose through March 2020 was a privilege – and a challenge I felt lucky to take on. What a distraction, too, from all that was happening in the world at the time. Through April, I was working on the design and lay-up with our mega talented Mothership artist Esther Curtis – who has been such an important part of this journey from day one – and planning the production schedule. Our finished book, Dispatches from New Motherhood, is truly a labour of love. While we got our crew together on Zoom, we haven’t forgotten that we’re owed a proper gathering: to raise a glass to our beautiful book, and each other.
By this time, I was in no doubt as to how important Mothership Writers was to me. It was a constant source of joy and enrichment, and it’d already taught me so much too. The pilot programme was over, as was the funding, and I knew if I wanted Mothership to live on, we had to go online and stand on our own two feet. On 1st June I launched the first season of 8-week courses, set to take place from July. It was important to me to make it accessibly priced – in line with baby groups, rather than creative writing courses – with one fully subsidised place for someone who couldn’t otherwise afford to take part, for every seven paid places. The courses sold out within two days. We were up and running!
It was amazing to realise that we still had the same sense of community and intimacy in the online sessions, and cool to note that in the comfort of their own homes, a lot of mums took the hour-long sessions as time for themselves; there were fewer babies in the mix than in the face-to-face workshops. Testimonials described it as ‘a spa for the soul’, ‘a gift’, ‘a lifeline’. And it meant a lot when a mum of colour said how much she appreciated the diversity of the course content. Our last sessions of the summer and autumn courses were emotional: despite the shorter course length, and our groups never having met in real life, bonds were made, stories shared, and tears flowed. Four post-Mothership book clubs have since launched (which I love, love, love).
In October we made 30 copies of the super limited edition Dispatches from New Motherhood available, with every penny from the sales (after postage) going to Baby Bank Network, helping to buy baby essentials for families in need. The books sold out in just one morning, and we raised £258 for this brilliant charity.
In November 2020 I ran my 100th workshop for Mothership and, in keeping with the strange times, it was a chilly al fresco session from my sister-in-law’s garden; I couldn’t go in the house as her son’s year group were self-isolating, I couldn’t zoom from my own as a neighbourhood joker had snipped our internet cable. I drank coffee, ate a Tunnock’s bar, and held my umbrella over my laptop when it started raining. I was aglow.
With the second lockdown in November, I wanted to do something to acknowledge the particularly tough circumstances that new mums in 2020 have faced. BORN IN LOCKDOWN is a collaborative writing project that encouraged new mums to keep a daily account of their experiences through writing short fragments of prose, (a style inspired by such works as Jenny Offill’’s Dept. of Speculation, Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts, and the video app 1 Second Everyday). The response to the call-out was amazing, and once again I was reminded not just of people’s desire to write, but the importance of providing encouraging spaces and opportunities to do so. The finished piece will be launched next month, available as a free PDF download, with a voluntary donation to charity. I can tell you now – basically because none of the writing is mine – it’s going to be stunning. 276 new mums have taken part – 276! – and their words used verbatim. It’s been my job to weave together the fragments, to find the narrative threads and create a patchwork of both individual and shared experience. I’m so proud of this project. Stay tuned for more on BORN IN LOCKDOWN coming very soon.
Meanwhile to kickstart 2021 I ran a one-off Inspiration Session on Zoom, with 40 writing mums taking part: an hour of creative energisation! Something it feels we all need now more than ever. In a couple of weeks, the winter courses will begin, where we’re set to welcome 48 new writers to our ever-growing crew. I can’t wait, and, two years on, I still come away from every session buzzing.
I’m so grateful to everyone who’s supported Mothership along the way, from the friends and project partners who first gave invaluable advice and ideas, to the Arts Council and Literature Works for initial funding, and brilliantly supportive people in the writing community (and the ever-growing creative mothers community). Above all, I want to thank all those who’ve written with us; the mums who’ve taken a leap to try something new, at a time when sleep is scant, other demands are plenty, and life is tumultuous. You show up with open notebooks and open hearts, ready to write, connect, and share – and you’re amazing. My little son said I should turn up on all of your doorsteps with cake. I wish I could! Happy Birthday, Mothership Writers. And thank you.
Love Emylia x
