A writing antidote to Janxiety

Using your 'Drawer of Randomness’ as a catalyst for writing

Photo by Behnam Norouzi on Unsplash

January is a shitshow.

It arrives like a stranger, fresh-faced and bright-eyed, barging through the door and striding round your house like there’s an intervention happening. It sits down, puts its shoes on your table and drinks your coffee, all the time talking about ambition, getting it right, success. It leans forward, beckons you close, and says “this is the year, right?”

New Year’s resolutions and all that fluff is a dangerous time for writing folk. The unbridled rise in self-expectation. The pull-it-all together drive. Wet woodland walks of squelch and mulch, where you plan that poem, that story, that book. Where you vision the fuck out of your novel cover.

“Come on,” says January, helping you into your clothes. “You can do this!”

And you find yourself putting your arms through New Year’s sleeves and shrugging it over your body.

“Let’s go, buddy,” says January.

“Where exactly?” you ask, trying to avoid putting both feet down one trouser leg,

“You know,” it says.

“Do I?” you say, because it feels like nothing fits, you’re all writing fingers and editing thumbs.

January puts its hands on your shoulders, gazes into your eyes and says: “It’s a truth (universally acknowledged) that most writers want to catch the updraft of a new year in a positive way. So, get your big boy pants on and get out there.”

“Who even are you,” you reply.

“Let’s start with a to-do list,” says January.

“You’re a prick and I hate this,” you say.

“Ata boy,” says January, “Use that energy!”

Janxiety ensues. That restless, expectant feeling which arrives after the festive delirium - or Decemblur, as I like to call it (yes, that’s right, I like portmanteau words, so sue me).

The Severn Estuary in January (copyright Ken Elkes)

Personally, I spent the holiday period in the grip of something adjacent to flu or Covid, seemingly hell-bent on coughing up my own pelvis, and managing to lose a unknown volume of used tissues in that annoying space between the mattress and headboard, the bedroom equivalent of the back of the sofa. In between the sneezing and thoughts of impending doom, I knew January was lurking, full of its dark arts and new starts.

All of which is a long-winded way of introducing a writing idea, an antidote to Janxiety, that I came up with while staring at the contents of my Drawer of Randomness.

Let me explain. Most of us have one of these - a drawer, or jar, or cupboard of random things that we promise to sort out, but never do. Some call it a Man Drawer. For others, it might be the basket or dish where you are supposed to leave just your keys, but gets filled up with all sorts of disparate shit. It might be an old handbag, or a carrier bag hefted onto the top of a wardrobe. It could be an entire garage.

Whatever it is, your Drawer of Randomness might have a particularly urgent, plaintive cry in January. It did for me, but instead of clearing it out, like a sensible person, I thought the disparate contents could be fruitful as a writing prompt. After all, what is a piece of writing but a collection of separate things that we draw together to create connections, meaning and resonance.

Drawer of Randomness Writing Exercises

Below is a picture of some objects I picked out, all of them seemingly unrelated, and below that is a description of each one:

• A die (one of a pair purchased on a trip to Las Vegas, where, incidentally, I won a thousand bucks on one hand and got treated by the pit boss like I was an incarnation of Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man).

• Cube with the words ‘Don’t Know’ on it (other faces say: Never, Maybe, Yes, No, and Always)

• Hex key that tightens, well, who knows what.

• A collar stiffner for a shirt no longer owned.

• Polished fossil, beige yet beautiful.

• Felt protection pad (included because the words ‘felt protection pad’ feel somehow inspiring, or weirdly medical).

• Something called After Bite (to be used for insect stings, but the words After Bite have a ring to them).

• Pencil with the word Head on it (which I once used in a satirical story called Big Dick Energy).

• Mouth harp. I can’t remember where I bought this, or if it was bought for me, or why. But who cares, this is writing prompt territory!

• Tiger Balm – Sounds like the title of a story to me.

• Pair of wooden shakers. Yes, a musical instrument. Yes, also, they do also have a certain testicular look to them.

• A piece of wood with lines carved into it. Attractive in a, I’m not quite sure what to do with that way.

• A bracelet created from marine grade steel for some unfathomable reason.

• A sleeve of sugar. No doubt picked up from a coffee shop on a travel trip where I knew my cut-price hotel would not provide enough. And don’t get me started on the lack of fresh milk…

• A pen with the word Naked! on it. An evocative word in so many ways.

• Key for some long-lost padlock.

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You might think ‘so what. It’s just stuff’. And that’s true. It is just stuff. But there’s alchemy in ‘stuff’ if you are minded to put your creative brain to it.

I managed to write the draft of a story from the objects I picked out.

So here’s three ways that you can use this stuff, and stick two fingers up to the Janxiety and get on with some writing of your own:

1. Go through your own Drawer of Randomness (or use the image above) and pick out half a dozen objects that seem somehow interesting or resonant, or have associations that you can use as fuel for writing. Then create a story using one, some, or all of the items.

2. Collect together half a dozen objects (as above) and use them to write a character study. What kind of person would have some of these items? Why have they been kept? What does it say about them? What next action might it prompt?

3. Select just a single object, one that seems to hold the most interest and resonance. Then create a scene where that object is a source of conflict or intrigue between two or more characters. It could be anything – from a game with the metal dice which has unexpected consequences, to someone coveting that last sleeve of sugar in a rundown hotel room.

That’s your lot for this time folks. Please do like, comment, share and subscribe!