A Day in the Life of Amanda Smyth, author of 'Fortune'

23 July 2021

I’m up around 7am. These days I drink hot water and lemon, then feed our two cats. Milo is young and beautiful, and we bought him during lockdown. Mimi, our beloved old tortoiseshell hisses at him all day long like a cobra. There’s a fair bit of policing to do and this starts from early morning. I can’t resist taking a look at the news, dipping into some social media. It’s easy to get lost; I keep an eye on the clock.

Amanda Smyth gives Female First readers an insight into her daily routine

I make a packed lunch for Amelie, my 9 year-old daughter, then after I’ve dropped her at school, I usually go for a run in the park with a friend from drop off. We aim to do 5km about three times a week. It never gets any easier, but I’m always glad to have done it; always lifted by the sight of the big chestnut trees, the river Leam, the changing skies. Running definitely clears my mind.

Back at home, after breakfast, I try to settle myself at my desk. I often struggle to find my way into the novel. I’m a great procrastinator. It helps to re-read yesterday’s work. I always take care to get the writing cleaned up before moving the narrative along, which means the work is pretty pristine but slow in coming together. It’s exactly the opposite of how I tell my students to work. “Get it all down, then get it right.”

Some days I might write a page, others less. On a good day, there will be 800-1000 words. I’ve learned that there are all kinds of ways to encourage the muse; sometimes I’ll dive down a rabbit hole of research and disappear for hours. I had to do a lot of research with my latest novel, Fortune, set in Trinidad in 1920s. I learned about drilling for oil, blow out preventors and drill bits. It was fascinating. If I’m stuck, I might read the work of someone I admire. It can remind me of what I’m reaching for. The truth is, much of a writer’s work is done staring out of the window. It looks like daydreaming.

If things are going well, I will grab some lunch and keep working and before I know it, it’s time to pick Amelie up at 3.20. When I’m writing a novel, the days seem incredibly short.

My husband has been working from home since lockdown. We all have dinner together, catch up with each other’s news. Then once Amelie is in bed, I might go back to my desk and look over what I’ve done that day. If I’m not happy with it, I’ll fiddle with it for a while. I can be obsessive, taking out commas and putting them back in. But if I’m happy enough, I’ll close the office door and relax with a book, or a TV drama, like the brilliant Call My Agent—which makes me want to relocate to Paris and start smoking.

There are never enough hours in the day.