Font - the why-and-how-to guide for the creation of a pop-up, drop-in writers club.

It doesn’t take much to be a writer. Hemingway reckons you just need to open a vein and bleed on your keyboard. Beyond the creative struggle, all it takes is a quiet, well-lit space, a desk, a comfy chair, and access to wifi.

You can write at home, or in an office, a library or a cafe. But most people tend to write at home. I don’t think that’s the best idea, either for individual writers or for their community.

I lived in New York for a year and a half as the recipient of the Harriet Friedlander New York Residency. I didn’t have to do anything, and I had a fixed amount of money to last me for as long as possible. The first thing I scrimped on was my writing space. I was in a one-room apartment and I had a desk at the end of my bed. That’ll do, pig.

I’ve never been more demoralized than I was for those first six months. I was in the greatest city in the world, and most days I hardly left the house. I’d wake up; sit down; try to write; check Facebook; stare into fridge. Did I say shower? Sometimes I’d shower. My fiancée at the time would get embarrassed when asked to describe what I did all day. But not as embarrassed as me. I felt like shit. I had to get out of my little bubble and into the community. But I can’t work in a distracting environment.

At first, I tried working at library. I love libraries, they’re great for access to books, but really they’re like train stations. A lot of traffic and the only other people who are there for long stretches are bums. It didn’t make me feel better. Cafes were the same, with the added obli-guiltion to buy more coffee than it’s humanly possible to drink.

Then I found out about The Writers Room. It’s in a beautifully furnished space on the top floor of a cool building in Astor Place. It cost $170 a month. I got to go to work every day. I could leave my work at the office if I wanted. My home got to be the place I lived.

I became incredibly productive. I completed work on Trees Beneath the Lake, two screenplays and a TV pilot. I blogged. A lot of the time I still fucked around,  but whatever I did or didn’t do that day, I’d got out of the house and gone to work.

This is how The Writer’s Room works. The main space is silent. No talking, cellphones silent. No assigned desks, but some people find their favorite spots and generally get to work there on a first-come-first-served basis. Each desk has screens to give you privacy. But you’re not isolated. It was the perfect combination of being distraction-free and being part of a group.

It’s enabling in all the best ways. When you need a push to keep cracking, there’s always someone near you writing hard. When you need to justify some Facebook time, there’s always someone near you doing that too. You can access it 24/7, because some people keep office hours, others write through the night, and many pop in for an hour or so before or after work. Yes. Most writers have other lives that they work their writing around. Some members are professional writers. The person who wrote Ice Age works there. So did Alan Cumming. But a lot of other members write the way some of us do yoga: For mind and spirit, to compliment and enhance other aspects of our lives. Community was formed organically. You’d meet people in the elevator, or talk to them in the kitchen, or catch a glimpse of their writing, or figure that you’re on the same schedule. I met a nice, quiet woman who liked to work near the same window. We went to a play together. Turns out she runs a bondage and discipline community forum. It was fun.

I want to make something like this right here in New Zealand.

If our writers room is going to be a success, my first task is to help redefine our sense of ‘being a writer.’ So often these days you are what you get paid for. If that’s true, I’m only a writer a few weeks of the year. So it’s therefore not true. Step one: my definition of being a writer has nothing to do with the question ‘do you make a living from your writing?’. It’s the answer to ‘do you write?’ I want to create a community based around people who write. Just like a yoga studio creates a community based around people who do yoga. I want to bring writers together into a space.

Our space is called Font. There are very few rules. The main space is silent. No talking, cellphones on silent. No assigned desks. Unlike The Writers Room, a kitchen is not a necessity for Font. I want us to engage with the community around us. You can get your coffees from the café next door, you can bring your snacks and eat them in a public space, or buy them from one of the many food outlets around you. All right, maybe we’ll have a kettle. But it’ll have to be in another room. That writing space is sacred. But yes, you can read, text, surf the internet, stare out the window, or even take a nap. We’ve even got special chairs just for that.

Anyone who writes can be a member. If you’re a blogger, a freelance journalist, a researcher, a post-grad student, a novelist, a playwright, a screenwriter, a poet, a grant-writer, a policy writer, a biographer, a copyrighter, a lyricist or any other person whose purpose of being part of the community is to write there by yourself, you’re welcome. Font is the place for you.  

The membership will be designed so everyone who wants to join can join, and stay joined. You’ll be able to access it 24/7 and you’ll be safe in there.  You’ll feel like a part of something.

I’m working with designer Nathan Goldsworthy to create an interior design that gives members all the benefits of comfort and consistency, without tying us down to one continuous location or lease.

We’re creating Font on the basis that if you build it, they will come. What we’re not trying to build is a building. We’re trying to build a community of writers. I can’t stress this enough: Font is about the community, not the building.

Nathan’s a friend and I was inspired by the inspiration he took from Napoleon. Did you know Napoleon invented flat-packed furniture? Or caused it to happen. When he was on the warpath, he needed a study in which to plan, read and write. It needed to be comfortable, and be set up with a desk, chairs, shelves, his books, carpets, just so. It had to be luxurious enough for Napoleon, and malleable enough to pack down in the morning, transport to the next spot and erect again that night.

Nathan’s creating an interior fit-out in the same spirit, so that Font can take advantage of central city retail and office spaces that are untenanted for a period of 2-6 months at a time. We’ll pay a peppercorn rent for a great spot, set up our community and work there till we have to leave or want to find another place. Then we’ll pack it down, stick it in a van and set up again at our next spot. When the community moves to the next spot their workspace will look just the same as it always has, and we’ll get to engage with another part of our city.

We know this is what writers want, because I asked them. In a survey sent out through the Writer’s Guild, the Society of Authors and the Institute of Modern Letters. Our idea is to get writers out of their bedrooms and give them a chance to go to work every day in the middle of the very thing their words are designed to affect: Their community. That’s it. We’re not telling you what to write, how or when. We’re just giving you a where. We’re not trying to force collaboration between members, though I’m pretty sure that kind of thing will start happening organically. If you see someone you like the look of, maybe you can slip them a note, or say hi to them sometime.

Nathan and I are creating a club where writers can work and be inspired to work more. And where their friends, family and the public can feel them working. We’re starting in Wellington, because that’s where I live, but if it goes well there there’s nothing stopping us from creating Fonts for any city that wants one. Like Napoleon’s study, this is mobile, and replicable. Wherever there’s a community that needs an inspiring space to write, there can be a Font. If you’d like to be part of this, please get in touch.