Congratulations to Maeve - Self-Indulgence Blog - for having their following essay chosen for publication on Blank Canvas Post. The essay that follows is a truly wonderful exploration of sacrifice, community, and compassion. Please read the follow conversation between us at Blank Canvas Post and Maeve - Self-Indulgence Blog - to understand more about the writer and the context for this brilliant essay.
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Writer Spotlight: Maeve Relihan
From Walsall in the West Midlands of England, Maeve - Self-Indulgence Blog - has been writing a mixture of fiction, poetry, and personal essays sporadically ever since their teen years, getting involved in student journalism while studying an undergraduate degree. “I would say that I’ve been taking my writing more seriously for the past 18 months”, says Maeve - Self-Indulgence Blog.
What was it that made you start writing?
This is a very cliche answer but I have honestly always had the urge to write. Whether it was writing stories at school, stories at home, or just in a diary, for as long as I’ve been an avid reader (which probably began when I was about seven or eight), I’ve been trying to write my own stuff, too.
What experiences have you had that have shaped the writer you are today?
Another cliche answer unfortunately, but I had quite a difficult childhood, and I have always found writing incredibly therapeutic, and even healing. It is an excellent processing tool. Something else that has shaped me is allowing my work to be read in creative writing workshops at university. The guidance of good professors and my peers helped me get over the fear of my work being read and gave me the confidence I needed to start sharing things online. Hearing other people’s honest, fair opinions on your work is invaluable! All the same, it taught me to trust my instincts - sometimes people will criticise a piece or a choice that you believe in, and you should absolutely maintain that faith in yourself. No one knows your work better than you do.
What genres are you writing at the moment? What genres do you enjoy writing?
I am currently sharing personal essays and memoir-style writing on Substack. Privately, I also work on literary fiction, which I hope to share in the future.
What inspires you to write? Where do you take your inspiration from?
I gather inspiration very organically - I don’t really have a lot of control over what I write about. If you look at my blog, you’ll see that this inspiration can be as small as a seconds-long interaction with my Dad in the car, or as lengthy and complex as a ten-day trip to New Orleans.
What does your writing process look like (e.g., environment, tools, setting)?
I keep a notebook and pen on me as much as possible to jot down raw inspiration in real time. Failing that, I make a note of words/phrases/images on my phone as they come to mind in the moment. In terms of the actual writing, I get the most out of typing on a laptop, as I think very quickly and wouldn’t be able to keep up with my stream of consciousness by hand. After that, I’m a very harsh editor of my own work - I don’t like to publish anything, really, until I feel that every word and punctuation mark is in the right place (to me, at least). My personal goal is to post on Substack once a month, which is a limit I have to impose upon myself, or I could probably edit my own work into oblivion.
What do you envisage when you are writing something new? Are you writing with the intention of sharing your work, or are you simply writing to write, for example?
I started my blog, ‘Self-Indulgence’, without any intention, really, of people reading it. It’s a very personal project and I’m committed to posting once a month, even though no one really sees it (at the moment!). Being a writer has always come hand in hand with a sense of imposter syndrome for me (i.e. not being a real one), so having a physical bank of evidence of my work for the last year or so has been really helpful.
Why do you think community is important for writers and creative people?
Creating art is an intensely vulnerable experience. For me, even if I’m not writing about myself, I can’t help but feel that everything I write reveals a little something of who I am. Letting people read that, then, can feel mortifying. It gets easier the more you do it (and in some ways, ‘Self-Indulgence’ began as a kind of radical exposure therapy to get over my fear of people reading my work), but it’s still not always pleasant. Having other creatives around you who understand that feeling is irreplaceable.
Where do you currently share your work?
Just Substack! Self-Indulgence Blog by Maeve Relihan, where you can subscribe for free.
Why did you submit your work to Blank Canvas Post? What drew you to our publication?
My work is very personal, but I would love (especially now that I’ve been publishing on the blog for a while) for it to reach people that it speaks to. The Blank Canvas call for submissions came up on my Substack feed and it seemed like a great opportunity to increase my outreach, whilst also getting to read the work of other small creators who deserve an audience!
About the Essay: A Thousand Beautiful Inconveniences
Regarding A Thousand Beautiful Inconveniences, what inspired you to write this piece?
My friends, and the lengths we go to for each other.
What is the context for this piece? What is the main feeling or message behind it?
This piece was written during a Summer when I was travelling a lot to see my friends and celebrate things with them. It was, honestly, tiring (and often stressful) travelling so much, but completely worth it. It’s a reflection on friendship, community, and effort.
What was the process of writing this piece like for you? What did this process look like?
The process of writing this piece was the same as any other, honestly. I had the viral tweet that it discusses jotted down in my notebook for a long time before I actually knew how I would use it. When my brother made a comment to me in the car (I seem to find a lot of inspiration during journeys, which is apparent on the blog - at least three pieces are born out of driving) about why I would make such a long trip for a friend, everything came together, and the piece took on a life of it’s own. Inspiration like that reiterates, to me, the importance of writing everything down. You never know when a word or image or conversation will become useful to you.
Why did you choose to submit this piece specifically to Blank Canvas Post?
Blank Canvas Post places a huge emphasis on the importance of community. It felt like the stars had aligned, then, when I saw the call for submissions, and already had this one in my back catalogue. The whole point of this piece is to celebrate community, and understand that it is not given, but earned. In the context of Blank Canvas, I urge everyone to not just post their own work, but interact with everybody else’s. You never know what amazing authors/poets you might come across!
So, without further ado, here is A Thousand Beautiful Inconveniences, an essay written by Maeve - Self-Indulgence Blog.
A Thousand Beautiful Inconveniences, by Maeve Relihan.
During long summers off from university - when my life became confusingly split between two different cities and two different groups of people - I found myself executing a round-trip via coach or train at least once a week, often twice. I was always headed somewhere to see someone, and then back to base again, returning to my hometown for a hospitality job that was ill-paying, but enjoyable enough and close to my family. It seemed that I didn’t quite know where I lived anymore. It had become unclear whether home was still Birmingham, with relatives, and old friends, and memories on every street corner. Or was it London, now, and all the people and promise that came with it? In denial, perhaps, and unable to fully let go or embrace either of these options, my trips to see friends often lasted for less than twenty-four hours. They were motivated by a range of occasions, from birthday dinners, to graduations. Sometimes I travelled for nothing more than a well-needed catch-up over copious amounts of supermarket wine, which always tasted better after the first glass. It became a kind of routine: rushing from work to New Street station, making it to my student flat in the capital (sweaty and slightly dishevelled) with thirty minutes, tops, to get ready for the night ahead. Then, of course, getting very little sleep and rushing home (a little worse for wear) to my shift the next day. No easy feat, but not something, either, that I was willing to sacrifice to the grave of inconvenience.
On one particular weekend I found myself, unusually, bound for Newport, South Wales. I was making the two-hour trip to spend all of twenty there, as were the rest of my university friendship group, attending a party for our friend’s birthday in her hometown. I thought nothing of this, but when my brother asked how long I would be in Wales for, my response of “one night” earned me a “you’re crazy” back. It occurred to me that perhaps not everyone was ready and willing to go to such lengths, trading a treacherous, hungover journey on a cramped and entirely un-air conditioned National Express coach, for just one night of celebration. I couldn’t understand what he meant. Why wouldn’t I go? It was her birthday. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, nor for the shift that I had been scheduled to work on the same night. A quick Whatsapp message feigning a migraine had ensured my attendance.
My brother’s reaction brought to mind a viral tweet by Divya Venn, published on X, claiming that ‘being annoyed is the price you pay for community. It means having guests when you’d rather be alone. It means letting someone live with you even when they get on your nerves. It means showing up for events you’d rather not go to. It means turning the other cheek’. Mita Mallick’s response, published in TIME, validly suggested that we shouldn’t be quick to label acts like cooking for sick friends as annoyances - though perhaps mundane, these moments are, indeed, the ‘foundations of our connection to each other’. She also stressed how, though we must sometimes act selflessly for our community, it’s crucial to balance this with a commitment to ourselves and our boundaries, and I am certainly inclined to agree.
I take Venn’s annoyance, then, and raise her inconvenience, instead, as the cost of community. Mallick’s defence of boundaries is essential, and I urge Venn, actually, to be slightly more selfish - I, for one, could not sacrifice my peace at home to willingly living with someone who truly, viscerally irritated me. Not all housemates are built equal, and resentment is the mother of all evils. Simple inconvenience, though, is essential in the pursuit of meaningful connection, and I reject its embodiment of a negative definition in this context.
In such an individualistic culture as ours, which increasingly prioritises efficiency, speed, and progress, inconvenience is radical. Doing the things you don’t necessarily have to do but certainly can, for nothing but the pleasure of yourself and others, is a small act of rebellion against our modern condition. The slow acts, the ones that fail to put productivity first - they are deeply and increasingly important. Meeting a friend for a coffee (and a chat that lasts long after the cup is empty) on a Saturday morning when you could catch up on laundry or emails instead. Showing up for someone’s late-night, mediocre art show after a long and challenging hospitality shift, even though your feet hurt, you smell slightly like cooking oil, and you don’t really get art anyway. Calling in sick to spend one night in Newport, South Wales, at a house party that gets shut down for fighting, then attend a club that has all the small-town charm of bumping into your high-school bully whilst eight double-vodkas deep, in the same Wetherspoons that you’ve been going to since you were underage.
I look at the community I have built around me, and I see a thousand beautiful inconveniences. When my sister gave birth to her second child, and I spent four hours, the day before her C-section, cooking and labelling meals that she could air-fry straight from the freezer. Neither mother nor father had to slave over a hot stove in the midst of the newborn haze, and that was the greatest gift I could have given to them. When it came time for my younger brothers to find their first jobs, and I took it into my own hands to make them both a good CV. I was borderline elated when they came home from their interviews successful, as if I had been offered the position myself. Every time I make a coffee, no matter how great the rush, there is the extra time taken to make my Dad a tea. Carefully using a spoon to wring the tea bag out against the side of his cup, adding only a little milk, knowing he likes it strong. There is love, really, in all of this. In my flatmates adorning our shitty student homes with banners and balloons for every birthday I have spent with them. In my friends ensuring there is a pint glass full of water next to my bed if ever I take it too far and pass out drunk, blissfully unaware of the headache that is to cut aggressively through my temples the following morning. In my sister’s boyfriend quietly nipping to the corner shop to get me a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate, as I solemnly sat in their living room, pouring my heart out three days post break-up. Love, love, love, everywhere. All the time.
It is more human, I would argue, to see inconvenience not as something negative, but as an act of love, of service and selflessness. It is a practice (conscious or otherwise) that will give you light, as well as those on the receiving end. To come away from these inconveniences feeling buoyant, and to buoyantly receive them in return. To inconvenience oneself for those around you with a kind of radical joy, and wholeness, and, crucially, without expectation: this, of all things, is my manifesto.
The cost of community is inconvenience. I have paid it over and over again. I look at the love I have in return and I urge all others, desperately, to pay the same price.
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Thanks so much for having me at Blank Canvas !! Can’t wait for people to read 🩷
Wow, this was a very good read. Lately, I have been getting too much annoyed by even small everyday stuff. This essay gave me a new perspective for what I had been seeing as inconveniences.