Thursday 22 December 2011

Wednesday 21 December 2011

The New Course

I signed up a while ago to this.

Got the message today - I have homework! Eeek.

To be posted up by Jan 2nd (although there is room for leniancy apparently).

Someone remind me why I do courses.

Tuesday 13 December 2011

Just until I win

"How about a scene on a railway platform with characters fencing with umbrellas?" I ask my two older children.

They nod, acknowledging it as a feasible vision, considering the parameters I have already outlined.

I ask them for some fencing terms.

They turn briefly from the computer game they are playing, mutter a few things which I scribble down. It doesn't look much, but it might do.

I return to my laptop. Open up the file. Try to get my characters off the train.

But my characters don't want to get off. No. They want to talk about cathedrals (Nottingham vs Chichester cathedral) and sheep and job-hunting and sleeping with PAs and the death-rate of Managing Directors. They want to shuffle papers. And argue.

Get off! I say. Get off the bloody train! I need you on the platform. You have an appointment with an umbrella fencing battle. And you're late.

The train approaching Platform 1 is the 14.20 to Derby. Change here for Nottingham.

Finally the mad one (or possibly not mad) cooperates. He sees the woman from the bank standing on the platform at Derby station. Plot-wise, she probably - no definitely - shouldn't be there. But I am grateful for her appearance if it gives my characters an incentive to do something other than squabble among themselves. At last they get off the train.

It's a page of A4 dialogue too late.

I've been typing for an hour, and still no fencing scene.

And a bigger problem: I should have changed narrative voice at some point, according to the requirements of my assignment. I don't want to change narrative voice. I am as stubborn as my characters.

I think about writing poetry. But I have this assignment to finish.

I open up a game of solitaire on the laptop. Just one game, I say. Or until I win.

Tuesday 29 November 2011

Good things must come to an end

Last night was the last chat night for Jen Hadfield's online poetry course. {Sniff}

I have to say Jen's course has been one of the most productive writing courses I've done in a long time. Out of the five exercises we've done over the ten week course, three or four of them have given me really good material to work with and the other one (or two) were certainly not a waste of time.

The feedback from 'classmates' has been useful too, but for me the best bit has been having quirky exercises to stretch my imagination and help me skirt around those inner police.

Deadlines are a Good Thing.

[For those interested Jen Hadfield's blog is here ]

My daytime poetry course will also finish at the end of this week. It's been wonderful to meet up with other poetry enthusiasts, with a wide range of interests and strengths, to discuss our work and get feedback. It's a shame I can't continue it after Christmas, but doing three courses this term was truly more than I could manage with everything else. Actually all term the everything else has just been left undone. Which, when you have kids and a job and you home educate, isn't ideal.

But I am signed up for another online poetry school course from January with Andrew Philip. Glutton for punishment, me. Ah well.

So, latest news. At the weekend I went to Nottingham. I received my merit prize for runner up in The Nottingham Open Poetry Competition 2011 and read my poem (scary, but at times like this I'm grateful I write short poems).

The poets there - winners and Nottingham Poetry Society members - were lovely, friendly, welcoming. I met Helena Nelson from Happenstance Press, who I've recently sent some work to for feedback. And I met a few other Happenstance poets at a Happenstance poetry reading in Nottingham on the same evening.

Thanks to my poem I will be forever known among Nottingham poets as 'The Radish'. I'm so glad my phallic worm poem didn't get shortlisted {blush}.

Not being known for my people skills, or my general tolerance of hob-nobbing - networking - I think I did ok. At least I didn't go hide under the table, or take a detour to the pub and stagger home drunk.

Someone alert the press. I think I may be turning into a grown up.

Wednesday 23 November 2011

I should be...

...starting my assignment (long fiction). But I don't have a novel inside me.

Yes. Ok, ok. I am one of the few people I know who isn't bursting with novel-itis.

I wrote the 'first chapter' of my non-existent novel for a course homework a few weeks back. I confess it was enjoyable. But now, I simply don't know how to continue it. The bit I was interested in, has been written. Why would I want to write more?

But write I must.

I'm heading to Nottingham this weekend and hopefully I'll catch this Happenstance event. Maybe a long dull trip on a train and a spot of poetry listening will cure my lack of second chapter.

Wednesday 2 November 2011

Synonyms for locust

It appears there aren't any. Apart from grasshopper and insect and cicada, none of which will do. I might check out the latin name, but I'm not convinced that will cut the mustard either.

What is this for, I hear you ask. It's for the latest exercise in my online poetry course with Jen Hadfield and The Poetry School

I am trying to 'negate' Robin Robertson's 'Drowning in Co Down' and somehow my negation of a poem about water and weight and drink has let me to locusts.

Some days I'm gobsmacked my brain works at all.

Friday 21 October 2011

TS Eliot Prize Readings at the Southbank Centre 15 January 2012

TS Eliot Prize Readings at the Southbank Centre, Sunday 15 Jan 2012, 7pm

Booking open now

"The T S Eliot Prize Readings herald a brilliant year of poetry at Southbank Centre. Join us to experience the best poetry of the last 12 months, with the shortlisted poets reading their work live, introduced by Ian McMillan, poet and presenter of BBC Radio 3's The Verb. In association with the Poetry Book Society."

10% off before December.

With the 10% off rear stalls are £10.40 a ticket plus booking fee, front stalls are a few quid more.
50% off for concessions.

Monday 17 October 2011

Nottingham Poetry Competition - poetry merit award

I had a letter this morning telling me that one of my poems had been awarded a merit prize in the Nottingham Open Poetry Competition.

I know from Helena Nelson's post on her Happenstance blog that there were 664 entries in all, three winners and only ten merit prizes.

So, in the words of James Brown 'I feel good'.

Saturday 15 October 2011

Magic Realism

The task: One 'magic realism' short story to write during the next fortnight.

Oh shit.

I've tried.
I am trying (so my friends often tell me).
But I just don't get it.

I was thinking of writing a story about a woman who spent so much time doing housework that she turned into her household implements. Then I realised that this is rather too similar to life writing and we covered that last year.

I am off to boil a litre of water and pour myself out.

Sunday 9 October 2011

Make it Strange - Jen Hadfield

I have a crick in my neck and a stiff back right now, probably because I've been hunched over a laptop all week putting together a poem for this week's exercise of my online poetry course. The course is run by The Poetry School and this course, tutored by one of my favourite poets, Jen Hadfield, is called  'Make it Strange'.

And what is surfacing certainly is strange. But at the same time quite quite magical.

There is a wonderliciously liberating feeling as you grub around on your elbows under the barbed wire of self-censorship and smuggle out a word or two that would never have otherwise got to the page.

Wednesday 5 October 2011

Great quote on Fiona Moore's blog

"The progress of any writer is marked by those moments when he manages to outwit his own inner police system"

(Ted Hughes, in What rhymes with ‘secret’?, 1982)


Oh, how true, that is. Have spent the day trying to sneak past my police with a large poetic swag bag slung over my shoulder.

Saturday 1 October 2011

I did it.

I did it. I read poetry. To REAL people.

And, hey, it wasn't so bad after all.

Lovely venue (Hendon Library Cafe) and a very friendly audience.

Hendon Library are hoping to put on more poetry/literary events in the future, so if you're local do check it out.







Sunday 25 September 2011

To go, or not to go.

Last week I received a phone call. It was a member of staff calling from East Barnet Library. My first response was well I'm pretty sure I owe my local library a huge fine for overdue library books but East Barnet Library..? A bit out of my way.

The gentleman said 'Did you enter a poetry competition at East Barnet Library?'

'Probably,' I replied, which was true, but sounded dumb. I have, after all, entered quite a few competitions over the Summer. And there was something familiar about the name East Barnet.

'Can you remember the name of the poem you entered?'

'Er no.' Again, an honest, but stupid-sounding, response. He must think I am a moron. I am a moron.

'Would it have been called "Lifting the lid"?'

'Oh yes!' I say (duh!). 'That one.'

'Well it came runner up in our competion.'

'Really? Oh great.'
(Well, what else can you say when you're mouthing "shut up" at the kids who are beating each other to a pulp (very loudly) on the stairs, while the dog is barking dementedly up and down the hall.)

'We'd like you to come and collect your prize from the poet, Sarah Wardle on xxxxx and read out your poem at our performance poetry evening.'

Er. Did someone say read out my poem? Oh no. no. no. no. no. Did I say no? That was a NO.

'Are you free that evening?'

'Weeell...let me just check the calendar...turning the page...No. Sorry. Can't possibly....I have my course that night...we've only just started the term...would be very difficult...we're a long way away...'

'Oh.'

I have just broken the man's heart.

'Oh.' He says again. He will hate me forever. I will be ostracised from the poetic community for life. And probably throughout the afterlife.

'But if I manage to fix it so that I'm able to come, I'll call you back.' Bugger. Why did I say that?

I AM NOT GOING TO READ MY POEM IN FRONT OF AN AUDIENCE. I DON'T EVEN LIKE MY POEM. IT IS CRAP. I CAN'T DO IT. PEOPLE ARE SCARY. I DON'T DO THINGS LIKE THAT. THEY DO NOT EVEN SELL ALCOHOL IN A LIBRARY. (I can dance after three pints of Stella, so I assume I could probably read poetry too, even if very badly.)

'Right. Well it would be really good if you could come.'

Resist. Resist. Resist. But be polite. 'Ok, well if I change my plans I'll call.' Damn.

I get off the phone. Damn. Damn. Damn.

As Morrisey would say:
"Shyness is nice
Shyness can stop you
from doing all the things in life you want to...'"

Bugger.

I'm going to have to phone him back again.

Saturday 20 August 2011

Friday 19 August 2011

Television

Is too much tv bad for me?

Yes.

And how do I know when I've been watching too much tv?

I start thinking in an American accent.

We are not talking 'adult American' here. Nothing sophisticated. Not even something out of Friends.

No. More like something out of The Goonies or Home Alone. Original or the sequels, my thoughts still sound like Kevin McAlister sucking on laughing gas.

And so, my conclusions about this are that:

a) It's not conducive to writing anything intellectual.
b) It's not even conducive to writing anything funny.
c) And it definitely doesn't work for poetry.

Sunday 7 August 2011

Catching a breath

The first year of my diploma is done and dusted.

I feel both happy and sad.

Happy that I've got through this year, made friends, learnt heaps and heaps, passed the exam, the assignments and the portfolio.

But also sad that this means I am one year closer to finishing the diploma. And, fearfully, I will have to wean myself off the deadlines and comraderie and return to going-it-alone in my writing.

So I am setting some small challenges for what remains of the summer holidays.

The first is to enter as many poetry competitions as I can with existing poems I've written this past year. I don't have many, but what I have needs to be edited and sent out into the world.

The second is to put together a small collection to send to Happenstance poetry publishers. One of the rewards for having a poem awarded runner up prize in a magazine competition (Writers Forum) is to send Helena Nelson a further five poems (plus my original winner) for critical comments. There is a small chance that she will take on one of the successful poets to produce a poetry pamphlet. Well, a small chance is just that. But in the meantime I need to be writing some bloomin' poetry or I'll have nothing to send but blank sheets of paper.

The third, which kinda ties in with number two, is to get down to writing more poems. Now that I have put the house and garden straight after a year of focused neglect, I shall abandon them both again to put pencil to paper. I WILL write and I WILL NOT feel guilty about it.

btw. If you happen to be poetic it's worth checking out the Happenstance blog for great tips on submitting poetry.

Monday 11 July 2011

Next Word, Better Word.

At the moment I'm reading Next Word, Better Word by Stephen Dobyns which gives an interesting and enlightening account of the process of poetry writing. Compared with other books it sits somewhere between the 'How to' beginners books and the 'High Brow' lit crit tomes.

I don't claim to understand every word in Next Word - on occasions I've read a paragraph three times and still haven't deciphered it's meaning - but I do feel as if this is the perfect book at the perfect time for me. Just a shame it's published on such cheap paper and with such a flimsy cover. It will take hardly any dunking in the bath - alas, a regular hazard for my books - to turn it to pulp.

The portfolio is in. For good or bad 'tis finished. Having substituted Rurik the Viking takes Torremelinos by Surprise for a poem titled The Interest in a Worm I can truthfully say that is is a unique (interpret that as you will) collection. God help the tutor who marks it.

I have also entered three poems for the Mslexia poetry competition (closing date 18 July). Of course I don't seriously consider that I have a pickle-in-a-Branston's chance of coming anywhere, but I have some half-decent poems and better to be out there doing something than sitting in a file.

For some time now I've been following Jen Hadfield's blog . Always beautiful and inspiring to read. Check it out if you get a chance.

Thursday 7 July 2011

The Home Strait

Portfolio due in next Thursday.

Sadly, Rurik The Viking Takes Torremelinos By Surprise wont be making it to the final selection. Shame. I was quite fond of it. Maybe next year, if I choose "Light verse about Nordik Travellers" as my theme...

I'm aware that I've never seen a poem with the word "anus" in it. And conscious that I'm about to hand in such a poem to a very nice, well-spoken, middle-aged lady who will be marking my portfolio.

But how else can one describe the bum hole of a worm?

Sunday 19 June 2011

Saturday 18 June 2011

The Bliss of Solitude

The family are away (of course I shall miss them...well, a bit) so I have a whole week of writing and writing summer school to myself.

Perhaps I will use the time to write the last 60 lines of poetry required for my portfolio.

Or perhaps I'll spend the week drinking undrinkable wine and passing out on the sofa with the dog in front of re-runs of Glee.

Or perhaps both.

Tuesday 7 June 2011

News of a win...

my poem won The Lymington Arts Festival Poetry Competition!

Sadly I can't make it to the festival, but with my reading list digging deep into my budget the prize (£50 of book tokens) will be much appreciated.

Check out details of the festival here: http://www.lymingtonartsfestival.org.uk/

Baby steps...

Monday 6 June 2011

Scenes


'The aborigines were at a low level of culture, subsisting on the produce of the forest and grasslands, and practising hardly any arts.’

A.J. and F.D. Herbertson
The New Harmsworth Self-Educator, Vol 7, p3890. (Published 1914)

Friday 20 May 2011

Portfolio

Back to the beginning again.

Aaaah...

Is it feasible to write nine (good) poems in 3 weeks and be a nice rounded sane person ?

Om...

I'm off to glue a smile to my face.

Eeeee...

Monday 16 May 2011

Tuesday 10 May 2011

Predators

It would be so good if one day, just one day, the chickens got the fox.

'It's not fair!'

'Life's not fair.'

Yeah. Like that helps.

Sunday 8 May 2011

Modesty

I'm starting to think the bushel isn't big enough for my light.
Better get some blackout blinds.

Friday 22 April 2011

Drama Session


Year 1, Term 3, April 2011


A sample of our mini sketches being brought to life:




Monday 18 April 2011

Robin Robertson

You can't help but love 'im. Listen here and here on the poetry archive to two of my favourite Robertson poems.

Saturday 16 April 2011

Thursday 14 April 2011

Writing blues

I think I lost my mojo.

Can't write.

Err....

Nope. Still can't write.

I've shaken my head upside down again and still no words are coming out. None.

The cause? Confidence crisis perhaps...deadline fear...three kids and no career prospects and a future of housewifery and serfdom until I die.

The cure? Chocolate & alcohol (already tried that)...a holiday (in my dreams)...a career with money and status and love and adoration...a social life...or perhaps I simply need a house that doesn't look like quinuplet family's shoe rack.

Sunday 3 April 2011

Toying with poetry

Old natural history books.

The sorts of books I grew up on.

What I'm going to do with these words I don't know.

What I should be doing is finishing my prose assignment.

Tuesday 8 March 2011

Science and the Shabby Curate of Poetry

"When I find myself in the company of scientists I feel like a
shabby curate who has strayed by mistake into a drawing-room
full of dukes.

The true men of action in our time, those who transform the
world, are not the politicians and statesmen, but the scientists.
Unfortunately, poetry cannot celebrate them, because their deeds
are concerned with things, not persons and are, therefore, speechless."

W.H.Auden, The Dyers Hand, 1963

Quoted at the beginning of
Science and the Shabby Curate of Poetry. Essays about the two cultures.

Science and Poetry

"Misunderstanding and under-estimation of poetry is mainly due
to over-estimation of the thought in it. We can see still more clearly
that thought is not the prime factor if we consider for a moment not
the experience of the reader but that of the poet. Why does the poet
use these words and no others? Not because they stand for a series
of thoughts which in themselves are what he is concerned to communicate.
It is never what a poem says which matters, but what it is. The poet
is not writing as a sicentist. He uses these words because the interests
which the situation calls into play combine to bring them, just in this form,
into his consciousness as a means of ordering, controlling and consolidating
the whole experience. The experience itself, the tide of impulses
sweeping through the mind, is the source and the sanction of the words.
They represent this experience itself, not any set of perceptions or reflections,
though often to a reader who approaches the poem wrongly they
will seem to be only a series of remarks about other things. But to
a suitable reader the words - if they actually spring from experience
and are not due to verbal habits, to the desire to be effective, to factitious
excogitation, to imitation, to irrelevant contrivances, or to any other of
the failings which prevent most people from writing poetry - the words
will reproduce in his mind a similar play of interest putting him for the
while into a similar situation and leading to the same response."

I. A. Richards
in Science and Poetry
(1926)

Wednesday 2 March 2011

The 'F' word

There is nothing so satsifying as being able to use the 'F' word in a piece of writing. There's a selfish pleasure to be had in the onomatoepia of a word that both shocks and consoles.

Of course a sophisticated educated writer would use the 'F' word sparingly, with care and thought for characterisation and dramatic effect. A sprinkling of 'F' s and 'B's, and even 'C's, can look artistic on the pages of an experienced writer. (Though 'C' s are venturing towards a more taboo-breaking readership I suspect).

But some of us just like the pleasure of writing 'naughty' words. Lots of. In every paragraph. Does this mean I am an inexperienced writer? Or that I had a very repressed childhood? Probably both.

Either way, F is for fun. Strictly on the page, you understand. That's why it's called Fiction.