THE VOICE WITHIN

My last workshop explored being true to yourself and not comparing your writing with anyone else.

Your experiences, your life and the things you have seen or done are as unique to you as someone else’s experiences are to them. Even if you took two people of the same age and made them live identical lives and identical experiences, such as is the case with many identical twins, you would still find that there are vast differences in how each of those two individuals perceives the reality around them, eventually forming their own view of the world based on their own emotions, internal drives and motivators.

You are unique, this means that as a writer, your style of writing prose is just as valid as the prose writing of say, Charles Dickens, Stephen King or Emily Bronte. The trick is to release the person that is inside you and let that person do the writing.

A great exercise to help you do this is to close your eyes and think of a place or a person you feel strongly about. These could be good or bad feelings, it really doesn’t matter but you must have a strong emotional affinity towards that person or place.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

A great deal if the results of the BBC Radio National Short Story results are anything to go by. I am not saying that David Constantine's story wasn't good. It was and should be considering he is a well established writer. But I honestly think that such competitions should invite stories to be submitted anonymously. You can;t tell me that any judge whose eye clocks a name like this isn't going to have a slight prejudice, however much they might deny it to themselves. It is so hard to get any kind of foot on the ladder while there are some excellent writers still in the wilderness who are 'a name'. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet: a story should stand by its own merit and not be garnished with a writer with  track record of success. That's what I think, anyway. I'd be interested to hear other people's views.

WE ARE EACH OF US UNIQUE

As I was saying in my workshop yesterday: everyone of us is unique both as a person and in our creative work. Therefore, there is no point in saying someone else writes better than we do which extends to anyone who appears to have a glamourous life style. Having said that, I am by no means perfect on this point. With this cold weather, envy creeps in of those who jet away for weeks at a time to the sun. I tell myself what I must do instead is use this time to write read d those jobs in the house that I left undone in sunny weather. There is the cinema and theatre to enjoy, lovely soups and casseroles. I will try but it isn;t always easy!

LIVING IN MY IMAGINATION

This afternoon I've  sat on a sun dappled terrace, sipping lemonade with my heroine Judith. I've had dinner with a group of American painters in a 1912 restaurant and discussed impressionism. Later I walked with Claude Monet in his twilit garden while bats swooped through the blue air and moths drank from flowers. The air was heavy with the scents of jasmine and stock. My imagination takes me to so many places and just for a while, while I am writing, Iescape the darkness and coldness of this onset of winter. I wish I could always live in my mind.

SHALL WE DANCE?

I m beginning to feel as if i am talking to myself and no one ever responds to the subjects I throw up. It would be great to have thoughts from you who read this blog. Come dance with me!

ARE WE ROMANS?

I was discussing the use of the numeral rather than the number in letters which creeps into so much writing, these days. e.g. 8 year old Susan instead of eight year old Susan. My friend, Andrew, who edits his own magazine is constantly correcting this in the press releases he receives. It doesn't seem to be happening quite so much in fiction. Apostrophe is another problem it seems. The famous example, of course, is the misuse outside shops apple's panini's etc. I have a terrible urge to correct them.
Back to this use of numerals: do we think we are Romans?

THE FOUR SEASONS

Well, this week it seems we have definitely come to Winter. The nights have been frosty and snow is forecast. I spent some time today potting up my geraniums for their winter sojourn indoors. Yesterday and today the morning sky has been beautiful but harbinger of a day that will then come to an end around four.
Talking to one of the writers on Sunday she was telling us about her imminent departure to foreign climes to escape the winter and we all said we envied her. But do I? I adore the sun, of course, but there is something about this season which resonates with the moods of the creative mind. Maybe it gives time to write because there isn't a lot you can do outside. Or maybe it is a fallow season with all the energies gone underground to germinate and prepare for new growth in the Spring. That's not to say that there can't be a spot of Spring in the middle of winter when one of those ideas unexpectedly starts to sprout and you're presented with a huge bouquet. This season of the four is a profound one and one to meditate on.

HARVEST HOME

In September, this year, I did a grand mail out of my work entering competitions and sending scripts to script readers and fringe theatres. I am happy to say that some of my chickens have roosted. I started off by being long listed for Flash Fiction 500 then there was ScriptReaders who were offering 12 slots for rehearsed readings at Stratford East. My play Sa's Story reached the third and final stage. Tonight I've just heard I am one of the three prizewinners for the Clemence Dane award for my play Homecoming.
All encouraging stuff. It is hard taking rejection but I've learned to cope with it. I just keep sending out, sending out. That's the secret to have lots of your material 'out there' And now and again you reap the harvest.

A POST SCRIPT

We downloaded the Elgar programme and watched it tonight. What a joy, what an insight into a man who had all the problems of the human condition and translated them into grandness. This is the lesson: to take what life throws us and let the imagination transmute it into gold.

CAKE AND FEEDING THE SOUL

Continuing on the tea party theme, I've never seen so much delicious cake which was disappearing fast as if the guests hadn;t eaten cake for a long time. There was a sense of celebration, today, not only that of Jean's birthday but, among our little group of writers, at least, a celebration of the work we do of how we all, in our different ways, use our imaginations to create other worlds. Looking down that table, I felt uplifted that, in this day of technology and digital methods the printed word is still nurtured by writers like these. That feeling fed my soul.

A GATHERING OF WRITERS

It  is interesting when you are among a group of writers as I was today celebrating Jean's birthday. She is chairman of the Society of Women Writers and Journalists and apart from family and friends there was a group of members of the Society all writers. The conversation centred on writing veering now and again away but always back. Because it is such a solitary business I always find that when we get together we voice all our thoughts and feelings about the process. What I like is that we share contacts and support each other in this difficult profession.  It seems to me to be different from those in the acting profession and even, I suspect artists. There is a humanity about writers which is not surprising, I suppose when you consider that humanity and its foibles are our raw material.  In fact listening to a group of writers gives you even more material for writing. I've lapsed a bit in attending meetings but I made up my mind I'll remedy this.

LIMBERING UP

Every week I attend a Pilates class and I always feel much better after it. But every week I dither about whether to go or not. There is so much to do with the day, the hours spent writing, of course, and the reading I need to do but never seem to have enough time. So I weigh up going to Pilates against an hour of reading. However, I know that exercising is important not only for the body but the mind too. Sitting for a long time at the computer tightens up shoulders and neck, Pilates gives you a lovely stretched loosened feeling.
Exercise is also part of the creative process. No ballet dancer performs Swan Lake without hours of practice. No footballer plays the Big Match without training. Writers need to keep limbered too. That's where the morning page comes in. The idea is to write, just write without censor, thoughts, feelings ideas every morning of your life. All this is preparation for the story, the poem, the novel. It is amazing what lies in the sub conscious and which emerges during the morning page.

SINK OR SWIM?

It has taken me a week to write a chapter of this book I am working on. I had shied away from it preferring to write the 'action' filled chapters. Then I decided to plunge in.  I've just finished it. One of the lessons I've learned as a writer is that however long you've been doing it there is always this ...not fear, exactly, but sense of plunging in and not knowing if you can swim. That blank page stares back at you and you know what you want to say but how are you going to communicate it to anyone who reads it?
This chapter is an attempt to get into the sensations of Claude Monet ageing painter, depressed by the fact he is losing his sight. I wanted to show his world as he sees it now more from sensation and memory than clear concrete images.  To make it more immediate I chose to write in the present tense. I've written it. I can only hope that I've found the right words to say what I want to say about art and life.

STORMY WEATHER

I have to say these grey days are getting me down. I try to be positive and tell myself that when there is nothing to be done in the garden, it's rainy, blowy whatever it is a wonderful chance to concentrate the mind on writing. Of course it is. Today I've written as I always do but as the afternoon ends I can't help thinking, to hell with being organised and disciplined, what I'd really like to do is just take off to a warm climate and be a beach bum. I know the writer should take every experience, good and bad and transmute it into text but tonight I don;t care. I want the sun not stormy weather!

THE ILLUSIONIST

I went to see the new Mike Leigh film on Sunday: ANOTHER YEAR. The acting was excellent but, as always, I watch films with the writer's ear alert. He has the skill of the illusionist to convince us we are listening to 'real' conversations. All right, so we know the Mike Leigh method: the impro the shock tactics i.e. Vera Drake but, as I  say to my students, fictional dialogue and just lifting an overheard conversation are very different kettles of fish. With fictional dialogue gone are the ums and ers, the side tracking, the unfinished sentences. This is selection even if done as superbly as it is in ANOTHER YEAR. I recommend anyone who is interested in writing dialogue to go and see this film.

YOU'VE GOT TO HAVE HEART!

I watched with admiration and sorrow the service at the Cenotaph this morning. I was moved by the sheer guts of these people including those maimed in the current war in Afghan: a determination to get on with life whatever the odds. It puts the lily livered members of the British nation to shame with their expectation of everything being handed to them on a plate.
Where the creative mind is concerned there is also a need for courage and determination. Courage to be true to oneself, to listen to the true voice of the imagination within and not to be swayed by the outside world of appearance, where people are always comparing themselves with others and wanting to be better.
Determination comes with the need to be dogged about writing. If you want to write you will do it: sitting down day after day to create at least something. And if your writings are rejected, well, you just get them out somewhere else. It takes guts to write.  Your writing heart has to be brave and true.

WEEKENDS

Do I write at weekends? It depends, of course, but generally I believe it is helpful to mark this pause, in the week. I suppose it has something to do with the time I've spent in Europe and particularly Italy where the weekend is a time to see friends, eat good meals and do something different. This weekend I've tried out a new recipe, read some of a book on writing for radio and done a bit of gardening. I hope to see the new Mike Leigh film, today.
Having said all that I'll add that I never really stop 'writing' Things are going on in my subconscious, I know, ideas germinating secretly there. The notebook is ever present for snippets I hear, people I see like the little plump girl helping her father on a market stall in Shoreham where I stopped to buy eggs. I give them my complete attention and I listen to what they have to say. I think being attentive is a large part of the creative process. We writers must stay attentive both to our objective and subjective view of the world. It's regrettable that so many people seem to walk through life in a dream...they miss such a lot. So do I write at weekends? Well, yes, I do... I never stop!

THE ESSENCE OF THE THING

Less is certainly more when it comes to reaching the essence in writing. I've learnt that over the years. The temptation is to describe something whether it be a person, place, sensation or feeling. That often means going to great length to try to 'get there' using a lot of adjectives or adverbs. The secret is to convey a sense of impression that fleeting sense of recognition that comes before we try to analyse snd dissect. I am thinking a great deal about impressionism at the moment as I am writing a novel about Monet and those who surrounded him in the French village of Giverny. It is interesting to see that as his sight began to fail his painting changed. Because detail was blurred for him he developed a way getting under the skin of a subject to its inner core.
Ezra Pound has written a very interesting exposition of his process of writing his poem about a Metro tube station. He describes trying to fid a way of describing the faceshe had seen until it came to him: not in words but in 'little spots of colour' However,he wrote a thirty line poem, at first, and destroyed it.  It was work of 'second intensity'Six months later he wrote a poem half that length, a year later he came up with :The apparition of those faces in the crowd:Petals on a wet, black bough'  He says this kind of poem is an attempt to record the precise moment when a thing outward and ibjective transforms itself
into a thing inward and subjective.
ESSENCE
This is what I am striving to do.

LETTING GO

A piece of writing is never perfect to the writer or only very rarely. I thought I'd finished a short story yesterday and had it ready packed up to post to my targeted magazine. As usual I'd run out of time and had to leave it behind and catch a bus. This morning, I decided to have another look at it before I sent it. And yes, there were one or two things to polish. But now I think I've done as good a job as I can on it, maybe tinkering would spoil it. This morning I am letting it go.

SOME DAYS ARE LIKE THAT.

In my book there is no day when I don’t sit down to write but being human some days are better than others. However you try to be single minded  - and I wrote of that yesterday –disappointments and outside influences can creep in. Today was one of those days exacerbated by the greyness of the weather. However, I managed an afternoon stink working on one of my current projects: a novel based on Monet and the French village where he spent his last years, Giverny. Yesterday was better, I wrote so much, and I felt productive. Tomorrow, I hope, will be good too.

As I often do on days like these I finally turned to reading. I picked out a book of poetry that has been knocking about this house for ages. I see it was once a library book that somehow never was returned. The poet’s name is David Holbrook and on re reading I feel strongly that anyone who hasn’t read him should do ASAP. He writes about the small things of life but gives them dignity. He writes about human love and human loss. The particular poem I loved, tonight was Reflections on a Book of Reproductions. In this poem he looks at how the Dutch Masters found meaning in e everyday things and events.

Well, that brings me to one of the points I make in my Unleash Your Imagination workshops. Material is all about you, you just have to look and listen. No need for exotic travel though for some it has its place more ‘the world in a grain of sand’ of William Blake. Monet used this approach. His paintings are of family friends and, above all, his beloved water lilies. As his sight got worse (cataract) he continued to paint but his work became more based on sensation and memory rather than observation. A retrospect e view while he still lived. Sensation and memory are very useful when you are writing…particularly poetry.

Signing off now and back to reading. It’s part of the writer’s job anyway.

ONE OF THOSE DAYS

In my book there is no day when I don’t sit down to write but being human some days are better than others. However you try to be single minded  - and I wrote of that yesterday –disappointments and outside influences can creep in. Today was one of those days exacerbated by the greyness of the weather. However, I managed an afternoon stint working on one of my current projects: a novel based on Monet and the community of the French village where he spent his last years, Giverny. Yesterday was better, I wrote so much, and I felt productive. Tomorrow, I hope, will be good too.

As I often do on days like these I finally turned to reading. I picked out a book of poetry that has been knocking about this house for ages. I see it was once a library book that somehow never was returned. The poet’s name is David Holbrook and on re reading I feel strongly that anyone who hasn’t read him should do so ASAP. He writes about the small things of life but gives them dignity. He writes about human love and human loss. The particular poem I loved, tonight was Reflections on a Book of Reproductions. In this poem he looks at how the Dutch Masters found meaning in  everyday things and events.

Well, that brings me to one of the points I make in my Unleash Your Imagination workshops. Material is all about you, you just have to look and listen. No need for exotic travel though for some it has its place. It is more ‘the world in a grain of sand’ of William Blake. Monet used this approach. His paintings are of family friends and, above all, his beloved water lilies. As his sight got worse (cataract) he continued to paint but his picutres became more based on sensation and memory rather than observation. A retrospective  view while he still lived. Sensation and memory are very useful when you are writing…particularly poetry.

Signing off now and back to reading. It’s part of the writer’s job anyway.

Unleashing the Imagination

Oh no! I her you cry ‘Not another blogger! Your finger is poised to move on. Give me a moment. What if I tell you that this blog is different? That you stand to get something out of it? I’m not going to use this space to drone on about angst, indulge myself in banalities. Life is a far too fascinating business for that.
Because I’m a writer this blog site is centred on the creative process but because I believe the act if writing is an organic process it spills over into living life creatively, too. I didn’t always think like this and the journey has been long and sometimes hard to reach this point of unleashing my imagination. It is a great feeling like discovering the very core of yourself. You stop comparing yourself with other people –there’s no need –you have your own ‘voice’, which is uniquely you
Many people scoff at those who live in their imagination. We are accused of being daydreamers. A boy friend of mine once told me: ‘It’s not enough to write, you’ve got to cook and clean.’ There is no ‘got to’ about it. Writing did and always will come first with me. But, when you live and work in an organic way it all fits in seamlessly. As the Zen saying goes: ‘when you walk you walk. When you talk you talk’ Concentrating totally on the activity you are doing allows time and space for everything. I’m still discovering that and it certainly takes the pressure off. And anyway, when you live the writer’s life every activity offers material, every experience; good or bad, transmuted by the imagination yields gold. My recent holiday on the island of Corfu climaxed in an almighty thunderstorm and streets flooded by rain. I never did the sightseeing I’d planned but the images of the people in that place on that day are filed away for future reference.
Interested? I’ll be writing more on unleashing your imagination tomorrow.