This weekend I was mostly trapped at home waiting for a cooker delivery - "the perfect time to get some writing done'" a friend said. Well you might think so, but that is not how things panned out.
The said cooker was scheduled for delivery sometime on Sunday. On Saturday I frantically cleaned the kitchen - moving things out of the room to enable access, and cleaning the disgusting and very embarrassing mess that had accumulated down the side of the cooker. I also had to find the key to the padlock on the gate and make sure it worked, plus clear up a little present that either a cat or a fox had left on the back doorstep. (The plus side of this was that I discovered a stash of beer that had been put outside when the fridge was full at Christmas - result!) By the time I had finished all this I was exhausted, and it was as much as I could do to collapse on the sofa with a film and a beer.
Sunday dawned - the day I usually have a lie-in, but the email had said that the cooker could arrive anytime from 8am to 8pm, so I had to make sure we were up and breakfasted just in case we happened to be their first delivery. Next I went online to track my delivery. I typed in my delivery number and was informed that I could expect my delivery between 10.10am and 2.10pm. I resisted the urge to growl and decided to get on with some work. I wanted to edit some poems and type up some others. But here's the thing - when you know that two burly men can knock on your door at any second and expect you to jump up and open the gate etc. it is pretty hard to settle to any work. In the end I had to give up, as I just couldn't concentrate, and I decided to read a book instead. It didn't feel too much like cheating as I do have to finish it before the book group tomorrow night. Anyway, I reasoned, the cooker will be in by three at the latest: I can work then.
The delivery men (who were very friendly) arrived at about 1.30pm. They came into my kitchen and decided that there was no way that they could install my chosen cooker as the cupboards on either side are too low. I argued that I have had the same type of cooker there for fifteen years - but regulations have changed, so back the cooker went to the depot. I then spent half an hour on the (very expensive) helpline only to be told that I will have to ring back and sort it out on Monday. In the meantime I needed to go back to the drawing board and find another cooker that I could order in its place.
I bribed son with the promise of a cooked vegetarian breakfast at Morrison's cafe, and he drove me to Currys. The selection of cookers was small and the staff were unhelpful. I bought son and I breakfast and decided I would have to look online. Online though, whilst it sounds like an easy option, necessitates hours of trawling through websites comparing features prices and reviews. So as you can probably tell no writing or editing got done this weekend - and no baking as I am back to square one with the cooker. I am writing this whilst listening to some kind of demented piano music on the Knowhow helpline. Some time soon I will get some poetry done
Monday, 20 January 2014
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
Books Read in 2013
90) Tenth of December - George Saunders (fiction, short stories)
89) Train Dreams - Denis Johnson (fiction)
88) The Colour of Milk - Nell Leyshon (fiction)
87) Her Birth - Rebecca Goss (poetry)
86) How Many Camels is too Many? - Colette Sensier (poetry)
85) Electric Shadow - Heidi Williamson (poetry, re-read)
84) A Dangerous Age - Ellen Gilchrist (fiction)
83) The Round House- Louise Erdrich (fiction)
82) Song Hunter - Sally Prue (fiction)
81) 7 Poets, UEA Creative Writing Anthology 2013 (poetry)
80) Finding Caruso - Kim Barnes (fiction)
79) Maggot Moon - Sally Gardner (fiction)
78) Twelve Slanted Poems for Christmas - edited by Helen Ivory
and Kate Birch (poetry)
77) The Stone Thrower - Adam Marek (fiction, short stories)
76) This Afternoon and I - Sarah Roby (poetry)
75) The Norfolk Mystery - Ian Sansom (fiction)
74) A Virtual Love - Andrew Blackman (fiction)
73) Standing in Another Man's Grave - Ian Rankin (fiction)
72) Mateship With Birds - Carrie Tiffany (fiction)
71) Running the Rift - Naomi Benaron (fiction)
70) What I saw - Laura Scott (poetry)
69) Familiar - J. Robert Lennon (fiction)
68) The Mind's Eye - Hakan Nesser (fiction)
67) Burning Man - Alan Russell (fiction)
66) Borkmann's Point - Hakan Nesser (fiction)
65) All the Birds Singing - Evie Wyld (fiction)
64) The Havocs - Jacob Polley (poetry)
63) Daybreak - Viktor Arnar Ingolfsson (fiction)
62) Why be Happy When You Could be Normal - Jeanette Winterson
(non fiction)
61) Godforsaken Idaho - Shawn Vestal (fiction, short stories)
60) Apple Tree Yard - Louise Doughty (fiction)
59) The Detective's Daughter - Lesley Thomson (fiction)
58) Quesadillas by Juan Pablo Villalobos (fiction)
57) Homesick for the Earth, Poems by Jules Spervielle with
versions by Moniza Alvi (poetry, re-read)
56) Kei Miller -A Light Song of Light (poetry, re-read)
55) Black Vodka - Deborah Levy (fiction, short stories)
54) A Map of Nowhere - Martin Bannister ( fiction)
53) Reservation Road - John Burnham Schwartz (fiction)
52) The Crumb Road - Maitreyabandhu ( poetry)
52) High Performance - Luke Wright (poetry)
51) The Son of a Shoemaker - Linda Black ( poetry)
50) One Step too Far - Tina Seskis (fiction)
49) The Dinner - Herman Koch (fiction)
48) The Falling Sky - Pippa Goldschmidt (fiction)
47) The Most Beautiful Thing - Satya Robyn (fiction)
46) Rites - Sophie Coulombeau (fiction)
45) Property Of - Alice Hoffman (fiction)
44) The Wildflowers of Baltimore - Rob Roensch (fiction, short
stories)
43) Absolution - Patrick Flannery (fiction)
42) Autobiography of Red - Anne Carson (poetry)
41) Broadcasting - Andrea Holland (poetry)
40) Cross Bones - Kathy Reichs (fiction)
39) Flash and Bones - Kathy Reichs (fiction)
38) Waiting for Bluebeard - Helen Ivory (poetry)
37) The Blue Bedspread - Raj Kamal Jha (fiction)
36) Raptors - Toon Tellegen (poetry)
36) Hills of Doors - Robin Robertson (poetry)
35) Faber new Poets 1 - Katherine Benson (poetry)
34) The Doll Princess - Tom Benn (fiction)
33) This is How to Lose Her - Junot Diaz (fiction)
32) Behind the Beautiful Forevers - Katherine Boo (non fiction)
31) Furious Resonance - Terry Jones (poetry)
30) Speaking Without Tongues - Jane Monson (poetry)
29) Bevel - William Letford (poetry)
28) The Other Side of the Bridge - Geraldine Green (poetry)
27) The Overhaul - Kathleen Jamie (poetry)
26) Stalker - Lucy Hamilton (poetry)
25) The Wigbox; New and Selected Poems - Dorothy Nimmo (poetry)
24) Once You Break a Knuckle - D.W. Wilson (fiction, short
stories)
23) This isn't the Sort of Thing That Happens to Someone Like
You - Jon Mcgregor (fiction, short stories)
22) Grace - Esther Morgan (poetry, re-read)
21) Contemporary American Poetry - eds A. Poulin Jr & Michael
Waters (poetry)
20) The Silence Living in Houses - Esther Morgan (poetry)
19) Chick - Hannah Lowe (poetry)
18) Peacock Luggage - Moniza Alvi and Peter Daniels (poetry)
17) The Hungry Ghost Festival - Jen Campbell (poetry)
16) How the Stone Found its Voice - Moniza Alvi (poetry)
15) Faber New Poets 1 - Fiona Benson (poetry)
14) Stag's Leap - Sharon Olds (poetry)
13) Place - Jorie Graham (poetry)
12) Infinite Sky - C.J. Flood (fiction)
11) Dear Editor - Amy Newman (poetry)
10) Shelter - Jayne Anne Philips (fiction)
9) Self Portrait in the Dark - Colette Bryce (poetry)
8) The Bridle - Meryl Pugh (poetry)
7) Claiming Breath - Diane Glancy (poetry)
6) Jump Bad - A New Chicago Anthology (poetry and prose)
5) Night Journey - Richard Lambert (poetry)
4) The Man from Beijing - Henning Mankell (fiction)l
3) The Thing About Joe Sullivan - Roy Fisher (poetry)
2) Adventures With My Horse - Penelope Shuttle (poetry)
1) Carrying My Wife - Moniza Alvi (poetry, re-read)
Thursday, 12 December 2013
The Truth in (my) Poetry
I read part of my Sun Daddy sequence at Café Writers on Monday night and was surprised when someone in the ladies toilets said to me that they hoped I would have a better Christmas this year. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised - this kind of thing happens a lot when I read from my prose poem sequence. I just hadn't expected it with the Sun Daddy poems - they seem more extreme to me, plus they feature a kind of mythical family.
When I read my prose poems people often come up to me afterwards wanting to talk to me about my (or their) childhood. They want to know whether my family were in the Plymouth Brethren,or to sympathise with me about the horrible father in the poems, or else they want to share their own experiences of growing up in a religious family. I love talking to people about this kind of stuff, but occasionally someone will say that they feel cheated by the fact that the family in the poems is fictional (even though I usually say this when I am reading them). This always surprises me a little because unless a poet clearly says that a poem is based on a real incident I usually assume that a poem is to a greater or lesser extent a work of fiction. Those same people would not approach a novelist with the same kind of questions. Neither my prose poems or my Sun Daddy and circus sequences are real. I do not come from a religious family - in fact my father is an atheist - but of course a writer can't help drawing on their own experiences to a certain extent. There are concrete details in my poems that are directly stolen from my own childhood, and one or two of the prose poems stemmed from things half remembered, which I used as a kind of springboard for the poems, expanding and changing events to suit the needs of the poems. It is these concrete details that make the poems seem believable. The Sun Daddy poems were inspired by someone I knew, but again I have changed and evolved the character to suit my own needs.
If I wanted to write an accurate version of my life story I would write a memoir or an autobiography. There is a liberation in the writing process that allows one to go beyond what is real. I can explore the darker aspects of human nature. The girl in the prose poems although very young is not very likeable or very nice - there is a naivety to her too though - she is a product of her upbringing, she repeats things that she has heard adults say without necessarily understanding them, and she has a child's ability to feel outraged by the world. The girls in the circus poems too are an exploration of the dark side of childhood, in these poems I am exploring the way that children can be cruel to one another, and also exploring the tension between cruelty and love.
When I read my prose poems people often come up to me afterwards wanting to talk to me about my (or their) childhood. They want to know whether my family were in the Plymouth Brethren,or to sympathise with me about the horrible father in the poems, or else they want to share their own experiences of growing up in a religious family. I love talking to people about this kind of stuff, but occasionally someone will say that they feel cheated by the fact that the family in the poems is fictional (even though I usually say this when I am reading them). This always surprises me a little because unless a poet clearly says that a poem is based on a real incident I usually assume that a poem is to a greater or lesser extent a work of fiction. Those same people would not approach a novelist with the same kind of questions. Neither my prose poems or my Sun Daddy and circus sequences are real. I do not come from a religious family - in fact my father is an atheist - but of course a writer can't help drawing on their own experiences to a certain extent. There are concrete details in my poems that are directly stolen from my own childhood, and one or two of the prose poems stemmed from things half remembered, which I used as a kind of springboard for the poems, expanding and changing events to suit the needs of the poems. It is these concrete details that make the poems seem believable. The Sun Daddy poems were inspired by someone I knew, but again I have changed and evolved the character to suit my own needs.
If I wanted to write an accurate version of my life story I would write a memoir or an autobiography. There is a liberation in the writing process that allows one to go beyond what is real. I can explore the darker aspects of human nature. The girl in the prose poems although very young is not very likeable or very nice - there is a naivety to her too though - she is a product of her upbringing, she repeats things that she has heard adults say without necessarily understanding them, and she has a child's ability to feel outraged by the world. The girls in the circus poems too are an exploration of the dark side of childhood, in these poems I am exploring the way that children can be cruel to one another, and also exploring the tension between cruelty and love.
Monday, 2 December 2013
Repetitive Thinking and Creative Block
Having just read my last two blog posts I realise that I have been repeating myself - what I thought was a new thought or revelation, I had actually already articulated in a blog post a month or so earlier. Should I be worried about this? Or is it just the way the human mind works: visiting and revisiting a problem until it is solved or at least explained?
For writers (and probably other types of creative) artistic block can be a major issue. For me writer's block is something that crops up again and again. I have got more used to it now though. It is like a tiresome old friend that turns up from time to time expecting a meal and a bed for the night and then stays for days until his welcome is well and truly worn out. I don't greet it with the blind panic I used to waste on it when I was a newer writer. I know that if I do the things that keep me inspired and unblocked - morning pages, artists dates, looking at art, reading poetry - then I will get inspired again at some point. It is when I neglect to do these things that my mind becomes all silted up and I can't even begin to think about writing. There are other things that impinge on my creativity too - too much teaching (I suspect that teaching - or at least the preparation - uses the same creative part of the brain as writing), reading too many novels, stress, noisy neighbours and watching too much TV are all things that seems to affect my ability to write.
For writers (and probably other types of creative) artistic block can be a major issue. For me writer's block is something that crops up again and again. I have got more used to it now though. It is like a tiresome old friend that turns up from time to time expecting a meal and a bed for the night and then stays for days until his welcome is well and truly worn out. I don't greet it with the blind panic I used to waste on it when I was a newer writer. I know that if I do the things that keep me inspired and unblocked - morning pages, artists dates, looking at art, reading poetry - then I will get inspired again at some point. It is when I neglect to do these things that my mind becomes all silted up and I can't even begin to think about writing. There are other things that impinge on my creativity too - too much teaching (I suspect that teaching - or at least the preparation - uses the same creative part of the brain as writing), reading too many novels, stress, noisy neighbours and watching too much TV are all things that seems to affect my ability to write.
Sunday, 17 November 2013
Can Reading Novels Effect Your Productivity?
It is no secret that I have been far less productive writing wise since I finished putting together my collection, but I am pleased to say that that while I am still not prolific I have started writing poetry again - phew! I had put my lack of productivity down to various things - the fact that I put so much effort into getting the work finished by my Arts Council deadline, the fact that I wrote so much new material whilst I was working with my mentor, the all but demise of my regular workshopping group, even the possibility that once the collection was finished and I no longer had deadlines that I wasn't as motivated to write. All of these reasons may in part be true, but this week another reason also occurred to me.
I am in the Readers Circle reading books for potential inclusion in next years's Writers' Centre Norwich Summer reads programme, which means that as well as reading poetry I have also been reading a lot of short story collections and novels. Whilst reading (good) poetry and short stories often leaves me feeling inspired to write, I find that I reading a novel rarely, if ever, has the same effect - even if it is an outstanding read. I am not sure why this is - it may be because novels are so immersive - they draw you into another world, and create a reality that we believe is real while we are reading. Or it may be that the novel just works on a different area of the brain to poetry or art, but whatever the reason it seems likely that the amount of novel reading I have been doing during the last couple of months may have a direct correlation with my decreased productivity in the poetry writing department. It will be interesting to see of my urge to write increases after the programme is finished in January.
I am in the Readers Circle reading books for potential inclusion in next years's Writers' Centre Norwich Summer reads programme, which means that as well as reading poetry I have also been reading a lot of short story collections and novels. Whilst reading (good) poetry and short stories often leaves me feeling inspired to write, I find that I reading a novel rarely, if ever, has the same effect - even if it is an outstanding read. I am not sure why this is - it may be because novels are so immersive - they draw you into another world, and create a reality that we believe is real while we are reading. Or it may be that the novel just works on a different area of the brain to poetry or art, but whatever the reason it seems likely that the amount of novel reading I have been doing during the last couple of months may have a direct correlation with my decreased productivity in the poetry writing department. It will be interesting to see of my urge to write increases after the programme is finished in January.
Monday, 7 October 2013
Reading and Writing
In the last few days I have found myself trying to analyse how (and if) my reading patterns affect my writing. I have written very little poetry in the past couple of months, and while it's true that this might have a direct correlation with certain events that have occurred in my life recently, I found myself also wondering if it is to do with what, and how much, I am reading.
I know for instance that I write more poetry if I am reading poetry - but not just any poetry, it has to be something really inspiring. In fact some poetry collections are so inspiring that they send me running for my pencil an notebook. It is like some kind of weird alchemy - I don't know how it works but it does - in the same way that morning pages can up my creativity levels. I have been reading poetry though, and quite a bit, but none of it has really given me that poetry high that makes me want to write. The last two collections that did that were "Raptors" by Toon Tellegan and "Autobiography of Red" by Ann Carson. Nothing I have read over the summer has come close to them sadly.
The other thing is that I have been reading a lot of fiction - both novels and short stories. I am reading more than usual because I am in the Summer Reads reading circle, but I am reading other books as well those. I don' t know if reading a lot of fiction stops me writing poetry, or if I am choosing to read a lot of fiction as some sort of escapism from real life. I know that when I went through a prolific poetry phase last year I was hardly reading any fiction at all, but that could just be coincidental of course.
I know for instance that I write more poetry if I am reading poetry - but not just any poetry, it has to be something really inspiring. In fact some poetry collections are so inspiring that they send me running for my pencil an notebook. It is like some kind of weird alchemy - I don't know how it works but it does - in the same way that morning pages can up my creativity levels. I have been reading poetry though, and quite a bit, but none of it has really given me that poetry high that makes me want to write. The last two collections that did that were "Raptors" by Toon Tellegan and "Autobiography of Red" by Ann Carson. Nothing I have read over the summer has come close to them sadly.
The other thing is that I have been reading a lot of fiction - both novels and short stories. I am reading more than usual because I am in the Summer Reads reading circle, but I am reading other books as well those. I don' t know if reading a lot of fiction stops me writing poetry, or if I am choosing to read a lot of fiction as some sort of escapism from real life. I know that when I went through a prolific poetry phase last year I was hardly reading any fiction at all, but that could just be coincidental of course.
Saturday, 21 September 2013
Getting back in the saddle
It's an interesting thing that since, for all intents and purposes, I have pretty much finished putting together my collection that my creative drive seems to have been at a very low ebb. I don't think that it is just because of finishing the collection - although it always helps me to have goals and deadlines to work to. Unfortunately finishing the collection has coincided with the demise of my regular work shopping group as well - half of them have moved away, and the death of a very old friend.Consequently I have had had a couple of months of writing very little at all, which has felt very frustrating.
However I have just returned from a two week break on the Norfolk coast and I am now ready to get back in the writing saddle. Today I was poetry busking in Wymondham - it was the opening event of the Wymondham Words Literature Festival. There were about eight readers who took it in turns to read a poem - some of their own and some by other people. It was great to hear such a variety of poetry read out, and also to be given a surprisingly warm reception by the public who were going about their Saturday shopping. My next move is to find a new work shopping group, or recruit some new members for the existing one. I also want to make a definite space for writing in my house. i am thinking of reclaiming the tiny back room upstairs, and to set myself times for writing and stick to them.
However I have just returned from a two week break on the Norfolk coast and I am now ready to get back in the writing saddle. Today I was poetry busking in Wymondham - it was the opening event of the Wymondham Words Literature Festival. There were about eight readers who took it in turns to read a poem - some of their own and some by other people. It was great to hear such a variety of poetry read out, and also to be given a surprisingly warm reception by the public who were going about their Saturday shopping. My next move is to find a new work shopping group, or recruit some new members for the existing one. I also want to make a definite space for writing in my house. i am thinking of reclaiming the tiny back room upstairs, and to set myself times for writing and stick to them.
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