Everyone's Reading

Last week Leicester was alive with reading and writing events for this year's Everyone's Reading Festival. I went to quite a few sessions and thought I'd share some of them with you here.

I attended a poetry writing session run by the talented Helen Mort. Helen inspired us to write portrait poetry which ranged from the personal to the surreal. It was a great evening and I can see why Helen has been the Derbyshire Poet Laureate for the last few years. I'd like to know why Leicester doesn't have a poet laureate.

I visited the Leicester Writers' Club for an open evening. I used to be a regular member in the last century! (I feel so old!) It was lovely to go back and meet old friends and they were all so welcoming. Their evening consisted of a panel of six members who had each chosen the book that inspired them to start writing. More about this when I've told you about the rest of my week.

My signing table at Waterstones Leicester

I was invited to BBC Radio Leicester to talk about The Children's Book of Richard III and my imminent appearance at Waterstones Leicester. It was going to be a proper interview but there was so much happening last week that they didn't manage to squeeze in more than a quick shout-out but it was fun and when I arrived at Waterstones there was a queue waiting for me, so it must have jogged a few memories.

I love to hear the questions that children ask at these bookshop events. I'm humbled by the awe that they express when I tell them that I did, indeed, write the book. I would like to think that my book, and the story I tell them about writing it, inspires some of them to have a go at writing themselves, which brings me back to the topic of 'books that inspire us to write'.

The panel from the Writers' Club said that they had great trouble selecting one book that inspired them to write and I'm not surprised. I've tried to think of one but I'm stumped. I think that the inspiration must have come from a mighty mixture of fiction, non-fiction, poetry and newspaper/magazine articles.

I can come up with several books that influenced me in life. As a child I was totally enthralled by Enid Blyton's Famous Five and Secret Seven. I wanted to have a secret den and plans of trips by boat to deserted islands with lemonade, sandwiches and a scoundrel of a dog to add to the excitement.

When I became a teenager it was Wuthering Heights that had me gripped. I was besotted with the hopelessness of their relationship and the depth of love and indeed hate that this relationship created. It suited and probably fuelled my mood of teenage angst. I spent several years collecting old versions of the book and still have them all on my book shelf.

I'm intrigued to know which books have most inspired you.

How do you make a living as a writer?

I'm really enjoying this series of Leicester writers. There are so many more that I could include but I've restricted it to just one month's-worth. Here is my next visitor, a friend who also shares my passion for therapeutic writing. Today she is talking about the commercial side of the profession, so please give a warm welcome to Maxine Linnell:

Last week I was lying on a couch while a young physiotherapist pressed on a tender part of my back.

‘You’re a writer!’ she said. ‘That’s wonderful. I’ve just finished my first novel, would you like to read it?’

I don’t know what I muttered into the facehole. I think self-preservation came into it. That particular spot is very sensitive.

A recent survey showed that more than 60% of the population wanted to be a writer. Another survey showed that only a few writers earn above the minimum wage. Nicky Morgan MP recently warned children not to go for a career in the arts, as they’d regret it. Facebook is a great source of half-remembered facts.

Writing, or perhaps writing-related work, is now my main source of income, after a lifetime of being a psychotherapist. If you’re after money, I’d endorse Nicky Morgan’s warning. But I need to be a writer, live in the writing world, talk writing, think writing, indulge my huge love of everything writing-related. So I feel very fortunate to have six published books, and as a result to work with writers as friends, and as an editor, mentor, ‘critiquer’ and teacher - even though it’s an unreliable, low-paid, hand-to-mouth income. I’m grateful to all the people who helped me get here, and help me do it. I’m also grateful to the people who choose to work with me, and love finding the gems in their writing.

‘Is it just luck?’ the physio asked me, shifting to another tender spot.

No, it’s very hard work. It’s hard work writing and editing your work till you think it’s going to die but instead it emerges crystal clear. It’s hard work selling it, hard work pushing your skills to their limits and using them, hard work giving time, energy and encouragement to others. And I find it difficult to make time for my own writing in the middle of all this. I don’t think I’m alone in that? And I love libraries so much, I’m putting a lot of unpaid time into keeping Rothley’s little library alive. And most of what I’m doing towards that is - writing.

 

Maxine Linnell

Maxine’s books are published by Five Leaves, A&C Black and Real Reads. 

Currently she has poems in The Book of Love and Loss, and the Soundswrite anthology to be published in October. 

From September she’s teaching in Leicester with Writing East Midlands and the WEA.

www.maxinelinnell.com

www.rothleycommunitylibrary.co.uk


Debbie White will be my next Leicester Writer Visitor.

Stories That Stay in Your Head - Emma Lee

An August Blog Event - Leicester Writers

I've known Emma for almost as long as I've been writing and I've always admired her use of language in her poetry. It is, therefore, with much pleasure that I welcome Emma to my blog:

I’ve always loved listening to stories. Before I could write, I built houses with toy bricks and invented stories for the people who might have lived there. Once I could write, I grew to love the process of focusing on a specific aspect or theme in a story and condensing it into a poem. Most of my poems focus on other people’s stories, often inspired by news stories. Many of the poems in, “Mimicking a Snowdrop” look at how the past coexists with the present, for example in the same flat, the presence of a Blitz survivor is sensed by a modern day shift worker.

Some stories stay with you long after you’ve finished reading the newspaper or closed the book. My third collection “Ghosts in the Desert” explores this, beginning with ghosts from news of wars, the aftermath of tsunamis, bombings, or ill-served by political decisions of others, and how these haunt survivors. One sequence explores fan fiction, written by fans who find characters from films staying with them long after the credits have rolled. 

We need stories to help keep memories alive and give us the opportunity to learn from past mistakes.

Emma Lee

Emma Lee is a poet and reviewer. 

She blogs at http://emmalee1.wordpress.com and has published three poetry collections: 

“Ghosts in the Desert” (Indigo Dreams Publishing, 2015),

“Mimicking a Snowdrop” (Thynks Press, 2014) and 

“Yellow Torchlight and the Blues” (Original Plus, 2004). 

She reviews for The Journal, London Grip and Sabotage Reviews.

Maxine Linnell will be my next Leicester Writer Visitor.

Is it Spring?

(For readers accessing via their phones the following is written in poetry form...

...in truth, the above message is for my son as his reader doesn't show up line returns!)

Meteorological Spring I

Each March-time it comes as a shivery shock

To be told that it’s Spring once again.

The wind has a bite like an angered guard dog

And the forecast says snowfall, not rain.

But if Spring starts in March then I think it quite strange, the way

Summer time starts in mid June.

Because June also hosts England’s Midsummer’s day

Which means Autumn will come along soon.

Then the flowers will fade and the birds will take flight,

Clichéd mellow mists turn to hoar frost.

We’ll be plunged into Winter, the month of no light

With another year’s hopes and dreams lost.

(To those who have told me off for giving it a negative ending, it rhymes with frost and besides, there are always a few hopes and dreams not realised when the chimes ring out for the new year!)

View from the kitchen window

Meteorological Spring II

How can it be Spring?

The wind’s biting harder than a grisly guard dog.

My toes are tender red,

My fingers pinched white.

Who says blossom is ready to burst?

I see no bulging buds – only bare bone branches.

The meteorologists must have got it wrong.

It’s too soon for Spring.

This year’s Meteorological Spring was on 1^st March.

My body has lost all its zoom

I saw an advert on Twitter today for an intensive Lindy Hop/Jive session. I'd love to do that but I fear my body wouldn't hold up so I wrote one of my poems instead:

Where are my glasses? It makes me feel sad.
As a youngster my vision was great.
I’d thread needles for Mum and read small print for Dad.
Now those tasks get me into a state.

In the old days I never kept losing my things
And I knew why I’d entered a room
And I’d skip down the road like my feet were on springs.
Now my body has lost all its zoom!

I can’t keep up to date with today’s trendy youth.
And technology changes so fast.
Though I like modern music, to tell you the truth
I’d much rather play songs from the past.

So I live in what is, but I dream of what was.
It’s a common thing. That's what I'm told.
It’s expected. It’s normal. It happens because
We just can’t stop ourselves growing old.

Peeling Potatoes

I’ve opened a present, a bottle of Schnapps

My favourite, Archers, peach flavour

I’m peeling potatoes and just dare not lapse

Cause my roasties are something to savour.

I’ve eaten four mince pies laced liberally with rum.

I’m still peeling but feel rather weepy.

So I've gulped down some whisky. It's warming my tum,

But potatoes are making me sleepy.

They’re inside watching telly. That’s fine. It’s ok.

Come the adverts, they all want a cuppa.

It’s a Peach Schnapps for me. I feel better that way

When I’m peeling potatoes for supper.

I’ve made them all tea and they’re watching a play

So I’m peeling potatoes like crazy

But the kitchen is starting to gently sway

And I’m feeling incredibly lazy.

I’ll just rest for a while. I’ll slide onto the floor

I know one thing without any doubt,

I’m sorry. I can’t peel potatoes no more

Cause I fear I’m about to pass…

Beautiful Poetry

Last night on BBC Radio 4’s Poetry Please they read a translation of Nazim Hikmet’s poem ‘Things I Didn’t Know I Loved’. He wrote it while travelling on the Prague-Berlin train. It was the year before he died and knowing that makes it all the more poignant. 

I won’t even try to paraphrase it here and I certainly wouldn’t presume to create a version of my own. You may know the poem but, if you'd like to read it again, I’ve put a link here to the translation, or you may prefer to listen to last week’s Poetry Please programme here. There are seven days left to listen.

Is it just me or is this one of the most moving poem you’ve ever heard?

The Secret of Sleep

I watch both my cats as they sleep.

Mabel is at the back
Charlie is in the front

Not for them endless counting of sheep.

They curl up, close their eyes and away
With no angst of how they spent their day.

In the night my mind's full of concern
Consequently I toss and I turn.

How to rid my head of things I said,
All those gaffes that could make cheeks turn red?

How to discard those worries each night
Of what's not yet occurred... but just might?

The solution, I'm sure, is the way
Cats can totally dismiss the day.

It's a natural skill for a cat
So please tell me, why can't I do that?

My Life in a Card

An awkward child,

I was in awe of those huge red cards

The boxed variety with the satin, padded hearts

That my sister received in the post.

I soon learnt the game

Not signing the card

Looking at his face

Wondering if he’d guessed.

Before I knew why or how

The card had lost its meaning.

I’d buy it in-between feeding the babies

Doing the school run

Surviving

until I knew

without a doubt

that my marriage

was broken

And it would take more

much more

than a red heart

on a card

for it to mend.

I never planned it but love came again

And all the better for the passing of time.

Two cards on the mantelpiece

Signed because we know.

A teddy with a red bow

A meal at home for two.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr A.

It's National Poetry Day

The 4^th of October is Poetry Day.

I hope you’ve all taken the time

To ensure that your writing and clever word play

Is exploding with rhythm and rhyme.

Write your daily to do list in long ballad form

Leave the milkman a note in Haiku

Your sonnet style emails will go down a storm.

Why not tweet out a tanka or two.

I’m trying to make sure I talk all in rhyme

Using couplets and triplets galore

But I wish it was over til next year this time

Cause I can’t keep it up any more.

I'll give virtual chocolates and wine

For comments with rhythm and rhyme! 

[OK and all right, it was only a joke

Tho I know blogger land's full of poetry folk.]

You can find out more about National Poetry Day at their website http://www.nationalpoetryday.co.uk/

If we cared

I’ve had a go at one of Jenny Matlock’s weekend challenges. I can't get Blogger to put a link on her badge but please visit her blog. There’s always something there to make you smile. This week her challenge is to post up a piece of writing in any style as long as it’s less than 100 words and includes the phrase:

It doesn’t have to be that way

‘Excellent!’ I thought when I read her prompt. ‘I now have an excuse for one of my regular moans.’ So here goes:

Why is it nation fighting nation,
Always man versus man,
Another journalist’s sensation
As the bad news hits the fan?

We say we care about each other
But that clearly isn’t true.
What with brother killing brother
I’m afraid for me and you.

If we cared we’d not permit
All of that murderous display.
It’s our world we’re messing up. It
Doesn’t have to be that way.

A time to rhyme

There’s something satisfying about reading an old, familiar poem, even (especially) if you almost know it by heart.

What is this life if full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare...

(Leisure by W. H. Davies)

 

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you...

(If... by Rudyard Kipling)

Poetry can be a great comfort when times are hard. Mum is very ill. It’s cancer of the oesophagus. My life has returned to the routine of daily hospital visits and bags of washing.

At times like this I can’t concentrate on novels so I thought I’d revisit Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled in which he explains the processes of poetry writing. I love reading Stephen Fry. He writes as he talks and it’s like having him sitting next to me but this book has beaten me. I never knew that poetry could be SO complicated with its anapaest, dactyl, molasses... It makes my attempts at poetry writing look embarrassingly naive. [My Little Nut Tree]

But does that matter? I enjoy it so I’m issuing a warning! I’m going to carry on writing it however naive it may be.

Our love of rhythm and rhyme is nurtured from when we’re very young through nursery rhymes and simple songs. My favourite picture books are the rhyming ones which brings me to a major gripe. I understand:

• that publishers need to watch the pennies
• that picture books are expensive to produce.
• that they need to get foreign rights to cover the cost
• that rhyming texts make translation more difficult

 ...but I can’t be the only person who loves rhyming picture books. If we all love them and the children all love them, isn’t it a shame that most publishers state quite clearly in their submission guidelines ‘No rhyming texts’. Come on publishers. Give us more of what we want!

What’s your favourite ‘almost recite by heart’ poem?