Very superstitious.

Morning all,

The theme this week is Superstitions, a subject that never fails to throw a divide down between believers and cynics. Now, I'm no authority on the subject but, one thing I do know is that superstitions are complex things. I have them. I don't believe in them. I am though, a football supporter and as every fan can tell you, this leads to the strangest things taking on a value.

Four years ago, as Blackpool climbed League One to gain promotion, I had a lucky pen. It started here. A pen I took to the games became a pen and a lighter, a pre-match ritual of cheese on toast, lucky pants, socks, notepads, gloves. If you could keep it the same from one week to the next, I did.

Since that season I have had a badge, a coat, boots, trainers, four or five tangerine lighters and, new for 2011, a five pound note. All of these things hold a lucky value to me, a superstition if you like but, on the whole I think they all come down to changes- or lack of them.

I should, given that I don't believe in them, throw these tokens away. The £5 note has been in my wallet for weeks now- since the five goal drubbing of Leeds away. Something about it just screamed 'good luck' and it has been in there ever since. Maybe it is the "Jesus Is Lord" stamp that covers the Queen's head on one side, maybe it is the "God is so Good" stamp on the other. Thinking about it like this, it frightens me a little.

That some fanatic could have spent the time and effort to stamp and recirculate these notes is one thing. For me to hold on to one as if it were a blessed charm is another. The barista at my local coffee shop (supporter of a rival team) confiscated it last week and actually chewed it. I still have the sodding thing.

As a writer I am becoming increasingly aware of these everyday traits people have. I see them in myself. In people tapping their hands, touching wood, clicking pens... It is these kinds of details that make the worlds we create come to life. I've been thinking a lot about writing fiction- character development and so on, and these little things are really starting to ask and answer my own doubts about the plot as a whole. It is in the thought processes, the details and the reasonings behind those choices that we discover the most and so, reader, your task this week is to have a think about three different superstitions you have. How can these find a way into your own characters? How do they make you feel? When did they come about? Why do they happen? What do they mean? Really get your teeth in.

I'm going to give this a go myself as well just to see how many things I notice about the world when I actually look for them. As I said at the top, I still don't really believe in superstitions in general but they are very much a part of the world we live in and as yet another 'in' into the landscapes and relationships we create not only in prose but in poetry too, they are proving a most useful resource. One thing though- it sucks you in. I've started worrying about 'the change in an unexpected direction' that my horoscope warned of...

Touch wood, I'll still be here next week. Until then, thanks for reading.

S.

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TV Guide.

Evening all,

I have no real excuse for not posting this writing task earlier, I just forgot about my early start. Sorry about that.

Anyway, this week's theme is Writing Exercises which I think could actually work in favour of my timing after all. I wrote this task for the Hodgsonberry festival event three of us attended at a local high school way back in July. I have actually aimed it to be a start point for some year 8s but I'm sure you can get along without my assistance and write something on your own, after all, there is nothing on TV tonight...

FINDING INSPIRATION: A WRITING WORKSHOP

When looking for something to inspire, it is easy to get lost in your own head, especially with a blank page in front of you. You are not stuck for ideas, you just think you are. Your body and mind have experienced thousands of different words and senses today and you have only just thought about it. With this in mind, before you start writing remember that 5 minutes of jotting is almost always more fruitful than an hour of thinking.

Today, we are looking at Objects. Objects can be great for inspiring you. They have been made, been lived with, been used and, somewhere along the line, probably seen or done something pretty wicked. Remember, there is a story behind everything.

Pick up the object. Turn it over. Ask yourself everything you can think of about it. Here are just a few to get you started

· What is it?

· Who does it belong to?

· Have you seen it before?

· What colour is it?

· Is it smooth?

· Does it smell?

· Does it say anything (i.e. is it religious, does it represent anything else)?

· Where did you pick it up?

· What has it seen?

· What does it do?

· Why does it interest you?

Think about all of these questions. Have a look at the POEMS idea below. Do you have enough ideas to piece together a picture now? Find a PERSPECTIVE you would like to write from and you are just about ready to dazzle with poetry.

	P is for People: Who are the characters in the poem? O is for Objects: What do they symbolise? Find 3 interesting things to say. E is for Emotion: Is the mood sad, happy, reflective, angry...? M is for Message: Is there something you’re trying to say? S is for Setting: Where is the poem set? Why here? What does this add?

Note: Nobody writes amazing poetry on a first draft. Never be afraid to cross out and re-write a line. You will know when a line fits, trust your instincts!

Thanks for reading guys, S.

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In search of comfort.

I was a little scared to write a blog post this week. Scared not because today is in fact Halloween (insert ‘s if you like- I long since dropped them), rather that I didn’t actually know the meaning of the theme. Catharsis then, is “ the purging of the emotions or relieving of emotional tensions, especially through certain kinds of art, as tragedy or music”, (Dictionary.com). I suppose for me this means writing.

I find writing to be one of those things everybody hates the idea of. At some point or other most children dismiss the idea of writing their own story as boring. Teenagers tell me they spend all their time on the Xbox and as for adults- being taken seriously enough I find half the battle. Of course, I am generalising slightly - there are always certain circles in which writing is encouraged and for those reading this- circle members themselves I assume, I am grateful.

In truth, I find that writing itself can be incredibly cathartic (look, I used the new word). It gives a certain release. It has not escaped my attention either, that a lot of those initial doubters come to the world of writing through some kind of pain or emotion- the lover boy bursting into song, the poems of the jilted, the poems of remembrance...

I don’t find this a bad thing. I had a conversation earlier in the week about people coming to poetry because they think it is an easy option- well, let them enjoy themselves- the torture of balancing that one awkward sound three stanzas in is something they’ll get to in time. When the frustrations are clear from your head and you find them replaced by that one struggling idea- that is when I think it really plays in- the dual release when you finally get it down on paper. You can make this last hours, weeks sometimes, just waiting for that thought to drop in- and it will at some point. That is the other truth I’ve found- nobody ever really gives up writing, they merely break off for a while.

I like to think- that is why I write. I like to develop ideas, move them around, play the film through in my head and then capture exactly what it is that I want to show people. I try to do that every time with my work and more often than not I get frustrated. When I think something is right though- that is what makes it all worth it. That is the relieving of tensions through art, and it is art.

I spent last Friday walking with Lara. A rare fair-weathered October afternoon meant we were going out somewhere and we ended up over Longridge Fell. Out there, I found myself thinking about the Nietzsche quote “all truly great thoughts are conceived by walking”. I agree with the fella. It was nice to have a bit of real thinking time to cast my mind over things.

I was inspired by the day. I am inspired by Halloween. I am inspired by a lot of bloody things to be quite honest- I feel my mind is like a tumble drier of potential poem ideas (not many of which are related) at the moment. It was only on Friday, with the help of a t-shirt quote and some rolling Lancashire hills, that I found where they could fit together. As a result, some of those fragmented ideas are now slipping into poems and boy, does that feel good. Tension well and truly purged.

I’ll try and have a new poem up for next week. For now though, thanks for reading.

S.

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You were my rock

by Sue Sheard

What aids me most when I’m writing? I have to say it depends what I’m writing about. Dreams give me plenty of ideas for story writing. People watching coupled with an idle curiosity give me even more. When I was writing my dissertation, I got through a large box of chocolates in one afternoon and often wished I’d never given up smoking – certain that a trip to the bottom of the garden for a crafty fag out of eyesight and earshot would help. A few years ago when I was desperately stuck Lara recommended Julia Cameron’s Write to Right to me and it has probably become the nearest thing I will ever have to a bible because, like a favourite teacher, she never fails to point out the right direction. When it comes to writing poetry though, I find the thing that helps me more than anything is pure emotion, whether it be the abject terror I feel when the kids are hopelessly late home and all means of contact are switched off or sorrow when somebody close has died, total happiness when I’m having a great day with people I love or violent anger to people who’ve hurt me in the past. This poem was inspired by the latter two.

You were my Rock

You were my rock and I was Sisyrus
Day after day I pushed you uphill but
Night after night back down you rolled
Crushing me under the weight of your load.

You were my world and I was your Atlas
Spinning and turning while making your days,
And your nights, your meals and the beds.

You were my anchor and I was the boat
With a world to explore but kept
all at sea far from freedom and fun.

I was the kite and you were the string
till I found a strength to snap you and
carry me, leading me onwards, upwards
Outwards, out here.

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First Day Nerves

I couldn’t write this post last night, nor could I write it this morning. I couldn’t write it for one reason: I was panicking, fretting, worrying, and was even convinced for a moment that I was about to die suddenly from a heart attack. Obviously, I didn’t die – I’m not writing this from beyond the grave – and my anxiety has now quietened to a mere mumble. Therefore, I feel able to write again...

Today I started back at Lancaster (this is what caused the shortness of breath and rapid heart rate), and I was filled with both a sense of excitement and one of dread. I’m not very good at change. I’m not very good at meeting new people. I’m not very good at being sociable. Therefore, first days are always difficult. I mention this because – as I drove back from Lancaster, having survived the first day – it struck me that my antonymic emotions are not dissimilar to the way in which I feel before writing a poem. There is often an element of enthusiasm – a new idea, a single line, or even just a title is enough to unlock smile-faced serotonins. But at the same time there’s an injection of trepidation, and this always seems to steal away any opportunity of writing a poem that is solely fuelled by untarnished excitement. However, I’ve learnt (sort of) to appreciate both the favoured and unfavoured; to realise that enthusiasm inspires me, while the doubt is the force that moves me, causes things to happen, creates a ‘final’ draft. If I was less self-doubting, I’m almost certain that I wouldn’t write.

This week’s theme is ‘best resource’ and for me, personally, I’d have to say that self-doubt belongs in my top five resources. Yes, I realise it isn’t concrete. It can’t be acquired at the library. It doesn’t have a website that you can visit, and you can’t subscribe to it monthly. But, in terms of poetry, I believe that it is the main thing that pushes me to be the poet that I’d like to be. It’s the editor that I don’t have to pay for. It’s the critic, who keeps me grounded and always asks that I give more.

Alongside the slightly odd choice of ‘self-doubt’, there are also a few more conventional resources on my list: my Roget’s thesaurus, my dictionary, photographs and, when all else fails, ‘Thinking Putty’ (thanks Katy).

Thank you for reading my Tuesday afternoon post,

Lar

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