On random inspiration outside of the norm

I've never seen a book vending machine before and so it caused me lots of excitement when I passed one at Heathrow airport. It's been only hours since leaving work and the norm; and yet I'm already in the thick of letting go. I feel....released?

I'm only at stage one of the journey to Australia but I'm already conjuring ideas that contain a book vending machine as a focal point. Mike leigh and Naked spring to mind...alongside butterflies and an accordian player. Who knows where it will lead?

I wonder what the 20 hour journey, stop off in Kuala Lumpar and first glimpse of Sydney will have in store. Perhaps nothing... but thats part of the thrill. It's all in the enjoyment of being randomly inspried outside of the norm.

on freedom to write

Recent constraints - redundancy, job searching, starting a new job, rocky relationship etc - have taken their toll and now its time to run wild in Australia. For three weeks. Imagine the amount of time available that is usually taken up by the mundane, the necessary and the unwanted. I have one more day of work to tie everything up in a more than satisfactory manner, and then off I go. A dalliance with my notebook - or not. Lets see which way the wind blows.

On accepting advice

Alter having read/listened to lots of other people’s opinions on finding experiences to write about etc, I set to wondering – have I been trying too hard? It’s a possibility and so I slowed right down to almost stopping and took stock. I don’t take advice easily - I´ve usually already thought of the suggestions - and so this was harder than you may imagine. But it´s a period of crazy changes right now so I thought it worth a stab.

As a result the output has been slow – but, surprisingly, the worry that my skills would suddenly fall apart and disintegrate was unfounded. it was hard at first...very hard. But the slowing down has seen a rather splendid poem surface entitled “Daunting the devil”: I’m looking forward to seeing whether /where it gets accepted.

In seven days time I’ll be well on my way to my three week holiday in Australia and so I’m excited about what will happen once I’m there. I’ve bought some stunning notebooks and have some inspirational books at the ready. Hopefully an internet café will afford me some time to update my sites but – in all fairness – it may have to wait till I get back.

Regardless - I´m certain that my first poetry collection or something equally fabulous will surface.

On life´s impact and writing

It may have always been completely obvious to everyone else but this week I discovered that despite all good intentions and a lot of hard work, real life impacts our writing.

This week has been slow - non existent in fact. I booked myself into a little hotel in Estepona as planned, but there was no writing output whatsoever. There was some scribbling in notebooks and a few sketches but apart from that; nothing. Why?

On Tuesday I got made redundant. Not just me, but the whole office - the entire operation shut down and moved (though not necessarily with us included). There was no warning: it came completely out of the blue for everyone and you can imagine the atmosphere. There was tidal wave of emotions over the place and no amount of early Spanish sun could get rid of the clouds.

I naively thought some creative writing would distract from the scenario and give me something else to think about. But for the first time ever I had a form of writer´s block - or at least, I couldn´t write anything other than notes and thoughts and images.

Of course, these will be used in the future and I´m sure that the end result will be pleasing but - it was a real disappointment to be in the scenario where you have space to write and can´t. It also set me to thinking about how entwined our writing is with our own lives.

Whether its theme characterisation or setting, the general consensus is that we write what we know. Or at least use what we know to build upon and embellish, side step and stampede over with our desire to create lies from truth and truth from lies.

But I (perhaps stupidly) hadn´t realised the impact of living life on the ability to write as this was a first for me. I could not physically write anything constructive. Of course, I have things under control now and the career front looks promising so my mind can settle a little.

I guess I just have to put it down to experience, breathe into the empty space and give myself a little heave-ho to get started again. Is four days enough space? I believe so (though I´m still struggling to put words on a page in a coherent format).

This certainly relates to what John meant in his reply to my last post when he said "I generally write about the absurdity of life, the experiences I've had that I could never have imagined or planned. "

But - what if it happens again? Can a writer afford to let the downs in as much as the ups? Will it scupper all plans of getting published or will it all come out right in the end?

Maybe as Melan Collie said "Personally, I've enjoyed taking a break from writing now and again, because, in my experience, the journey through time can be as perspective altering and influential to one's writing as moving to a new place would be."

On wanderlust and the need for space.

Is it just me or are all writers (artists) driven by a need for experience, understanding and change?

Having resided in Spain for three years now (four separate addresses!) I got that crazy itch for movement, new shores, new people and traditions...more things to write about and dissect/devour when I have a plethora of ideas, characters and events still wanting to burst onto the page! There´s a time and a place, but they´re getting impatient. And so was I.

I am descended from gypsies: my grandma lived in a gypsy caravan up until she died at the age or 100 and something (the details here change depending on who you speak to). Like my father I am very creative and suffer from wanderlust, but is it to do with genetics or creativity that makes you thirst for more?

The wanderlust comes alongside a sort of freedom and anonymity also. The need for space to think, breath, just be. Without being something to someone for a little while. and so like a special gift came a Spanish bank holiday (Thursday 28th Feb) where everything is closed and you are forced to relax. And so...the result?

I had a fantastic writing day this week in Estepona - a little town in the Costa del Sol that is still Spanish. Just me, my notebook and some money had a date with the beach - we laid on a bench outside a church atop the hill and constructed a poem on wanting always what is out of reach called Restless. We ate pata negra ham in plaza de los flores, and some unknown spiky seafood in a boat on the shore which is used for barbecuing fish during the summer whilst composing a poem entitle periwinkle.

We also chatted to a clearly mad one legged man who believes he writes scripts for Stephen Fry and started out with an English accent and ended up with a Glaswegian one. interesting... (an hour of my life, a cheap sangria and three poems later...could one be called Mad Mike?) I gave him my website address - he may read this. Who knows? But that little bit of solitude and freedom to let the mind wander seems to have cured the wanderlust for now.

Kind of. I have the basis of around 10 poems from that day and so this week I am going to stay in Estepona town in a hostal and write in the mornings before work (pre 8am), evenings after work (post 6pm) and eat tapas/walk on the beach in the breeze somewhere in between. Some people I know think this is bizarre behaviour - but surely it keeps you grounded? I´m lucky to have two very understanding cats and one extremely impatient yet similar boyfriend who is happy to acknowledge my whims to keep me sane. Hopefully, he gets a good read out of it at the end.

But tell me - is it just me or are all writers driven by a need for experience, understanding and change? I would like to know.

Is writing just another form of addiction?

I lied. It´s impossible; I just cannot stop. I read about people saying writing is an addiction and that they feel compelled many times. But I´ve always wondered whether its just a little too...fake?

Perhaps not. My asthmas is in full force and I´ve got around 12 submissions sat fat and happy awaiting their jury but still I write... despite promising I´d have just a week off. I even got up last night to write down a dream I´d had that was a potentially excellent short story.

Oscar Wilde was addicted to the beauty of words, and was compelled to write and share his thoughts and observances. And these words are very well known and beginning to ring true:

"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."
~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

So, should I put my pen down, bow down to ill heath and let my body and mind relax? Not bloody likely! I have an article to write and a few more open submissions I´m interested in which I´d like to get underway...the theme of one is beauty. How can I not succumb?

Another busy week and a little step back...

As well as the return of the first 10,000 words of my novel, I´ve had two poetry acceptances (Word Riot in the future and Savage Manners up now) and also have another 5 poetry submissions sat in some choice places including Dogeater which are awaiting decision. The second part of my Jacob Sam-La Rose poetry critique is complete, and next up we have Pauline Hughes Plummer, Tony O´Neill and visual poet Edward Picot.

I´ve also entered a short story competition in Australia, which will be announced the day before I fly out for my first visit to Oz! The prize is anthology publication which would be fantastic. I realised there was a 5pm Oz time deadline and so got up at 6am three days in a row to write it before work, and on the final day (Australia is 10 hours ahead!) continued with it until midnight to get the submission in on time. Dedication or madness? You decide!

An odd thing though is that two friends - both of whom I trust completely - asked me whether I was overdoing it. I don´t think so, and I´m thoroughly enjoying it but I figured I´m doing around 45 to 50 hours in my day job (as Communications Manager/Web Writer) and another 20 hours writing. So I´ve decided to listen and take a little step back and have a more relaxed week.

I also made a BIG MISTAKE. Its a funny moment to share however - I entered a flash fiction competition with Six Sentences which had the title - Mixed Drinks. I didn´t win. Perhaps it was something to do with my entry being called Mixed Nuts. What was I thinking?