Writing Poetry

In two of the Wild Words online courses this week, participants were asked to write a poem.

The few who felt poetry to be their drug of choice beamed from ear to ear, but the majority embodied the caged writer perfectly, as they froze and sunk in their chairs. The idea of engaging with poetry can fill us with dread. As writers, we often aspire to the lofty heights of the poet, but also, as one participant observed, poetry can make me feel stupid, embarrassed, because I don’t understand it. If I’m honest, I’m not even sure what a poem is.  So, poetry treads a fine line between being of the greatest worth, and simultaneously, worthless. So, how to face down your fear of the wild words species that is poetry? The first thing to realise is that it’s a worthwhile genre to practice, even if the animal that is your current writing project inhabits the far-distant terrain of prose.

Possibly because they are small, poems bring into close focus many of the skills that we want to hone as writers.

These include precision, clarity, metaphor, sensory impressions, rhythm and pace.

Writing poetry is useful because it’s like putting a magnifying glass to our processes as writers. All our fears appear in sharp relief. No wonder we don’t want to do it! Ever heard the saying -where there is fear, dig there? That was never truer than with poetry. Discomfort, if we can stay steady and work with it, is the source of greatest learning.

Choosing to write formal poetry, with its rules about rhyme and meter, is a great place to explore the ideas of ‘caged’ and ‘wild’, form and content in writing. Prescriptive guidelines may initially seem to cage your expression and limit the creative flow. However, it’s within your power to transform that cage into a supportive container and a gateway to freedom.

Go outside. Find something that moves, or is moved.

For example, an animal that runs, grass blown by the wind, or leaves swirled in water. Observe the pace and rhythm of the subject, until you feel those rhythms in your body. Then, allow those rhythms to move up and out of your body, to flow on to the page.

Play with ways of conveying how your subject moves: For example: do short or long sentences (or a mixture of both) bring it alive most strongly? Perhaps onomatopoeia - words that sound like or imitate the source of the subject they describe- has a role to play? Think of the ‘slither’ of the snake, or the ‘miaow’ of the cat.

You might even like to go one step further and create a concrete poem?

Try laying out the poem in the shape of your subject, and then see how this affects the rhythm of the reading.

First published November 2nd 2014

A Writer's Process: Kate Orson

When I was pregnant I read about how babies cry not just to get their needs met, but also to release overstimulation, or accumulated stress and emotional upset.

For children, (and adults too!), crying is a healing process, when there is a loving adult to listen. There are actually stress hormones contained in tears.

            This really resonated with me. In my early twenties I went through a difficult period. I did lots of journal writing, as well as yoga and mediation to process my feelings. With hindsight I realised all of these modalities helped me cry more easily. I also taught creative writing workshops and many of my students were writing memoir. They would often start crying as they read their work aloud to our group.

            I was fascinated how we could help our children heal from the beginning of their lives so they wouldn’t grow up carrying a heavy weight of emotional baggage.

I was surprised that few parents seemed to know about this. We are more fixated on avoiding upsets in our children rather than really listening.  

            I trained with an organisation called Hand in Hand parenting, and learnt more about children’s emotions, and how listening to them can help with behaviour challenges.

I had the idea floating around to write a book called Tears Heal, and share this information with parents.

Then my grandmother died. I felt very close to her and was devastated. In a funny kind of way this helped me get motivated. I’d eat some dark chocolate and then go to a coffee shop to write. Working on something to help parents lifted me out of my sadness. 

            It took me eight months to write a proposal. The second agent I tried loved the idea.  Within a few weeks I had a publishing deal with Piatkus.

After that the writing flowed. I was fuelled by an anxiety that I had never written a book before, and the uncertainty about making my deadline. As a full time mum, my time was limited. In the end I finished six months before my deadline! It helped that my husband is a teacher, and looked after my daughter during his holidays so I could write.

            Now I’m focusing on getting out there, teaching parenting workshops, and building an online presence. I’ve been reading a great book called Build Your Writer Platform by Chuck Sambuchino, and thinking how in our modern age it’s really the writer’s responsibility to publicise themselves. I used to feel a bit negative about social media, but his book taught me that it can be a wonderful way to help each other, and make real human connections. That’s what my book is all about.

 Pre-order Kate's book here:

https://www.waterstones.com/book/tears-heal/kate-orson/9780349410104

Celebrating the February 'Snow' Moon (2016)

This morning at 6am I saw the ‘snow moon’ of February hanging full and weighty in the pre-dawn sky.

How to find language to capture and express the experience?

When I take time to look patiently, words arise.

When I consciously expand my vocabulary, I not only express my experience more aptly, but I also live it more broadly and richly.

Did you know that Scots has at least 421 terms for snow? It’s true!

My picture contains (just) 24 words for the conditions of snow and ice, from Scots, Gaelic, and travellers’ cant. 

Bittersweet Colours

We human beings use our sense of sight a great deal. When I ask writing students to utilise sensory impressions in their writing, sight is the one they find easiest.

They fill their stories with colour, in order, partly, to avoid the more awkward task of wrestling smell or taste on to the page.

Colours are on my mind a lot at the moment, because, for my two-year old son, the colour of the trousers people are wearing in the street is the most interesting thing about them. The other day, as we were driving along the road on the way to the crèche, he gave a cry as he spotted a pair that he particularly liked. ‘White trousers’ I trumpeted. ‘No. Purple trousers’ he corrected, and would not be budged on the issue. When I looked again, I had to concede he was right. Those trousers would have sold in the shop as being white, but in the early morning light they were a pale shade of purple- ‘lavender blush’ perhaps.

We think we know what colours we are observing, but do we really? Are we really writing about what we are seeing, or only about what we think we are seeing?

This week we had two days of beautiful sun sandwiched between the rain. On the first of those days I decided to watch the sun set over the mountains. The landscape transformed as each colour of light fell on it- pink, then orange, then yellow. It made me realise how limited my vocabulary was. So the next day, I repeated the exercise with a dictionary of colours in hand. That evening the sunset was even more fabulous. Having a wider vocabulary meant I could actually see more colours. The sky was ‘cornflower blue’. The glorious sunset was ‘fuscia pink’, ‘bittersweet’ (that’s a nearly-orange colour) and ‘jonquil’ (that’s the yellow). I’d be lying if I said I saw ‘atomic tangerine’ or ‘hot magenta’, but I’m hopeful for next time.

First Published February 8th 2013

 

On this subject, perhaps you’d like try the following exercise:

 

Writing Prompt: Colours

Go outside and watch the sun rise, or set. Take a dictionary of colours with you. Watch very closely and record every hue that you see. Just what you see. Not what you think you see. Don’t ignore the colours that defy classification, wrestle them on to the page.

Clarity of Ideas

I’ve been wrestling with Instinctual Creativity.

It's the synthesis of the Wild Words ideas, moved out of the realm of writing per se. A path to tracking down your vibrant, creative self.
 
I began yesterday with a raft of doubts and questions that were blocking my writing. Questions about where to go with the very rich material. Questions about the many layers of the psychological approach. Questions about how to market it.
 
Then Charles Davies took me through a process called Very Clear Ideas.
 
He proposed that I immerse myself in visualising a scenario in which I was in a place, time and psychological state where I was writing in exactly the way I would like to. Where it was flowing.  
 
I’m in a café, with the buzz or people around, but people speaking in a language I don’t understand so that the content of their conversation doesn’t disturb me. I have a cup of tea. I’m warm. I’m in a comfortable chair. I have limitless white paper, and a fine, scratchy, pen that never runs out. No one invades my space, and there is no threat of that.
 
Then he asked me a series of questions to which I gave yes or no answers. This process was repeated several times, focusing on different questions. Unravelling, clarifying, understanding.  Always answering from an embodied place.
 
I had three important realisations…
 
- I remembered that I am a natural storyteller. I know when an idea is absolutely right. And I know when it’s not right, even though I don’t always know what is wrong.
 
-I discovered that I am scared. Facing fears is a central message inInstinctual Creativity. Yet, I hadn’t realised the level of my own fear. (Isn’t it so often easier to have perspective on the stuff of others, than on our own stuff!)
 
-And horror of horrors, despite my best attempts to fool myself, I found that I was ambivalent about writing this particular book, at this particular time.
 
Even though these weren’t all messages I wanted to hear, overall, I felt a profound wave of relief wash over me. At least I now knew what I was dealing with.
 
I closed my eyes and returned to my warm, buzzing café, with the comfy chair, the scratchy pen, the reams of white paper…
 
I’m sorry to say that hot on the heels of the relief, came a dispiriting sense of loneliness. The very comfort and security afforded by envisioning holding my creative space so successfully, gave way to a profound sense of isolation. I was too alone in that writing space. Perhaps that was the source of my ambivalence?
 
Then phrases arose from a very deep place.
 
I need my writing subject to respond to me. I need the writing of my book to be a conversation with another, with my subject- the wild animal.
 
I pride myself on writing with an attitude of openness to what comes up. So, it was news to physically experience that I hadn’t been doing that, and that was the reason I felt blocked.
 
And with that, the isolation, as well as the ambivalence about the project, evaporated away.  There was a whole hearted YES. Yes, I wanted to write it. Yes, I needed it. Yes, I dreamed it. Yes, I demanded it.
 
Now this is what I have on my wall beside my desk:
 
Connect with the wild animal. Communicate. Listen. Allow it to speak.  Respond. Record.  Don’t force words into its mouth.
 
 
Find out more about Very Clear Ideas.
 
Also, from this month’s blog posts: The Importance of Feeling

The Monthly Writing Prompt

Visualise the following scenario: You are in a place, time and psychological state where you are writing in exactly the way you would wish to. It is flowing. 
 
Write about that. Make use of all your senses to describe what you experience. Where are you? What are the smells, tastes, sounds, smells, texture and colours? How does you body feel?
 
When you next come sit down to work on you poem/novel/short story or article, take a few moments to recall that scenario, before you begin your writing. Then hold it in the back of your mind, as well as in in your body, as you work. 

 
 

The Turning Year Prompt
 

I don't know about you, but in the winter, more than ever, I find myself dying to get out into the fresh air and connect with the environment through writing wild words.

These are the key dates this month:
-Full Moon Monday 22nd February 2016. Known as 'the snow moon' or 'hunger moon'. 
-New Moon: Wednesday 9th March 2016.

A Writer's Process: JW James

When I was 31 the Loma Prieta earthquake in Santa Cruz, California, destroyed my home, and two weeks later, my health.  

At the time of the earthquake I experienced a near death experience and my life was changed. I lost my career as an RN in oncology. Instead I became a dreamer and a mystic.  Waking up without an alarm clock, I began to remember my dreams and started keeping journals. 

At a time of great despair, I found the poetry of Kenneth Patchen and started copying a poem a day.  This opened up a space of light within me. I realized I also could write. 

And that was when I became a poet.

I would try to join in writers' groups but my health usually would not permit it. I applied to three universities and was accepted, but illness took precedence.  

"Beetle-black dreams are glittering.

 I know histories of unspoken grace and uneven light.

 I know histories of loss and faithlessness.

 Stones speak through me.

 They impart dark enduring histories."

 

When I saw a call for submissions from Mellen Press: Poetry as Ecstatic Vision, A book-length poem; I knew I had the book already written.  I went into my ten years of dream journals, sat down and intuitively culled pages.  

Then, I threw my journals away. A dramatic act of faith; I was ready for my future as a published poet. My work would come from the rich place of dreaming.

I received Special Mention and my book was published in 2004.  As I saw it, a gift from the Universe.  A beautiful hardcover book with a silk-screened cover, with art by my friend, Martha Burke. 

And so it was my dreams became the major part of my writing process.  Not only did I glean from the journals for my poetry, I also learned how to heal spiritually and found some peace while dealing with cancer, surgery, radiation.

"All times exist within our dreams.

 All stories are of significance...

 Inner worth accumulates

 dancing shadows from a bubbling spring."

http://mellenpress.com/mellenpress.cfm?bookid=6223&pc=9

http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/077343545X/ref=dp_olp_all_mbc?ie=UTF8&condition=all

The Importance of Feeling

 

If, as we sit at our desk, we're thinking about the book signings, the royalties, the outfit we'll wear to the premiere of the film adaptation, or anything else that hasn't happened yet...

Then we're disconnecting from the feelings of the writing process. 

If we don't feel when we write

If we don't feel everything, and feel deeply

If we don't address any unconscious avoidance of feeling

Then the reader won't feel. 

And that's the primary reason they are there! 

So when a thought of future success, or failure comes up...

Notice it

Smile

And ask

What am I avoiding here?

Snow and the Blank Page

It’s winter, and snowing heavily here in the Pyrenees.

Yesterday we went up from our home in the foothills, to the high mountains, to take in the depth and the breadth of it. I breathed in the silence, and squinted against the dazzling brightness.

I felt the same thrill that I feel when I open a notebook, and run my hand over the smooth white page. It’s the potential of it.

The vast possibilities of how I might express myself through the medium. Standing in front of that vast frozen canvas, I hesitated. I just caught the edge of anxiety, and the flurry of thoughts that rose with it. Somehow the sheer range of possible actions was overwhelming. I felt myself ceasing up. Soon I would be as frozen and motionless as the day itself.

Similarly, I have years of experience of facing the blank page, and I know the thoughts that can freeze up me there too. 

Once a mark is made, there’s no going back. Will I get it ‘right’? Will I ruin the cleanness of it? Will I be pleased with the result or will I disappoint myself? Will people like me for it? Will it be what they want?

I was getting cold standing still in the snow, and I knew it was time to move. I struck one crunching footprint down through the snow, and the imprint was sharp and decisive. I ran round in circles until the virgin space was dotted with footprints. Warm in my ski-suit, I rolled in the snow and relished the ice on my face. I threw snowballs at anyone that came close. One thing led to another. We made a giant snowman. It was easy, expressive, and wonderful.

Writing should be like that- the reaction to the anxiety met with an enthusiastic moving towards.

The first ink mark on that white sheet of paper needs to be as pleasing as that first crunching footprint. And thereafter, each mark should be an exploration into the vast uncharted territory of that canvas, a revelling in the creation of each shape, a delighting in the sounds that rise from it. Learn to play with snow, and you will be more of the writer that you aspire to be.

First published January 25th 2013