A Walk along Morpethroad. (#mywritingprocess blog tour.)

2014-05-26 16.47.16

Firstly I’d like to thank Jackie at http://tobreatheistowrite.com/ for inviting me to participate in the blog tour. Check out her blog its pretty cool.

I remember I was writing while in high school and then into my College years I wrote and was published in a few journals and anthologies.

I have to admit I have never written to be published but rather for a specific audience I perceived at the time.

As a result a lot of my work I have written I have put aside once it had served its purpose and moved on to a new project.

I taught for 39 years in a variety of high schools and at each one I wrote for specific students and purposes. In some I wrote musicals, as there was a need for them in those environments. These I wrote in the late 1980’s at a school where the student population responded to my work and we had a production team that responded my ideas.

When I moved to my last school there was a need for another type of writing.

As I taught drama in the senior school and as drama as a subject was new to the curriculum and as it is a practical subject students are required to perform some individual project, one option being performance.

To cater for this option I wrote a lot of performance pieces, some I have on my blog. Many were written for specific students in collaboration with them and that in itself was a great process to be part of.

At one point I did have a collection in book form, sold a few but gave most away. I have been pleased over the years to go to a few schools and see my work being performed and in pleasing ways as students took ownership of the script and adapted it to suit their needs and that was always the purpose of my writing to present a script they could edit for their own requirements.

In later years I re wrote a play I had written in 1992 for a 2012 audience, a Theatre in Education piece about anorexia. Then in my final teaching year I did a production on ‘Living with Lady Macbeth’ with a lot of me in it as I added a few characters and changed the script a little to suit the needs of my then students.

In WP I have tried a number of different styles and writing in a variety of ways, to the point where I have several blogs, which have served different purposes for me.

I have written in collaboration with a few bloggers and that is always an experience one such collaboration on my blog ‘The Cat People of Kagir.’

What am I working on now?

My writing tends to be day to day. I respond to prompts as I find they give me a direction and an audience. I have ambitions to complete a collaboration, which has been going on for some time. It will be good to see where this one goes.

As my writing tends to be in response to stimuli I can’t say have anything I am writing at this particular time.

I find the prompts I do vary in the tasks they set. I have moved away from the set stimuli as I found there was a sameness in those prompts. I am finding the worded prompts are offering me the most opportunity to explore my writing abilities.

How does my work differ from others?

My first answer was that I am me and therefore it’s different. But I try a lot of different styles and ways of writing. To me the writing process is about exploring and discovering within myself ideas and word structures that make my work unique.

I am not afraid to stretch boundaries and I often write pieces which have an element of truth about them to the point where people comment as if I am talking about reality whereas in fact I may be discussing several realities within my work.

I like to write poetry as I find that offers me the opportunity to be succinct, to find meaning in the least number of words.

I also enjoy prose as that style suits some prompts better but I can easily go between the two.

Why do I write what I do?

I always have the attitude that my posts are about exploring an idea. It is sometimes an idea with the structure of a set form, like haibun/haiku structures.

For me writing is about self-expression and it’s a way of sharing with my readers my world, my perceptions of it and the unique nature that is often the Australian psyche.

I often know who my audience is and I write knowing those people will read my work.

In some cases I have found myself working hard on a post as I have seen the entries for a particular prompt and know the writers are all very good so I have felt a sense of intimidation in submitting my work. I think that has been good for me too as I have thought a lot about what I am writing and been critical of the words I put down. I think like so many writers the urge to write better and develop my skills is a life long pursuit.

4 How does my writing process work?

Writing has always been a process for me. I know I have to get an idea down. Just write the thing and then go back later and edit.

Often an idea is nothing more than an idea. I am not sure where I am going with it and then I let my muse dictate the direction I will go in.

I am often able to sum up quickly if I think an idea is working. Many times I have stopped where I was and re written and in some cases changed from a prose approach to a verse form.

Once I am happy with the written piece in that it tells the tale I want to tell I will go back an edit. I like this process as it makes me look at each word and ask myself is that what I want to say there. Often I re write lines, change words, use the thesaurus as I don’t like to use the same word twice especially in poems. It’s a great process and it works for me. I used it all the time when I was working with performance scripts, using a smart board enabled the performer to see their script, have their hands free and for us to change there and then the script as we thought it was needed.

I often find having another set of eyes to read my work often solves the problem of missing typos and syntax errors.

 

I would like to introduce Oliana from http://tracesofthesoul.wordpress.com/

Oliana has generously offered to assist me in this blog tour by providing me with a bio of her blog history and persona.

Thank you, Michael, for the invite to talk a little about me.  I have always enjoyed making up stories since I was a little girl.  Now that would be…a long time ago. My mother would listen to my drawn out stories and I found she had such patience listening to me.  In grade school my sister and I would write plays and those poor students were our minions. Fortunately they seemed to have fun.  I wrote poetry and essays briefly in high school and that was it until now.  Well except for journaling now and then but that’s not the same, right?  I give a name to my journal…always have. It’s feels like someone is listening who actually cares.  In this blog it’s Dear Emma.

A few years ago I started up a blog at blog.spot to write about mental health and various “life” issues that seemed important to me.  It’s a blog where I get on my soapbox and just talk about various issues on stigma related to mental health, sexism, racism and any phobias and “isms” I could think of.  After getting a few “likes”, I realized someone was actually reading my posts!

After 10+ years of single life I decided to dip my toes in the sea of love…well, not hot stuff like Pacino’s movie but you know what I mean. And I thought it would be fun to share my experiences in a fun way.  And so I started this blog here at http://tracesofthesoul.wordpress.com. I found that at Traces I could also vent, get things off my chest…so I write under a pseudonym, it seems to make sense.  My first comment on a dating post, the blogger suggested I consider writing a book about this. That totally floored me.  Here I was just having fun but in no way feeling I could write for public reading!  What started out to just have fun, laugh at myself a bit in my on-line dating experience ended up falling in love with my muse.  Yes, I discovered I liked writing short stories, short stories under “memoirs” and even dabbled in poetry last year and found I truly enjoy it…A LOT!

I still work fulltime as a youth counsellor (which explains some of my poetry on youths and child abuse) and every spare time I get, I do write and try to read some amazing creative posts of follow bloggers here. I love this community at WordPress. I have many bloggers/writers to thank for their encouragement and influence in the past year.  Michael is a gifted writer and I was humbled when he started reading some of my posts.

I write about love, family, especially my mom whom I love very much who suffers from dementia; I love to take photographs of street art, the amazing sky and my beautiful city of Montreal. Granted they are amateur for sure and taken most times with my humble Samsung Note I.

Here are some links to some posts I’ve written to allow you to take a glimpse of “moi”.

http://tracesofthesoul.wordpress.com/2014/05/14/who-am-i-but-me/

The secret that binds

http://tracesofthesoul.wordpress.com/2014/05/11/dear-emma-haibun/

 

So there you have it a little look into me.

Thank you for reading.

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

State of Origin – NSW V Queensland

Michael T Profile

TONIGHT is STATE OF ORIGIN

NEW SOUTH WALES BLUES V QUEENSLAND MAROONS

Queensland have won the for the past nine years.

Michael T CoverTonight is the 100th game between the two sides.

Great prestige is attached to the game.

It is half time and my BLUES are up……..we have 40 minutes left to play.

As you can see I have my players jumper…..

FULLTIME 12 – 8 NSW wins

two more games  to play……

My thanks to Miss Lou at: http://misslouella.wordpress.com/ for creating the jumpers for me, a wonderful gesture considering she is a fanatical Maroons supporter. Go check out her cool blog.

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Poetry Prompt 27 – Your 100th Birthday

write-a-poem-which-could-be-read-at-your-own-100th-birthday

My dear friends, I am happy you were able to attend tonight

Its not everyday one gets to be one hundred years old.

My children have come from around the world

With their children and their children again.

All up twenty-five of the twenty-six great grand kids are here

If I can remember your names I’ll be doing well.

I know I’m a curiosity to you all

A quaint old man my great grand daughter Essie calls me

I think that is some kind of compliment.

As George Burns once said:

You’ve got it made when you turn one hundred

As not many people die over a hundred years of age.

 

I acknowledge I am an example of technology

I remind myself so often of a cartoon I saw as a child

Where the wizard had created a monster

One man commented, it reminds me of someone I once knew

To which the wizard says: Its several people you once knew.

I am a walking spare parts factory

New hip, new knees,

Fresh beating heart

New kidneys, new corneas

New cochlear,

And a pill that does wonders for my get up and go.

Where was that fifty years ago?

 

I know I have lived a long time

Seen a lot

Had friends come and go

I received a note from King Bill and Kate

Congratulating me on my milestone they said

Some days it feels like a millstone

But I wouldn’t change a thing.

But as I look around and see my family and friends gathered

Come to see me, wish me well,

I’m pleased to see my long time friend

Dr Pooky, still running marathons into her seventies

A credit to us all.

 

My friends life is a gift, treasure it well

It doesn’t always go how we planned

But live every day to it’s fullest

Suffer and grow from adversity

Love and be loved

This is the secret,

Love as you would want to be loved.

As my one great love would say to me

Each morning as we looked at each other

Marvelling at another day together

Lets go do this!

 

Written for: http://pookypoetry.wordpress.com/2014/05/27/poetry-prompt-27-your-100th-birthday/

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Poetry Prompt 26 – Modern fairy-tale

write-a-poem-which-is-a-modern-take-on-a-traditional-fairy-tale

Maisie can you run over to Grandmas?

I promised her cakes with chocolate and cream.

She has a visitor coming in for tea

She is so old she can’t get around.

 

Grandma is aging, her sight is not good

She can’t run for buses nor mow her own lawn

She relies on us daily to do all we can

She loves cheese on toast, made from rye bread.

 

Maisie set off in her flowing red cape

She never arrived we discovered much later

We looked all about, in every possible place

We found no trace despite every clue.

 

Maisie’s cape was found in the woods

Her basket was empty, the cakes were all gone

Grandma swears she never arrived

But neighbours saw her passing, skipping by.

 

Everyone had a theory of where Maisie went

The wolf some had cried, we saw it was the wolf

But we spoke to the wolf he protested his innocence

Said he’d seen Maisie over by the sheep’s pen.

 

Maisie’s story was told near and far

We searched and we searched, we asked and asked

But no clue emerged, we were forever lost

To explain why Maisie never arrived at Grandma’s.

 

Written for: http://pookypoetry.wordpress.com/2014/05/26/poetry-prompt-26-modern-fairy-tale/

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Wordle #10 – The Night of the Honey

wordle51

It became known as the night of the honey. A strange case of the girl found drowned in a pool of honey. Or so it looked.

I had been called in as an expert investigator. I’d been around a few honey pots in my time and knew a yellow box from a red gum and I could spot a Tasmanian Leatherwood a mile off.

The girl it appeared had been dancing on the upstairs balcony when the incident occurred. Like in so many cases the existence of witnesses left a lot to be desired. Most of them were so drunk they literally couldn’t give a fig about what had happened.

I decided to have a close look at the crime scene. To get from the balcony to the downstairs area where the body had been found you had to negotiate a rickety spiral staircase. I could see that she might easily have stumbled on the stairs but my sixth sense; my sense that came from thirty years in this business told me there was something sticky about this case.

At first there was not a trace of anything that pointed in any direction. In the corner of the room I saw a girl who was obviously in a trance, she was staring straight at me, not blinking, at first I thought she was another victim but a closer look said she was breathing, sort of.

I asked her if she had seen anything, heard anything, knew anything.

She looked at me, her eyes blinked for the first time, then she spoke, the words seeped out of her mouth, they had a ring to them like a dinner bell ringing on the fourth floor.

‘It’s Emily isn’t it?” she asked but I knew she already knew the answer. ‘She was an emulous woman you know. She came here tonight to win over Charles, but Charles spurned her, said she was a nobody, said she’d never work in this town if he could help it. You see Emily’s heart was sheathed in a bitterness that went back to our school days when she was passed over for house captain. She blamed me of course, said my conniving ways had set the school against her but I said that’s impossible as I was the school darling you see.’

She blushed furiously at that point.

‘It was the pressure of the moment you see that led me to do it,’ she said.

‘You killed her?’ I asked incredulously.

‘ Oh no, never, I dislike honey you see but Emily loved nothing more than to swim in it. Though if you look closely you’ll see it’s the ligature round her neck that is more the cause than the honey. She was skylarking with Ms Roeder’s honey jar when she came a real cropper, so to speak,’

Her statement gave rise to me looking closely at the body once more. Sure enough round her neck was a thin ligature, the sort of ligature you’d use if you were not wanting the ligature to be seen.

The honey I concluded was a red herring, placed there by the killer to put me off my scent. Very clever but not clever enough.

‘If you want a good clue Officer I’d check out Ms Roeder. She’s the short woman holding the coffee mug in two hands. She’s a witch of a woman, be careful round her, she’s wanting and needing and one other thing, she has a hellhound called Sam. Don’t turn your back on Sam.’

At last I had a clue. I knew if I hung around long enough the true would begin to seep out. I approached Ms Roeder, she too appeared to be in a trance, the shock of a death and her honey spread all over the floor was too much for her.

As I approached she turned and looked into my eyes. Her big beautiful blue-grey eyes looked into my own, I could feel my own face blush, the pressure was clearly getting to me, I felt a strange sensation come over me, suddenly all memory of what I was doing there vanished, bells of a different sort started ringing, I had this weird feeling of being ligatured to her when she said in the sweetest voice I had ever heard:

“Officer I do hope you have a sheath with you.”

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/05/26/wordle-10/

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

Poetry Prompt 25 – Extended Metaphor – Enigma

write-a-poem-which-is-an-extended-metaphor

I am my own enigma.

I always have been.

I struggle to be ‘normal,

I know I am not as other men

For I don’t behave as others

I stand apart and I am ok with that.

My son has his own syndrome

A trait I am sure he thanks me for.

For when I was a child I was me

Different from my siblings

I played sport, read, wrote,

Succeeded at school, but I had limitations.

I don’t party, I avoid crowds

It seems to get worse as I age

Though now I better understand

The enigma that I am.

Yet despite the oddity that I am

I have around me many who love me.

Who see me as father, brother and friend,

But even more amazing

Is the one who calls me lover

Who sees way past the puzzling enigma

And loves the man I am.

 

Written for: http://pookypoetry.wordpress.com/2014/05/25/poetry-prompt-25-extended-metaphor/

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

Prompt 57 Shock and A Seething Rise To Vengeance – Malevolence

abstract_old_woman_by_jimmyst1-d5jbzhs

You led me a merry dance,

For nigh on twenty years, you kept at it.

Even when it was over

Like a hand from the grave

You actively pursued me

Dragging me deeper

Into the morass of your world

Doing your utmost to poison

The minds of those I loved.

I know you spread your story

Afraid I am sure of my tale

Getting out ahead of yours.

Your guilt ambassadors hounded me

But by then I knew the truth.

There were moments when I doubted

That I was anything more than

Excrement under your shoe.

Then I saw the light, stood up

Said no more, rescued those to be rescued

Protected the weak, began to build a life

Contrary to yours, one you couldn’t countenance.

It was love, understanding, compassion,

No dogma, prescriptions,

Nor guilt infested proclamations.

We saw through your emotional blackmail

And despite your best efforts

To guilt me, hobble me, set others against me

Your vindictiveness showed through

You were seen for what you are.

Remember I told you long ago

Your actions would leave you a lonely old woman

Cooped up in your small malevolent world

Wallowing in the mire of your own making.

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/05/25/prompt-57-shock-and-a-seething-rise-to-vengeance/

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Fairytale Prompt #9 – Down the Rabbit Hole

216810_10150337265613828_8299179_n-31

I followed the rabbit to the bottom of our garden where I found the most extraordinary thing.

Just past the old mulberry tree there was a small hole. I was sure it wasn’t there the last time I ventured to this part of the garden.

It looked like just a hole but on the edge of the hole was a small star, one of those stars you get in a bag full of stars.

I stopped and stared, and then the strangest sensation, it twinkled at me. I went closer for a better look.

The star twinkled once more and I felt mesmerised its beauty.

I was so distracted by the star that I had failed to notice the hole beyond it. It was a black hole no doubt about that but there was a light. A dim light but a light all the same coming from inside the hole.

There also the unmistakeable sounds of the Henry Mancini’s Baby Elephant Walk* I knew the piece of music as we had just this past week played with it in music class and we had all loved walking around our classroom pretending to walk like baby elephants.

As I looked into the hole, the light grew stronger and I felt myself being…. sucked in.

It was the strangest thing.

It just happened.

Down I went.

And down further.

My mind struggled to comprehend what was happening.

I thudded to a stop. I looked up into the eyes of the biggest rabbit I had ever seen.

‘You are late,’ he said in a voice that sounded like two nail files being rubbed together.

‘Pardon?’ I asked

‘The dinner has begun, the stew is getting cold, and your tardiness is unacceptable.’ he said sternly.

‘But I don’t like stew,’ I replied.

‘What!’ he roared and leant forward sniffed me thoroughly, ‘Oh no, not another one,’ He exclaimed and scuttled off down the passageway.

He left me standing there quite flummoxed I can tell you. I had no idea as to what I should do though my mind was in a quandary as to how I might get out of this place?

A voice then said, ‘Better get a move on, and don’t keep him waiting.’

I heard the voice as clearly as you might see any invisible voice.

‘If you hurry now you’ll get there before the dessert.’ Said the voice again. ‘Its stewed apple tonight’

‘But I don’t like stew. I told the rabbit and he got all uppity and ran off.’

‘Oh dear well you’d best be off then, they may have some red and purple jelly left, you never know these days.’

‘Which way?’ I asked.

‘Straight-ahead, until you come to the charming door. You can’t miss it has a brass knocker, looks like a dragon.’

I still have no idea who was speaking but his voice sounded kind and sort of understanding and so I set off in the direction he said.

As I walked along I could hear Mancini’s music getting louder. As I walked along there was this distinct sound as if the walls were whispering about me as I wandered past.

I had this odd feeling a thousand voices were gossiping about me at once.

It wasn’t long before I found the door with the dragon like brass knocker. It did look like a dragon and it was the most charming dragon you could imagine.

I had never engaged in conversation with a dragon before but he was so polite and inquiring I couldn’t help but feel as though I had known him for ages.

He wanted to know where I had come from, was there anything he could do for me, to watch out for the nasty jack rabbit and if I wanted a cup of tea while I was waiting.

My mother had always taught me manners were the mark of any person and I was very polite and pleasant in my replies to the dragon’s questions.

There was a pause in our conversation during which I stopped to take in my bearings. I had no idea where I was nor did I know what was going on. Rabbits, strange voices, a dragon doorknocker that spoke ever so nicely to me, I was beginning to think I was in a nightmare.

It was getting to be too much.

I could feel a sense of panic setting in.

Where was I? What was this place? Was there a way out?

What as it that everything to do with food had the word stew in it?

I knew one thing for certain that I was not in any way hungry.

Then the door was flung open and a parade came through with the rabbit in the lead waving the sergeant major’s baton, followed by a curious assortment of animals all marching in time, a very large wombat at the rear banging on a very large drum as the band in front of him belted out a raucous rendition of the Baby Elephant Walk.

Suddenly they all wheeled right and headed straight for me and there was a crash. My head hurt, my arm stung.

I was in the dark. What had happened?

I fumbled about. Then a light came on.

My mum was standing there. What was she doing here?

Then she held me and I knew what it was.

A nasty dream she said as she tucked me back into bed.

But when she left it all came back and I knew it was more than a dream. Then I heard the voice of the dragon knocker say: ‘Its ok you know, we are not far away, next time you drop by, try and stay for some tea.’

 

Anyone not familiar with Henry Mancini’s Baby Elephant Walk here is a link to see a cute version of it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYu7c4Vkmp0

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/05/24/fairytale-prompt-9/

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Prompt for SoCS May 24/14 – With/without – My Meds!

I can’t remember which part of the journey it was that the thought occurred to me.

You know that nagging thought that you’ve left the iron on, the stove on high, the cat inside without food those hundred and one thoughts that rush through your mind half way to your destination. Then you think I don’t want to think about it, I couldn’t be so stupid could I? Denial is a fine state to be in at such times.

Well here I was driving down the freeway, my focus on my destination, a weekend away after a particularly difficult time at work, the pressures had been building and I needed this weekend off, away from the hassles of the office, the demands of bosses, consumed by deadlines and outcomes, not I needed me time and I was so looking forward to it.

But I had this thought in the back of my mind, had I packed my meds?

I remembered getting them out and having them on the bed in preparation for the trip. I remembered counting to make sure I had enough for the weekend. But I couldn’t remember packing them.

So now my thought is what will happen if I go two days with out taking them? Nothing probably?

But I stopped them once before with possible dire consequences and that was not pleasant nor was it comfortable at the hospital explaining to the staff that I had not taken my meds for about a week. At that moment my BP was through the roof, I was lucky not to stroke they said. I have never missed since.

So now I have the irritating thought of missing my meds when I had prided myself on being so disciplined as to not miss them again.

Its too much, I have to stop and look. If they are not here I will decide if I go home or risk it. But if they are not here then I will worry all weekend and that is no way to spend a relaxing time.

I pull into a rest stop and get out thinking I will go home if they are not there. I open the boot and drag out my overnight bag.

In the pocket of my toiletry bag is the small container I carry with me on trips, my meds I see in there, I feel a great sense of relief. I have them with me. I feel relieved.

Back in the car, I head south, the weekend looking better already. I phone JL telling her I’ll be an hour.

 

Written for: http://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/05/23/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-2414/

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 34 Comments

Poetry Prompt 23 – One Word Title – Remember

write-a-poem-which-has-a-one-word-title-and-that-word-is-repeated-at-least-twice

Remember my boy we are all very different

We will not all write with the same pen as you

For how deadly boring would that be?

 

Remember you will grow up, some days from now

And discover new ways of looking at the world

Develop your own insightful intelligence.

 

Remember the words you have written today

Will change in ten years, be considerably altered

Inferior you are not, just older, maturer.

 

Remember people will respond to your words

Bringing their own contexts, prejudices, judgements,

Thinking they know better, but know nothing at all.

 

Remember your words may be misconstrued

Twisted and ascribed meanings all new to you

You can never gauge the context of others.

 

Remember when you grow up and acquire tolerance

You will accept the criticism of others

Embrace within others, the variance of thought.

 

Remember my son we write mere words

Interpretations are held within each of us

Rejoice, don’t recant, the myriad of meanings achieved.

 

Written for: http://pookypoetry.wordpress.com/2014/05/23/poetry-prompt-23-one-word-title/

 

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments