The Warrior Butterfly

November 21st, 2014

Tonight (21 st Nov 2014) I am going to be taking part in a Quiet Compare event at The Strand in Cheltenham. It is medical themed poetry so I am taking along a poem I have only ever performed twice before and never to a live audience that is sitting there just for poetry.

The poem is The Warrior Butterfly and chronicles the issues I had around the pregnancy and birth of Jean, I could write a lot on the imagery and what the poem means to me but I shall not. The two previous performances were: 1) Cheltenham Community Radio for one of their shows and 2) for the On Form Sculpture exhibition in Oxford a few years ago where I stood on an Earth work (made for the garden not an ancient burial site) that was covered in flowers and called it to the sky and the arty loving people who happened to be wandering about at the time.

It is a long and in many ways personally indulgent poem for me, not my normal but as such it is often not the right sort of thing to read at events and the actual reading of it is hard for me.

I hope local peeps might like to come out tonight to listen – it isn’t just me performing a 4 and a half minute poem, there are lots of others performing too, some of whom you might even have heard of!

Anyway I’d better give it the read through a couple of times before tonight.

Here’s the event details for those of you not on Facebook it is 7:30 at The Strand in Cheltenham with a £1/£2 suggested donation on the door.

The Secret of Strawberries

November 11th, 2014

Sweet, not cloying like chocolate
Skin scaly smooth
Seeds crunch, insect carapaces
Juices tinging the end of the tongue
Tart, hurting pleasure
Ice fire benieth the ears
Large read and heart shaped
Waiting to ensnare
Lighter at the core
Soft and succulent
A summer treat
Coaxed to a sad perfection
Over priced
Engorged and watery
Insipid and artificial
For the races
For the hotels
For Pimms with ice and Mint
But as nothing
To raggamuffin anciestor
Nestled in the hedgerow
Smaller than a finger tip
Mostly ghostly white
Intensified
Gloried
Free
For those who know
The secrets of the strawberry

The Dyslexic Author

November 3rd, 2014

Sarah Snell-Pym Award Winning Author

This week is Dyslexia Awareness Week, it is also the begininng of an insane writing challenge called NaNoWriMo which stands for National Novel Writing Month. The idea is that you write a minimum of fifty thousand words in a month and I have been doing this challenge and a picture book sister challenge called PiBoIdMo (Picture Book Idea Month) since 2009, which is now scary long ago.

When I first started the challenge and using the forum I felt very edgy, being severely dyslexic made me hesitate to enter into online written discussions with grammarian monsters – the sort that correct friends’ emails. How was I ever going to compare to such writing experts when sometimes I can’t spell mine or my kids’ names correctly?

Trying to belt out a novel is an amazing experience but it is also an emotionally fraught one, especially for those low on self confidence. Self confidence is a key to success – it is not the only key but it is one of the main three – Self Confidence, Endurance and Improvisation/Adaptability. Dyslexics, due to our education system and social attitudes, tend to be high on intelligence and low on that whole confidence thing. To keep going with the writing you kind of need to believe that your story is good enough, that your imagination is fantastic and that everyone is going to want to read it. Many authors go through a cycle of thinking their stuff is amazing and will win a nobel prize, to sinking into a pit of despair over how rubbish it is.

But dyslexics have an added edge of nerves, an extra question over their abilities. Not only is there the language structure issues but there is the widely held idea that if you cannot spell you cannot write. This is wrong.

And it turned out that the way NaNoWriMo works is fantastic for boosting dyslexic writers. It goes something like this – everyone is rushing to get down as many words as they can, you are encouraged to leave the typos as they are and just keep going, everyone has typos, inversions of letters, missed letter where they are just typing so fast. Normal people see these and correct them, the dyslexic brain may think that that is the correct spelling and at other times it will see it as wrong – but conversely it might see the correct spelling as wrong and correct it to something incorrect – DOH!

What this means though is that when you are sitting in a cafe or pub with a group of writers your red line squiggles are no longer an issue – everyone has them. Then there is the concept that you can edit a book with mistakes in, no matter how many mistakes there are, but if there is no book to begin with you cannot edit it into something. This frees you up to write.

One of the things I also found was that increasingly I was learning language intricacies and histories and that I could grab the grammar nazis by the proverbial and correct them if and when they started. Grammar is not a fixed thing – look at the history of writing and you find that Shakespeare couldn’t spell his own name, that names themselves are pretty fluid, that grammar is just basically a mark up language to tell the reader when to breathe when talking out loud.

But can a dyslexic ever be a writer, be a published author, a journalist?

Yes, they can, and when they do they tend to be multi-genre writers, not brilliant for becoming a household name but good for writing how-to and last minute books, to be able to switch the brain from science to sports to craft, to be journalists (with patient editors!), to be non-specialist all round jacks of all trades. And, increasingly, this is becoming acceptable back in the realm of fiction, thanks to authors such as Neil Gaiman.

So where does that leave me? I have said repeatedly that I must be insane trying to be a writer whilst being very very badly dyslexic but, you know what, I wasn’t – I find that being dyslexic helps with research for stories and articles, as I can’t rely on words or even the grammar. I often have to use both plus the context, meaning that I can often pick up on the big or small picture, the hidden concepts and deeper meanings. It also stops me making stupid assumptions as I can’t take the writing literally and if it doesn’t seem right I am forced to ask, to check. For science writing this is extremely important.

Now before we go any further, dyslexia is not something I can really define; it is just a part of how my brain is wired so I will not say that my writing success is because of, nor in spite of, the dyslexia. It could have stopped me; it was a hurdle, and it has stopped many but mainly because they are told they can’t do things because of it. Also, yes, I am contrary and stubborn so when people told me I could not, or that I would find stuff hard, I was determined to show them I could do it – especially when my intelligence itself was under attack.

But would my life achievements have been different without the dyslexia? I kind of think not, I just had to take a different path. And that path has been strange and winding and this last week I have found myself writing craft workshops, reading my kids poetry and stories to kids whilst dressed up in ridiculous outfits at various kid clubs, being asked to perform my page poetry at several events, asked to run writing days for adults and kids, getting sci-fi stories accepted, writing blog copy and presenting my project Cuddly Science which includes script writing and picture book writing and report writing and talk writing.

And that was just this week. This last month included articles on sci-fi/fantasy and science and crafts and gardening and grant applications, and this last year saw me become a member of the Poetry Society, British Science Fiction Association and the British Science Writers Association (and yes that does confuse me especially as there is also the British Hen Well-Fare Trust that we got the chickens from too!), I have been asked to present awards to school kids and I completed a Science Communication course – something I dismissed as a “can’t” during my undergraduate degree, due to the dyslexic issues.

I now firmly place myself in the role of writer, of author and so do others. I am finally what I was told I could never be – a dyslexic author. It was not trial free and it is not yet over, it kind of will never be over and I’m ok with that.

Back to NaNoWriMo, I find myself actively encouraging dyslexics to write – to take part and I love wondering around the forums and Facebook pages and twitter seeing articles like this pop up and I love to be able to say to those who are worried, those who are struggling, don’t give up, you can succeed at this. And that doesn’t just go for writing, it goes for every aspect of career and life 😀

Punishment

October 30th, 2014

Darkness pouring over
Never, relenting
Pushing at eyelids
Until coloured patterns
Break the monotony
Anger burns
Inside out emotions
Hate
Something wrong
The washing line
Nylon
Twisted in yellow sheath
Binding numbness
Fingers like baloons
Movement sluggish
Twisting guilt
Endless
Singing the darkness away
Impossible
Chocking on rag
Sinking within the mind
Sensations strong
Warm dust
Polish
Splintered floor
Pricking, spicking
Cutting splinters
No longer crying
No longer hoping
The Monsters are coming
Some of them are from within
The light could not know
Nor make those ones
Go away

Mask of Malcontent

October 23rd, 2014

Mask of Malcontent
Hard working
With no drive
No drive but one
A passion that stirs within
Something to show
What’s within
Something to heal
To mark what cannot be seen
Symbolism and craving
Burning desire
Over whelming grace
Fluid moment
But little relief
And once the dead is done?
Feelings worse than before
Again to charm the storm
Again to feel its rage
A cycle begins
A spiral
Addiction solid
As any drug

Insomnia of Love’s Hurt

October 16th, 2014

Black eyed stare
Pupil dilated to the full
Liquid darkness with endless depth
My eyes staring at me
This half light
This fake night
Illusion holds
The tawny flecks in hazel sheaths
Hidden in the gloom
Staring calmly
Rage canceled
Emotion muted
This numbness I love
This mask of self content
Moving through treacle
Course set and bound
Buffered cradle of mind
Something is crazed
Chained

A Sea of Words

October 11th, 2014

A sea of words
Bounded by a shore of concept
Towers built of language
Flash out meaning
Standing on islands of convention
Saving the would be drowned
In vessels of knowledge
Seeing the catch of inspiration
Looking to the horizon of ideas

Remembering Us

October 2nd, 2014

Remembering Us

Written for National Poetry Day 2014

Remember the tide lapping at the shore How we walked on shingled beach War bomber fractured in the mudded flats Metal bones peeking at low tide Recall the estuary filled with birds calling You showed me the eddible weeds That grew there Warm salt, bitter Remember the old lady who swam Hat of neon pink, skin of blue There by the wall They build it as wave defence Black tar oozes and regular concrete blocks Bring to mind the pill box set inside Full of junkies’ needles And discarded love

Remember the storm that ripped the sky Spiking down and blazing the land How the sky turned dark Blistering heat and oppression Broken in the thunder The tent sagged upon itself I got wet But was denied the shelter of you I caught you a green crab By curved chimneys reaching into the sky Their roundness cloud factories You said it was edible You said it didn’t belong We put it back But I got a rash From algal blooms You drove me to town for my prescription

Thinking now Of how thisteled sand spiked my feet You carried me to my tent Where an adda lay in wait I scared it and felt sad We saved an orange ladybird The first we’d ever seen That night I was cold A whole in the canvas let in the night I thought of your arms And dreamt of tangled feet Throbbing footpaths greeted us In a misty summer dawn The mass of creatures writhed Lady bugs of all colours And not just dots but all kinds of shapes They made fitful crunches as we walked I gave up trying to save them Most starved, some bit And the sun set like a child’s painting With a moon that arose on it’s heels The whisper of the waves Lapped froth at day glo sandled feet You gave me a padded shirt To keep me warm It smelt of you

Remember the belt of rope you wore To keep up the cut offs frayed to faded fluff A sometimes shirt tight across your chest The skin turned bronze upon you Whilst I hid in sunblock and gingamed cotton There was no hair upon your chest Though you were older than me We went swimming in the sea I cut my foot on carelessness Oh my polluted sea I wept for the crimes of people You smiled I have always wondered Was it for me? My heart hurt at it’s beauty As to keep you I enthralled you in Greens and greys, browns and blues Blending together in landscapes only we saw I rescued a fledgling So sickly small It hopped on to me I was filled with hope Later laying in long sun dried grass You said it would be fine I believed you though I knew it could not be true And little rabbits stopped near us I caught them to pet You laughed that I released them Each with a new name That meant nothing but my love

Do you remember the bike rides, in the ink of night Drunkness a murmur on everyone but ours breath The smell of wood smoke as we cooked And chatted without care Subjects and philosophies dripped from our tongues The stars were pin pricks of ice In my spin

Remember how it could not last How they said we could not be The disapproval The anarchy We did not have the guts to try And the summer evaporated Autumn put dreams under glass We said goodbye So chaste the taste of you The scent in my mind A look of longing You held my hand And gave me a memory

Forest Fire

September 28th, 2014

The orange mire
That marks the blaze
Glowing trees
Dark at the centre
Luminous around the edge

Devastation with a heart of gold
Embers twist and turn
And float away
Couriers for the blaze
Devour, consume
Cleanse the forest

Dead wood gone
Insect marauders restrained
Soil charred, blackened
Purified
Nutrients induced
New shoots appear
Green islands

Trees resilience
Outer crust baked
Whilst heart wood
Cold as Alaska

The fire – Life’s catalyst
Wax trapped seeds
Heat melts
Ensuring their escape

Breaths new life
Destructive Creation
Fire the destroyer
Fire the bringer of life
Fire the cyclic phenomenon

Microchosim

September 21st, 2014

In a puddle patterns are repeating
In the stars the patterns are completing
Gravity in waves are meeting
Patterns over awed and far too fleeting