Where have all the poems gone?

I spent April 2013 furiously penning a poem a day for NaPoWriMo – National Poetry Writing Month. Each poem was posted on this blog (trust me!) and some people were even kind enough to stop by and read them (thank you!). But, as the hardy souls who took part along with me know, any poetry written in NaPoWriMo can only ever be considered as a first-draft.

So the time has come to take all the poems down for another year, find my editor’s pen and smarten them all up a bit before they’re seen or heard anywhere else. Perhaps May should be designated NaPoEdMo…

In the meantime, you’re more than welcome to explore the various other musings that are here, and to look out for any other nonsense that I might post in the weeks to come. Thanks for visiting.

Final Thoughts for NaPoWriMo 2013

A few things I’ve learned from NaPoWriMo that I wanted to share…

• Figure out how blogs work before you start (I’m still working on this…).
• After you’ve written your final poem for NaPoWriMo, you’ll feel like you never want to write another poem again, ever. This feeling will last for about a week.
• What you think is rubbish poetry isn’t necessarily what other people think is rubbish poetry; the same goes for what you think is your good poetry too…
• There are lots and lots of lovely people out there writing poetry just like you; and they often wonder why on earth they do it, too…
• Some people will manage to post a poem a day in NaPoWriMo, others won’t. Either is perfectly OK, because no-one’s really counting; it’s the poetry that really matters.
• Take heart that there are thousands – maybe tens, possibly hundreds (maybe!) of thousands – more poems in the world at the end of NaPoWriMo than the beginning.
• Some days you’ll really look forward to the prompt coming through, and relish writing your poem; other days you’ll just be glad to get it of the way.
• You will make new friends. Some of your new online friends will become real-life friends. Who knows, one day, some may even become lovers…
• A few words of appreciation, encouragement or a ‘Like’ go a long way – however, don’t expect it, and don’t be downhearted if you don’t get as many comments some days as others, because…
• You can’t possibly read ALL the poems everyone else posts, every single day, let alone comment on all of them. If you did, you’d never have any time to write your own! So don’t expect everyone else to read or comment on yours.
• Don’t be too critical of the offered prompts if they don’t work for you; remember that someone has put time and effort into providing them for you each day. If you don’t like them, invent your own.
• You will tire as the month wears on, and towards the end, writing poetry will feel like a slog. Creating thirty new poems in thirty days doesn’t sound like a big deal at the beginning… but if you’ve never tried it – believe me, really, it is.
• As you post your final poem you’ll feel relief and elation in equal measure, but also a certain sadness that NaPoWriMo is over for another year.

Please feel free to add more… and THANK YOU to everyone for reading my poetry.

Fasten your seat belts…

So NaPoWriMo takes off for another year. Thirty poems in thirty days is the destination, and each one will appear here, on my blog. At what time of day exactly, I have no idea; based on last year’s experience, some days the muse will arrive promptly, others she’ll wander off into the bars and duty-free, and completely lose track of time amongst the perfume and handbags. But after several desperate calls over the PA, she’ll eventually turn up, running towards me at the last minute, breathless and apologetic, ready to take her seat just before the door closes…

Please bear in mind that the stuff I’ll post will inevitably be first-draft quality, with all the imperfections that go along with that state. So don’t be too harsh in your judgement – the polishing comes later.

Doors to automatic and cross-check… off we go!

NaPoWriMo 2013 draws nigh…

Goodness, how time flies. It’s hard to believe almost a year’s passed by since I took the plunge and signed up for National Poetry Writing Month. That one decision to commit to writing a poem a day for a whole month made such a difference, not least introducing me to a community of wonderful, supportive poets, with many of whom I’ve since become firm friends. After NaPoWriMo, said friends also provided encouragement for me to read my poetry in public, something I’d never have dreamed of doing otherwise, and offered all sorts of advice about how to go about getting work published.

To cap it all, I recently had the good news that one of my poems has been accepted for the anthology Best of Manchester Poets Vol. 3. My first ever poem in print. It also happens to be one of the poems that had its origins in NaPoWriMo 2012…

I’d be daft not to do it again, wouldn’t I? Why not join me?

Wicked Words, Leeds: March 2013

I was at Wicked Words’ quarterly Showcase Event this Wednesday, an evening that demonstrated what a rich tapestry the world of performance poetry can be. The entertainment kicked off with Jamie H Scrutton, an established Wicked Words poet whose pièce de resistance involves donning a bright pink wig and black Belvia bra (stuffed with what looked like tin-foil), whilst cavorting about the stage belting out poetry about the said bra’s magical powers of transformation in the wearer.

Jamie was swiftly followed by Skylab (aka Caleb Parkin) who had debuted at Wicked Words only the previous month. Nothing on that evening could possibly have hinted at the majesty of Skylab in full flight. Taking to the stage in a white decontamination suit, and with the aid of some ingenious headgear, Skylab took on variously the personae of rat, urban fox and – best of the lot in my opinion – a cockroach, complete with metre-long (at least!), retractable antennae that had those closest to the stage fearing for their eyeballs, as he read a set of thought-provoking poetry on the theme of Vermin, each poem addressed to the human from the creature’s point of view.

The second-half was given over exclusively to Bristol poet Anna Freeman, who appeared dressed neatly in jeans and cardi – which, it has to be said, came as something of a relief to many present. Her gentle (but not too gentle) and engaging style was put to good effect in a set that variously covered topics such as love, loss, embarrassing parents, and wonderful poetry about being ginger that could put Tim Minchin to shame. Anna knew all her work by heart and her endearing, self-deprecating style quickly won over the tough Leeds audience. Anna has that wonderful knack of being able to create poetry that’s intimate and personal, but with which anyone who has loved, lost, been brought up by embarrassing parents – or is blessed by being ginger – can identify. Come back soon, Anna.

Brendan McPartlan was ever the genial host, generally leaping around and attempting to whip the audience into a frenzy at every possible opportunity. Such a shame that a few more didn’t make it along to what was a thoroughly diverse and entertaining evening.  Not all poets appearing at Wicked Words may suit all tastes, but by goodness, it’s entertaining and you can pretty much guarantee there’ll always be something for everyone – and surely, that’s the wonder of poetry. So maybe next time see you there, eh?

Small Stones Day 31: Final Flourish

Oh dear. I’ve not done very well at this, have I? January has been a funny old month and for several reasons hasn’t been a great start to my writing year. As the sun begins to rise a little higher in the sky each day, so hopefully will return my creative desire and joy of writing.

Today I have tried to make up a little bit for the many days missed in Mindful Writing Month. Well done to everyone who made it through!

I have at least discovered that it’s a lovely form of writing, and fully intend to keep on writing Small Stones.

Here are my final offerings for now.

Small Stone 1

I wonder why so many people seem to be afraid of their own silence? You visit their home and the radio is always on or worse, the television plays to an empty room. Some just live noisily, then raise their voices to make themselves heard above their own cacophony.

Silence is a precious thing, and it feels like a violation of my personal space when others impinge upon my own quiet moments. It is an inequitable relationship: One person can kill another’s silence with noise, but another’s noise cannot be killed by one’s own silence.

Small Stone 2

I feel strangely reassured when I meet another writer friend who has suffered from a similar virus that’s been troubling me much of the time since New Year. Megan found that she too suffered a blockage of inspiration and a lack of any desire to write. Thankfully, after several weeks, the creative urge is starting to return in both of us.

Small Stone 3

The world changes around us, and one pleasures disappears only to be replaced by another. Having an almost infinite supply of music at the touch of a button, any time of day or night, was unthinkable not that many years ago. Yet for this instant-download gratification, we’ve traded the magic of those faraway Saturday afternoons spent browsing the record shops in town, carefully making a choice and parting with your hard-earned cash before counting the minutes of the journey home to listen to it. Then there was the sensual pleasure of sliding your new LP from its sleeve, and those wonderful few seconds of anticipation as the needle clicked into the groove before the music began to play. And of course ‘sharing’ simply meant phoning your friends to ask them round later to listen.

Small Stone 4

Today I have been making cheese and onion pasties. Home baking is such a simple pleasure. There is something joyous about finding a recipe, gathering the ingredients and following the method to create something that’s more than the sum of its parts. As an added bonus, such wonderful smells permeate the house, plus you know exactly what’s gone into your food.

Small Stones Day 21

21 January 2013

A bright and sunny winter’s day. I open the window to let in the crisp, fresh air and hear strange, rapid popping sounds – like Space Dust sweets from childhood that explode in your mouth. The sound turns out to be of small pieces of melting snow slipping from trees and eaves as they splat on the ground.