E A R L Y M A R C H 2 0 2 3
Lou's Writing News, Cues and Reviews
Friday, March 10, 2023
In 2020, the first lockdown was just starting and we were all talking about the gorgeous weather...
3.00, Friday 10 March 2023
It has snowed.
It
wasn’t exactly a surprise as the weather reports had forecast it, but I tend to
view weather forecasters as being hyper-vigilant easily-excitable
gloom-mongers. They’re always predicting massively disruptive weather which turns
out to be extremely disappointing in reality [an example of hyperbole followed
by litotes, if any of my English students are reading].
‘FLASH
FLOODING EXPECTED THROUGHOUT THE NORTH-EAST!’ turns out to be a slightly
faster-than-usual beck in Huddersfield. ‘TSUNAMI HEADING FOR FILEY: RESIDENTS
TOLD TO BE PREPARED!’ eventually arrives as a pleasant curler that splashes the
promenade and wets a few joggers wearing cagoules.
Even
weather-related events that have already happened are reported in such sensational
language that it’s difficult to get them into perspective. ‘EARTHQUAKE DESTROYS
HOUSES IN BIRMINGHAM’ turns out to mean that a few roof-tiles were dislodged;
‘FREAK HURRICANE BLASTS PICTURESQUE VILLAGE’ is accompanied by a photo of a
village green dotted with a snapped-off branches and the pub-sign bent awry.
Obviously,
sometimes we do get genuinely serious weather-related disasters in the British
Isles. I’m old enough to remember the infamous 1980s hurricane (recreated so
effectively in the climax of A.S.Byatt’s novel Possession), and the
second one that happened a year or so later. I was at teacher-training college in
Greater Manchester, and newly-in-love, so I spent the night wide awake in the
arms of my boyfriend, occasionally wondering what the hell was causing all that
noise outside (oh, how I miss the era known as ‘back in the day’!). At that
time, student accommodation wasn’t what it is today (no modern university
student would stand for the conditions students used to accept as normal). We
lived on the top floor of an old block of damp council flats perched on top of
a steep hill, and the hurricane’s fingers rattled the single-glazed windowpanes,
sneaking round the gappy edges so the notoriously chilly flats were cold enough
to cause frost-bite. Great howls and creaks could be heard, along with the
occasional bang as flying wreckage hit the building or bounced off cars. It
felt as if we were in a storm at sea.
I
remember at one point my boyfriend said, in another example of litotes: ‘Sounds
a bit blowy out there’.
On
that occasion, the storm provided a suitable background for our torrid
emotions. [An example of The Pathetic Fallacy, for any student reading this].A friend and I had planned to go home to my mum’s house for the
weekend, the next morning, and I remember walking to the railway station,
feeling dazed through lack of sleep, in a weird silence, the sky lit by a
silvery-grey light and the streets strewn with debris like the aftermath of a
riot.
However, despite these occasional flurries of exciting weather-related drama – the winds that force people to walk home more or less horizontally, fighting all the way; the floods that lead to Instagram shots of Volvos floating down high streets and old ladies in rain hoods being helped into dinghies; people huddled like refugees in cars topped with two feet of snow on the M25 – we’re not really a country of extreme weather. We don’t suffer volcanic eruptions, tornadoes, hail-stones as big as a fist, permafrost.
Not yet anyway. Who knows
what Global Warming will do to our generally sedate climate.
What
we do get is a bit of snow now and then. Like yesterday. It fell steadily,
feathery and picturesque, coating the grass and rooftops like royal icing on a
cake, but leaving the roads and pavements relatively clear. The worst that
happened in our household was that our elderly cat refused to go out to pee. We
had to gently force her through the patio doors when the snow abated a little,
and she then huddled miserably under the garden table staring at the lawn in
terror until we let her in again. As far as I knew, unless she had done the job very
quickly when we weren’t looking, she hadn’t emptied her digestive system since
7.00 am. Personally, I need to pee about every thirty minutes
these days, so I don’t know how she does it!
Interestingly, it snowed more heavily overnight and today our part of the world is coated in beautiful snow and the sky is that gorgeous bright blue you get after a snow-storm. P has gone out for a walk and is probably lying in a snow-filled ditch as I type (last time he went for a walk alone he ended up caught in the vicious embrace of a bramble bush after falling over a stile). The cat went out quite happily an hour ago – it is obviously the actual precipitation she hates – but I’m slightly concerned about where she’s gone. She’s probably paying her previous owners a visit, on the basis that we have fallen short of her expectations by not only failing to stop the snow but also pushing her out into the garden several times against her will. Or she’s also lost in a snow drift.
Of
course, when it does snow, all the anecdotes about previous snowfalls emerge
from your memory. Like the time when my niece and her partner came to our house with
their baby and my mum, one evening round Christmas, and by the time they were
ready to leave the ground was thick with snow and the roads ungritted. It was
impossible to drive in. My niece tried but the car spun in the road
uncontrollably. So they were forced to stay at ours, but my niece and her
partner decided to walk back to their house, a couple of miles away but up a
steep hill, to get their baby’s travel cot. It took them a long time, but they
eventually got back with a bag of stuff they needed and a large ungainly box
containing the dismantled travel-cot, which my niece had carried through the
snow all the way down the hill to our house, slipping and sliding all the way.
She was utterly exhausted, freezing, soaking wet and pissed-off. And it didn’t
improve her mood when she opened the box to discover it was empty! We never
found out what happened to the travel cot.
My own
personal memory of that night, however, is of sitting on my sofa cuddling my
great-nephew, who was about eight months old and was still awake, with the
light turned low so we could see the twinkling Christmas fairy-lights, and the
snow falling in the garden outside the patio doors, singing to him, while he
stared wide-eyed at everything. It is a memory I will always cherish.
For
every awful snow-related memory there is another wonderful one.
Today’s
snow has scuppered our plans for today, though. We were going to take my mum
out for an afternoon tea as a birthday treat. The place we’d booked is a nice
little tea-room in the middle of the Loxley Valley on the edge of Sheffield,
and unfortunately it has had to close today due to the snow. This is
particularly irritating as this is the FOURTH time we have booked a table at
this particular café in order to take my mum for an afternoon tea, but we have
yet to actually get her there. The last three times we had to cancel ourselves (Philip
got Covid, mum had a tummy upset, mum was at my niece’s house as she’d
forgotten we were going out for afternoon tea). On the third occasion, P booked
the table but forgot to tell them we wanted afternoon tea, so it was just as
well Mum couldn’t make it as she would have been deeply disappointed – she has
an incredibly sweet tooth and loves a plateful of cakes, and she particularly
loves taking home the leftovers in a box so she can indulge herself for the
next couple of days. This works well as I’m pre-diabetic so shouldn’t really
eat cakes, and there is a definite limit to P’s pleasure in eating such things,
so mum ends up with most of our share too. Anyway, not today. Maybe there's something eldritch in the Loxley Valley that is refusing to allow my mother to enter its domain, some unseen presence in Oughtibridge silently shouting 'Thou shalt not pass, Woman!'. Or maybe it's just coincidence.
The
cat has just returned, in case you were worrying. She was desperately hungry
after her adventure, and - after eating a packet of cat-food and sitting on a towel looking doleful - she has now gone upstairs, presumably to go to sleep on
our bed…
Monday, March 6, 2023
Drabbling: The results of the Twenty-Twenty Club Drabble Competition 2023
The pleasures of a 100-word story
Writing a story in only 100 words might seem, on the surface, like an easy task, and there is no doubt that it takes less time than writing a longer piece. However, writing a good story in exactly 100 words is a serious challenge. Such stories are like poems in that the writer has to give a lot of thought to every word. They have to ask themselves many questions: Can I make that same point but in fewer words? If I strip this sentence down to just three words, will it still be clear enough for the reader? Have I organised my material in the optimum way to achieve my effects?
It takes
real skill and confidence to pare a narrative down to its bare bones, and real
judgement to leave enough room for the individual craftsmanship of the writer,
for their ‘voice’ to emerge. It is the judiciously-used flourishes, the
carefully-placed image, the clever structural decisions, the knowledge of when
to use a sentence fragment or when to leave out a speech-tag, which often make
one drabble stand out from the others. The writer needs to trust the reader’s
ability to make the necessary leaps in understanding without having everything
spelled out for them.
One thing
that struck me about the drabbles submitted for this competition was the way
that some writers really used their creativity to push the form as far as they
could. Ron Hardwick’s ‘Smiler’ and Sue Davnall’s ‘In The Wall’ both use
dialogue as the method by which they get their stories across; Jane Langan’s
untitled drabble takes the form of a list, inspired by ‘The Very Hungry
Caterpillar’ by Eric Carle; Ruth Loten’s untitled drabble uses the three-act
structure of a play.
The theme of
the competition was ‘cats’ but this could be interpreted in whatever way the writers
wanted. Several of these drabbles were written from the point-of-view of the
cats themselves, and writers took on the persona of the cat with real
ingenuity. The narrator in Antonia Dunn’s chilling ‘Misfortune’ is ambiguous
until the end, when we suddenly realise how vulnerable this poor animal is;
‘The New Sofa’ by Lisa Gotts uses sentence fragments to convey the cat’s self-centred
thoughts; the cat narrator in Ron Hardwick’s ‘Master and Servant’ is a
knowledgeable and knowing creature who can easily outwit his supposed master;
in Wendy Toole’s ‘Remember Me’, the narrator is more indeterminate, probably
the cat who left the paw print but not necessarily. Others were written in a more straightforward
way, from a human viewpoint, but focused on a pet cat: Beck Collett’s
‘Tiddles’, for example, expresses the poignancy of cat-ownership very
effectively; Sue Davnall’s ‘The New One’ shows us an inter-species friendship
from the viewpoint of a pet-owner who wishes humans could be more like such
animals.
Though most
of the drabbles were about domestic cats, some weren’t. Ron Hardwick’s ‘Smiler’
considers a comic relationship between a human and a re-engineered talking
Smilodon (sabre-toothed tiger); D.H.L.Hewa’s ‘The Nick of Time’ focuses on a
magnificent tiger in a zoo and ends almost with a moment of magic realism as
the tiger is transformed into Blake’s Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright; her
drabble ‘The Symbol’ uses the image of a lion on her birth-country’s emblem as
a starting point for considering loss and grief; the ravenous kitten in Jane
Langan’s untitled drabble metamorphoses into a spectacular tiger; Sue Davnall’s
‘In The Wall’ considers a creepy mummified cat hinting at pagan witchcraft;
Ruth Loten’s untitled drabble uses a performance of the musical ‘Cats’ to tell
part of a love story; and Beck Collett’s ‘Sometimes Even Tina’ tells the tragic
story of a girl called Caterina. The theme of ‘cats’ was explored fully and in
highly interesting and imaginative ways.
The other
thing that struck me in this small collection was the variety of moods and
atmospheres they created. There was humour, horror, sadness, realism, drama.
Some drabbles covered long periods of time (‘Remember me’, ‘Tiddles’), while
others were much more focused in time. Every drabble was more than merely an
anecdote or a joke – all had a narrative arc of some sort, some surprisingly
profound. It is incredible what writers can do with just 100 words!
The judges wish to remain anonymous but I'd like to thank them here for their hard work. Prizes will be sent out to the winner and runner-up this week. Below, I have posted a selection of drabbles from the competition (some people didn't want their work publishing here):
CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR WINNERS AND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO TOOK PART.
And a big thanks to our unpaid judges.
First Prize Winner: Antonia Dunn
[won a copy of The Unadulterated Cat by Terry Pratchett and a small box of chocolates]
Misfortune by Antonia Dunn
They don't know about the man. He was
always doing odd jobs and shopping for her. He was arguing with her about
money. She wanted to leave it to the Cats Protection League.
Now the police are here, he's back.
Why won't they listen to me?
'This poor cat's been making terrible
noises since we arrived. Is there anyone who can look after her?' asks the
policewoman.
'Leave her with me' says the man.
'I'll take care of her.'
JUDGES' COMMENTS:
This is a
beautifully-structured drabble which uses the cat’s naïve perception of events
to create a moving and horrifying story. The judges were impressed by the way
it incorporated several features of much longer stories, such as dialogue,
description, inner thoughts, and a rhetorical question, and how it moved
confidently between past and present. It used all 100 words to excellent
effect, using structure to maximise the impact of the final line.
Photo taken by Wayne Miller
Runner-Up: Ruth Loten
[won a small writers' notebook and a small box of chocolates]
Untitled
By Ruth Loten
First Act.
My life was a
mess. Bad boyfriends. Lousy job.
My new start in
London begins at the theatre.
Cats. Singing.
Dancing. Twirling. Terrifying.
Interval.
The man next to me
turns. ‘Any idea what’s going on?’
I shake my head.
He gestures to the empty seat beside him.
‘Got tickets for
my ex. Dance teacher - didn’t know it was based on a book.’ He smiles. ‘I did.
No point wasting my money as well as my life.’
A pause.
‘Do you fancy a
drink after? Untangle the plot together?’
I hesitate, then
nod and smile.
Second Act.
Begins.
JUDGES' COMMENTS:
The judges were very impressed by the originality of the form this story took, being set out in three acts, echoing the theatrical performance the characters are experiencing. It was a love story, and conveyed a lot of information for so few words, including dialogue and narrative. They felt the story was clear and told with verve and imagination, and they believed in the characters. They did feel that the tenses were slightly muddled at the beginning (‘was’, ‘begins’).
A selection of other entries
Sometimes even Tina by
Beck Collett
Caterina
was dull. Everyone who met her as a babe remarked that she was ‘no trouble at
all,’ which translated as ‘she doesn’t do much, does she?’ By the time she
started school, everyone had forgotten Caterina’s name. She answered to all
sorts, sometimes even Tina. She didn’t know to correct them, so she didn’t.
Everyone who met her remarked how ‘clean and quiet’ she was, which translated
as ‘she’ll never leave her mark.’ So, it was rather ironic that when Caterina
disappeared that day, everyone finally looked for her. But by then it was too
late.
JUDGES' COMMENTS:
The judges particularly enjoyed the repetition of the idea of certain platitudinous or euphemistic phrases actually implying other things about Caterina. They felt that the central character was clearly and vividly portrayed despite very little being revealed about her, and the ending was shocking and moving. One judge commented that Beck might have left out the explicit reference to the ironic nature of the climax of the tale, as this perhaps was telling too much. However, the ending was an effective response to the first part, leading to narrative satisfaction.
Untitled
by Jane Langan
In the light of the moon, a kitten curled into a ball.
On Sunday, she woke to warm sun on her fur. She
uncurled.
Kitty started looking for food.
On Monday she ate one fish but was still hungry.
On Tuesday she ate two voles but was still hungry.
On Wednesday she ate three mice but was still hungry.
On Thursday she ate four eggs but was still hungry.
On Friday she ate six rats, seven birds, a mole, a
bat, and a rabbit.
She felt better and fell asleep.
On Saturday, she woke up and was a beautiful tiger.
*Inspired
by ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ by Eric Carle
JUDGES' COMMENTS:
Inspired by
Eric Carle’s famous children’s book ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’, Jane’s story
took on the form of a myth or fable in which a mundane creature is transformed
into something magical. Unlike Hans Anderson’s ‘The Ugly Duckling’, this kitten
is beautiful right from the start, but it becomes strong and powerful as it
ingests more and more food. The judges enjoyed the fairytale quality of this
narrative, with its use of repetition and the accelerated growth span of the
kitten. It had some of the qualities of a poem.
The New Sofa by Isla
The new sofa’s
here. Delivery men gone. Wrapping off. Human not paying attention – time to
pounce!
Edge
of the arm, my tailed curled under me, claws digging into the new fabric. Mmmm,
it’s softer than the last one. Kind of them to buy me this giant new bed.
I
give it a scratch. This is the life… Tuna…tummy rubs…sunshine naps…
“Oi, Tabitha…off!”
The human’s shout interrupts my daydreams!
Oh
– guess it’s not mine! I jump down, swish my tail to show some attitude (I
was comfy there before being shooed off) and disappear through my cat
flap...
JUDGES' COMMENTS:
The judges
enjoyed the lightness of this drabble, which depicts the thoughts and actions
of a mischievous domestic cat when its owners buy a new sofa. The narrative has
an effective ‘volta’ in the middle, where the cat suddenly realises the sofa
wasn’t bought for him. The cat’s emotions are conveyed clearly and anyone who
has ever owned a cat will recognise the realism of this cat’s behaviour. The
judges liked how Lisa had got inside the mind of the cat in a plausible way,
though they felt that the ending could be strengthened slightly.
Photo by Louise Wilford
Master and Servant by Ron Hardwick
My master is a little bald man with a Hitler moustache. I say master, but it is I who is master, not
he. He gets annoyed when I exercise my
claws on his sofa. He feeds me
disgusting Kattomeat, which I happen to know is made from the offal of
horses. He left a dish of smoked salmon
on the table the other day, which was delicious. He flipped his lid. 'When I catch you, Minky, I'm going to ring
your bloody neck.' I smile, because, inadequate little berk that he is, he
needs me more than I need him.
JUDGES' COMMENTS:
This
humorous tale gets inside the mind of a domestic cat with authenticity and
comic appeal. The judges enjoyed the tension between the cat’s cynical view of
the world and the master’s lack of comprehension of his pet’s opinions. They
did wonder how a cat would know about Hitler’s moustache, but felt that this
reference was acceptable given the humorous genre. They felt the drabble was
well-structured.
Photo by Louise Wilford
Tiddles by Beck Collett
I
loved you from the moment I saw you lying upside-down in your litter tray.
Eighteen months old and mad, you were meant for me. Nobody else could cuddle
you; your pointy black face and moss-green eyes staring up at me in
bewilderment. Always.
We removed the wallpaper because you kept
climbing it, got used to mopping up puddles of water, puddles of wee when you
started to forget, when you went blind.
Now, I hold you to my chest like a new-born, so you can feel my heart beating as your own runs out. I love you. Always.
The judges
(all cat-lovers) found this very poignant and realistic. They commented on how
Beck had covered so much time in so few words, and praised the story’s
structure. They felt that the examples given of the cat’s behaviour, all told
from the owner’s viewpoint and revealing the indulgence with which we treat our
pets, were very well-chosen and vivid. They liked the phrase ‘so you can feel
my heart beating as your own runs out’ and the simplicity of the ending.
Photo by Beck Collett
Smiler by Ron Hardwick
‘G-r-r-r-r.’
‘Come again?’
‘G-r-r-r-r.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Of course. I’m a
smilodon.’
‘Smilodon?’
‘Are you stupid?
Smilodon. Sabre-toothed tiger.’
‘Didn’t expect to see one in Runcorn.’
‘I’ve been cloned.’
‘Cloned?’
‘What are you - an echo?’
‘Sorry.’
‘DNA - from thigh-bones, under the ice in Alaska.’
‘How come you ended up here?’
‘Millionaire from Timperley bought me. Private zoo. Escaped
yesterday.’
‘You’re one of a kind.’
‘I know. I’m so
desperately lonely. Don’t suppose you
need a pet?’
‘I could do with someone to guard my collection of rare
acetylene lamps.’
‘Splendid. Name’s
Smiler, by the way.’
Photo by Louise
Wilford
JUDGES' COMMENTS ON THE OTHER DRABBLES:
‘The New
One’ by Sue Davnall
This was
another sweet-centred tale, showing the tension and ultimately the intimacy
between two creatures of different species. The judges liked the sentence
fragmentation at the beginning and the examples of why the dog finds the kitten
irritating and confusing, but felt that maybe the final sentence stated the
‘moral of the story’ a little too explicitly and could have been implied more.
‘In the wall’ by Sue Davnall
The judges
were impressed by the way Sue told the story entirely through dialogue, and her
confidence in leaving much to the reader’s imagination. The dialogue was
realistic, and the subject was fascinating, if creepy! The writer managed to
convey what was happening in the story very cleverly simply through the words
characters spoke. It was simultaneously scary and humorous, and told a clear
and complete tale in a very succinct way.
‘The Nick
Of Time’ by D.H.L.Hewa
This is an
interesting story with an effective ‘volta’ in the middle, as the observer of
the tiger (a child, we assume) is whisked away from the glass window through
which she has been watching the huge cat. The judges particularly liked the
reference to Blake’s famous tiger poem and the way the writer included this
almost like magic realism, as if the tiger is transformed into the creature
from Blake’s poem. This intertextuality made this drabble unusual and was very
effective.
‘The
Symbol’ by D.H.L.Hewa
This is an unusual
drabble in this collection in that it uses a symbolic representation of a cat
to explore emotions of homesickness, national pride, loss and grief. The judges
liked the use of literary flourishes such as the onomatopoeia of ‘crashes,
crumbles’, and felt that the story ended on a powerful note, expressing deep
feeling. The judges commented that perhaps the symbol could have been linked to
the death a little more thoroughly, however.
‘Remember
Me’ by Wendy Toole
The thing
that most impressed the judges about this story was Wendy’s use of the future
tense. This speculative voice, expressed with a tone of confident expectation,
was very effective. It wasn’t absolutely clear who was narrating, though the
judges decided it was the cat itself, and they felt that this slight ambiguity enhanced
the piece. The story was beautifully structured and well-controlled, and the
judges commented on how confident it sounded.
Friday, February 17, 2023
BOOK REVIEWS: A writer's view of other writers
Mrs Hudson and Sherlock Holmes by Liz Hedgecock
A few months ago, when
I couldn’t find anything I fancied reading, I stumbled upon Liz Hedgecock’s cozy
comic fantasy series about a magic bookshop and found it mildly diverting. The books were
easy to read quickly, undemanding, gently entertaining, fairly forgettable.
However, while looking them up on my Kindle, I noticed she had written a series
of detective novels which used the conceit that Mrs Hudson was much more than
Sherlock Holmes’s middle-aged housekeeper. I remembered reading some books like
this several years ago, novels which I had found gripping and entertaining at
the time, and I thought it was odd that Liz Hedgecock might have written them
as my knowledge of her writing was based on the magic bookshop series.
In fact, it turned out that she hadn’t.
The books I was thinking of were by Martin Davies. However, Hedgecock’s trilogy
about Mrs Hudson also proved to be superior to the magic bookshop series, being
much longer, much less lightweight and in my opinion better written.
In this fictional world, Mrs Hudson
is young, attractive and married to a police officer. However, in book one, her
husband vanishes and she is forced to take in lodgers to make ends meet. This
leads to her meeting Sherlock and Dr Watson, both young men here, and becoming
Sherlock’s assistant initially, then later his colleague and eventually his
wife! This is all good fun, and is wrapped around a fairly interesting series
of mysteries to be solved. The plots are as silly as in the original Holmes
stories by Arthur Conan Doyle, but we view them through female eyes which is
quite enlightening.
It was entertaining to see the Holmesian
world from a female viewpoint – clothes and make-up, fashion, life in domestic
service, the rules of mourning, the strict protocols about visiting and other
social interactions, and the restrictions put upon women at the time, are all
fascinating and offer a new way of interpreting the stories. Sherlock himself
is not undermined by Mrs Hudson’s detecting success, but our view of her as a
slightly prim landlady, bemused by Sherlock’s shenanigans, is thoroughly
dismantled.
I enjoyed these novels very much,
though they are definitely light reading. They have enough substance to keep
the reader interested, and provide excellent reading material for winter
afternoons , but they aren’t works of high-brow literature. Hedgecock has
written another Holmes series, plus several other cozy detective series
involving women detectives, with both modern and historical settings. I would give most of her novels that I've read three stars, but this particular series deserves four.
**** Recommended
If you liked these books, other series which take a sideways look at the
iconic Sherlock Holmes stories include:
Sherlock & Jack series by Liz Hedgecock
Holmes and Hudson mysteries by Martin Davies
Mrs Hudson of Baker Street series by Barry S Brown
Mrs Hudson and Mary Watson Investigations by Michelle Birkby
The Gower Street Detective series by M.R.C.Kasazian (about Sidney Grice, a detective similar to Holmes)
The Way of All Flesh by Ambrose Parry (more of a literary novel than the
others on this list}
Other novels by Liz Hedgecock:
Booker and Fitch cozy detective series
Maisie Frobisher cozy detective series
Pippa Parker Mysteries series
The Librarian of Crooked Lane ]Book 1 in The Glass Library series] by C.J. Archer
This is the first in a series called The Glass Library series. The second book is released today, I believe. These stories are very similar in style to the Liz Hedgecock novels. Set just after the First World War, in a world which is very like our own but in which magic exists, they are the adventures of Sylvia, a young woman who is struggling to survive after the deaths of her brother in the war and her mother of illness. She has never known her father.
Wednesday, January 25, 2023
SHOWCASE: Write Club poets
A Sportsman
Suzanne Louise Burn
Your handshake is cool and light
no hint of the power you wield
in the ring, where your hands
are weapons intent on
destruction.
Nobody messes with the big guy
from Hammersmith, all six foot
four
yet here on ward ten, in Great
Ormond street,
you bring hope while I watch my
baby
fight the ravages of chemo, such
a tiny body.
You take the time to show you
care
moving so quietly from bed to bed
including everyone, a true
gentleman.
Superheroes come in many guises,
never
thought I'd meet one in my
darkest hours,
yet here you are, and not for
publicity
arriving unannounced, dispensing
calm.
All it takes is a few kind words
to lighten
Know what I mean, Frank.
We don’t do hugging
Sharon Henderson
We don’t do hugging,
our family don’t.
We don’t do kissing, neither.
We do marmite sarnies,
Even though we hate
the smell.
We do jams, chutneys,
And homemade cakes as
well.
We do travelling for
miles at three am.
Just to be told to go
back again.
We do handwritten
letters
And weird little
gifts.
Send silly messages,
To give people lifts.
We do trawling the
shops,
For that one little
thing,
Some chocolate or
biscuit,
That will make their
heart sing.
We do phone calls at
midnight,
To listen to tears.
We do standing beside
you,
Through all of your
fears.
But we don’t do
hugging, our family don’t,
And we don’t do
kissing, neither.
Coffee Corner
Karen Honnor
There’s a man sat in the
corner,
looks like David Baddiel,
The caffeine’s slowly
kicking in so
I’m not sure if he’s
real.
I found myself staring
and averted my gaze,
For staring at a
stranger’s wrong
in oh so many ways.
I came here for a coffee.
and try and write some
more,
but I keep looking up to
see.
If David’s making for the
door.
He seems to have his head
down
and is scrolling on his
phone,
Should I say ‘hello’ to
him?
He probably wants to be
alone.
I sip a little latte
and wonder why he’s here
I’m sure he doesn’t live
close by,
I glance – he’s coming
near.
Now, it’s me that’s got
my head down,
I don’t even know why.
I doubt he will have
noticed.
I’ve been trying to catch
his eye.
Is he working on his next
book?
Taking time out from his
day,
Stopped for coffee in a
corner
before going on his way?
I’d ask him for an
autograph.
but I’m not sure how he’d
feel,
Hang on,
Wait a minute,
No …
That’s not David Baddiel.
Copyright © 2022 Karen Honnor
[The poem is taken from Just Take Five]
Winter Needles
Tracy Hutchinson
A life well spent, a
day gone by,
another twinkle in her
eye.
Her needles
clack-clack with white yarn,
growing a sleeve for a
newborn arm.
The mother, too young,
her grandaughter’s child,
like all youth today,
was wayward and wild,
poisoned the foetus
with alcohol and smoke,
probably wouldn’t appreciate
the matinee coat.
But life had showed
her a better way
to fill her heart each
passing day.
So, her needles
continued to clack-clack in the night,
to finish the jacket
of winter white.
A bridge across the
years and miles.
A sunny moment filled
with smiles,
as the tiny bundle
placed in her arms
looked up with baby
beguiling charm.
Another child for the
family tree,
and the grandmother
thought ‘they all look like me.’
[First published in Generations 2019
Write Club OU]
Beside
Me
Jane Langan
And over pale skies,
clouds like grey collared doves
undulate and surge in
breezes,
beyond our whispered
touch.
I watch silhouetted
birds
move with grace and freedom,
transported by
thermals,
rising and falling,
rising and falling.
I think of you,
I think of you...
Beside me when
thunder came.
Beside me when
we wept, over the lost.
We had so much to
give,
instead, our insides,
turned out.
Beside me when,
joy filled us up,
like chips at the
seaside,
whipped in salty air.
Waves of laughter,
heard through the pull
of the tide,
rising and falling,
rising and falling.
happiness seep from
every pore,
of those things we
made,
unearthly, almost, in
their beauty,
luminous in evening
light.
You were there, beside me.
[First published in Blood Kisses, 2021]
Hate vs Love
Lily Lawson
Hate leaks from lips,
its powerful punch poisoning all within its wake,
wasting weighty words on trivial pursuits.
Love flows from the heart,
its calming lotion pouring in
caressing streams,
healing wounds, seeping into
souls.
Hate’s afflicted admirers
keen to ingratiate themselves
bow and scrape at its feet.
When they hear the battle cry, they charge.
Love listens long.
Its gentle voice persuading,
reaching out,
accepting all in its embrace.
Copyright © 2022
[Taken from Rainbow's Red Book of Poetry by Lily Lawson https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0B3F7N6SP/ref= ]
Author
biographies:
Suzanne Burn
Suzanne Louise Burn (she/her) graduated from The Open University in 2018 with a Bachelor's Degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. She is currently halfway through studying for a Master's Degree in Creative Writing (also with The Open University) and focussing on fiction writing. She enjoys reading and writing poetry and is hoping to do more of this from Autumn 2023 onwards, once her Master's studies are complete.
She has had poetry, flash fiction, and life writing published in Makarelle magazine, together with six Open University Write Club anthologies for charities: Generations, Footprints and Echoes, The Gift, 2020 Still Together, 2021 Still Together, and Where's the Manual? And Other Thoughts on Parenthood. She draws inspiration from nature, realism, and human relationships for her poetry and fiction.
Sharon Henderson
Sharon is a teacher in a large secondary school just outside of London. She loves to teach and also tutors students with additional needs. She has two grown up children and a pet rat named Pandora. Her hobbies include what has been described as a maniacal amount of walking and baking cakes. These are then given to anyone who will take them as she has a gluten and dairy free diet. She also loves to study and has just completed an MA with the Open University.
Karen Honnor
She finds inspiration from my everyday and write with
honesty and a touch of humour about the subjects that effect us all, building
her self-confidence as she goes. Her books and blog continue to strike a chord
with readers and she is learning and growing as she writes my way through
midlife.
You
can check out Karen's blog https://www.karenhonnor.com/
and
follow her on Twitter here.
Tracy Hutchinson
Tracy Hutchinson writes alongside caring for her family. She gained a first-class degree in English language and literature in 2017, and followed it with an MA in creative writing which she was awarded in 2019. Tracy compiled and edited two anthologies during the Covid-19 pandemic, 2020 Together and 2021 Still Together, to raise funds for the NHS Charities Together Urgent Covid-19 Appeal. The two anthologies had over fifty contributors and raised more than £1200 for the charity. Currently, Tracy is working on her first novel, which she is hoping to release later this year.
Jane Langan
Jane has been published in the anthologies, Footprints and Echoes, Dipping your Toes, the Makarelle Anthology ONE and her poetry anthology Blood Kisses. She has had a special mention from The Welsh Poetry Competition and was longlisted in the Mairtin Crawford Awards. Jane has an MA in creative writing.
http://www.howilikemycoffee.co.uk/
[Photo
accompanying poem and photo of herself above were both taken by Jane herself]
Lily Lawson
Lily is a poet and
fiction writer living in the UK. She has had poetry, short stories and creative
non-fiction published in anthologies and online, in addition to her poetry
books My Fathers Daughter, A Taste of What’s
to Come and Rainbow’s Red Book
of Poetry. She has recently published her first picture poetry book Santa’s Early
Christmas. You can find out more about Lily and read more of her work on
her blog. Life with Lily. Subscribers
are the first to hear all her writing news. She can often be found sharing her
randomness on Twitter.