Hi, I hope you are all keeping well. I’ve ranged between burning out and firing up, but I’m also doing a lot of reading. My book this week is Wild Swans by Jung Chang, it’s rich with detail of Chinese history and wonderful characters in her family history too. I’ll follow up in my blog on writing from personal histories on Friday.

Today’s writing comes from Angela in response to the game of rewriting classic writers.

Creative Writing – Poetry Session

I have chosen a poem by Walter de la Mare 1873 – 1956 for this activity (in italics).  It appealed to me as it is about springtime, nature and links present day with ancient times. 

All That’s Past

Very old are the woods;
And the buds that break
Out of the brier’s boughs,
When March winds wake,
So old with their beauty are–
Oh, no man knows
Through what wild centuries
Roves back the rose.

Walter de la Mare

Response from Angela:

Very old are the lanes;
Sunk in woodlands green,
A shimmering blue haze
Of bluebells seen
When April showers fall,
Fairy bells ring
Fields of dancing colour
Where blackbirds sing.

Very old are the rocks;
And the cliffs that rise
Where ancient creatures
Swam in swollen seas.
Mem’ries of early shores
Fossils still frozen
In towers of yellow sands
For time to wash away.

This week I got stuck trying to think of what to write. The lockdown days repeat like an endless blending from one to the other and it’s played havoc with my creative ideas. I’m sitting at my desk writing this because I realised that this is a common experience.

The creative process isn’t a fixed point in time. You don’t pick up a pen and immediately write a best seller, or a poem, or paint a picture. It is a process, that starts with ideas, practicing and developing, often hits a wall in the middle and then gets a second wind to finish.

A mistake all of us can make is thinking whole point of writing is to get to the end – your finished product – as that is how we consume everything else. But thinking about how things are made takes time and nurturing. Even the desk I am writing from was once a tree that took time and nurturing to grow, be harvested and processed (thought I think it’s made out of mdf, so it might be the sawdust from a number of trees!). Consider your creative writing process like gardening. It’s not going to happen overnight and sometimes it seems that the seed won’t grow. It all takes a little bit of practice, time and nurturing for it to grow, get bigger and more developed and finally blossom.

So what happens when you ‘get stuck’?

We are often in the wrong headspace to get started – something in life is bothering us, we’re tired, there’s too much noise outside, we don’t feel like it, can’t think of anything to say – but the trick is to acknowledge those feelings – and do a little tiny bit anyway.

Yesterday I was stuck on my new novel. I’m writing the first draft, which isn’t properly worked out yet so I know it won’t be any ‘good.’ The point is to make the clay so I can mould it later. Every writer has their own way of working and mine is quite intense. I take a lot of thinking time but once I get started I power on through until I get to the end, regardless. But I’ve reached a wall. I didn’t know what to write next, I didn’t know which bit of the novel to do and began berating myself for getting too far into the story without feeling it was growing organically. I was staring at the soil waiting for the seedling to break through and nothing was working.

So I did my own special magic trick. ‘Ok,’ I say to myself, ‘You aren’t going to write lots today. Maybe just ten words. Maybe one paragraph, that’s ok. Just open up the document and read a bit, then write a paragraph. Just look at it.’

And that’s what I did, I opened up the document, I looked at it. I started writing my one paragraph and wrote over a thousand words – my aim for the day.

Don’t panic – I’m not expecting you to write a thousand words! It’s an example how even the most prolific person can get stuck. How do you get out of your rut if you do get stuck?

The game today is to be kind to yourself. If you are writing then be kind, it’s clay it’s not finished, enjoy what you’ve written – you did it! If you aren’t writing lots, or anything at all, it’s ok. If you are struggling to do anything, it’s ok. You aren’t necessarily going to write a lot today. Maybe only one word. One sentence. One paragraph.

Look at what you’ve written – now this could be exercises from class, what you’ve been writing at home or even a shopping list. It doesn’t matter.

One word. One sentence. One paragraph. What do you think you can do?

Just look at what you’ve written and either take a sentence of it, write it again and carry on writing, even if it’s just one more sentence. Or start at the top of a fresh page. Write one sentence.

Here’s the tip though – if you do start writing and you get to the end of the paragraph and you have more to say – keep going. Whatever comes out is fine, you can look at it later.

Thinking of you! Rachel x

This week’s writing extract comes from Angela, a lovely piece that uses noticing a seagull as the basis for a lovely description of a place and time.

Don Juan, Lord Byron

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, / Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye / Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping / In sight, then lost amidst the forestry / Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping / On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; / A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown / On a fool’s head – and there is London Town

I wanted to start today’s blog with a quote about noticing your environment. About nature even in the city. Here Byron weaves a ‘forestry of masts’. This London is an urban forest. What is your patch of the world to you?

Noticing seems like a simple thing to do, and it is. It is really another way of saying ‘mindfulness’. Try and do it for five minutes and you will find there is more to see than you imagined. As we are locked in more and more, noticing becomes important. I only have a small window of time to look through into the world now. I notice people have emptied the streets and the walk I make is the same every day. I notice the trees more now, any weeds poking through concrete.

I notice in my work as well that playfulness makes it all seem a lot easier to do so I’m going to stop calling these prompts ‘tasks’ or ‘exercises’, they are games. You can play them if you want, but if you don’t like the rules try them out then change them. It’s all about experimenting with your own creativity, though my tip is that limitation can be a fantastic motivator. So give them a go, if you don’t like them then see it as a warm up and try your own way.

The game today is all about noticing things and writing it down as a record. The rules are – when you are ‘noticing’ don’t talk to anyone and try to still your mind. Take it all in. Write before speaking to anyone.

Walking mindfulness game.

When you go on your walk, notice what sticks out to you, think of smells, sounds and sights. Choose one or two things you see on your journey. How many magpies were there? What birds can you see? Take your notebook and record what attracts you when you see it (if safe to do so) or wait until you get home and, without speaking or sharing, write it down straight away.

Adeline was more inspired by the idea of keeping a journal than trying the games last week, which is fine! I am posting an extract from her journal, a great example of ‘noticing’.

Have a wonderful week – Rachel xx

Musings on a lockdown by Adeline

It’s been a time of acclimating to our new routines, and I would say we are  doing pretty well on the whole. I don’t think our days in any way feel “normal” just yet, and quite possibly they never will while we are living with such restrictions. But we are managing to create some small daily habits and gentle structure to our days, and maybe that’s the best thing to aim for as we all muddle through.

My husband and myself go out for a walk early each morning, before there are many people about. Everything is fresh and green. It is re-assuring to hear the birds singing, and going about their business, busy building their nests, oblivious to the difficult time we humans are experiencing. Nature is wonderful. It fills me with hope for the future. We are lucky to have quite a nice park within walking distance from us.

I find I don’t get bored of this walk, even doing it day after day – every day has it’s own unique feel depending on the weather. It’s been fantastic to witness the wild garlic growing ever greener, and to see fresh new buds and the may blossom emerging.

I often take photos while we are out on these walks. It will be a way to chronicle these weeks so I can look back and remember in years to come.

I am naturally accustomed to being very aware of my surroundings when I am out and about and always try to practice a sort of mindfulness as I walk. But during these home-safe weeks when our outside freedom is so limited, I find I am tuning in even more than usual to the little details, soaking in every teensy bit of natural beauty and colour. It’s a good life lesson I think – to slow down a little and really pay attention to the beauty that surrounds us every minute of every day. It’s right there to be enjoyed, so good for the soul.

This lockdown’s going on a bit long isn’t it! Another three weeks of it at least, and I don’t know about you but some days writing is the last thing on my mind. Or not writing is the first thing on my mind. Procrastinating and feeling like you ‘should’ be writing, can make writing creatively feel like hard work.

Reading, however, is a pleasure that I have been happy to go back to. In the busy-ness of the world it can be so hard to find the time to dig deep into a good book and now we have this chance.  Doodling is another one I find easy and jotting down my thoughts is fine too. But the truth is – it is all the same as creative writing in one way or another.

I’m thinking of ways to combat the claustrophobia and weirdness and how can we use creative writing for our own well-being. Not sharing it necessarily, (though you may be surprised what you come up with) just doing it to make you feel better:

Morning pages – the Artist’s Way is a classic book by Julia Cameron about releasing your own creativity. A powerful way to connect to your writing is by doing ‘Morning Pages’. Exactly as they sound you write pages in the morning.  I suggest allowing yourself to write as little or as much as you want and follow one simple rule – Write before speaking, looking at your phone, doing anything else. Leave a notebook/A4 paper by the side of your bed and when you wake up just start writing.

Sketchbook writing – I attended a key note speech from David Almond who showed us his way of writing, via a sketchbook, and I’ve employed this ever since. My freeing notebook is filled with pictures and scribbles of text. I see it as an unlocking of the creative way of writing  – expressing something through pictures as well as words can assess different parts of your brain.

Here are two pages from my writing/sketchbook to show you it’s not all write, write, write!

– Reading – yes, reading is still an important part of writing – can form thoughts in your head that are unlocking imagination.  The famous book ‘Becoming a Writer’ by Dorothea Brand suggests you take an author you love and copy the way they structure paragraphs – How do they form the sentence? How many adjectives do they use?  This isn’t plagiarising, but writing your own version using a classic author’s sentence structure can really help your own writing and inspire words you didn’t know were there.

Journalling – Just writing down a diary of your thoughts and feelings as we go through this strange time can be helpful. It’s a document for history but also helps to get those worries out on the page. You might read back over your days and write about something that happened, or a story or poem that comes to mind.

Do share your writing so far – it doesn’t have to be the prompts I have posted, whatever motivates you, do go with the flow.

Here is a piece written by Liz inspired by the lockdown, and a couple of short poems by me on grief and hope.

Poetry by Liz

Covid 19

Eerie, silent, world
Vistas of empty streets, empty bridges
Buildings sheer from pavement to steeple top
Perfections of ratio and proportion
Wren’s churches

Cathedral standing in majesty
Free of swarming humanity
Masonry, white, magnificent
Gardens deserted. No lunch-time city workers
No crumbs for squirrels, pigeons, foxes
Forced onto the inhospitable concrete streets
No overflowing litter bins now

Greening the City
No children, ball games, rushing pedestrians
To sully, tread, break foliage
Perfect rows of flaming orange, deep purple
Tulips stand in unspoiled rows
Hyacinths, wallflowers, fritillarys and
Rioting peonies stand in undamaged
Garden design, filling the City’s
nooks and crannies with
glorious, heavenly colour

Images of foreign places standing in isolation too
Blue Mosque in Istanbul
Wuhan displaying rivers of kaleidoscopic
Coloured lights
Empty Manhattan, Berlin, Paris, free of
Buses, coaches, cars and bikes
Reveal cities’ bones, joints, skeletons in
Hitherto unseen starkness of grim reality

Poetry by Rachel

Grief in a time of Coronavirus

We stood six feet apart, about your height
The birds sang your hymns,
prayers were spoken to the sky,
and sunshine did not ask why we were few,
why this was your time to die

Hope in a time of Coronavirus

Stay safe, each email and conversation ends
Stay safe, until the curve bends
Stay safe, we aren’t here for long
Stay safe, stay strong

Reaching out across the waves
of a graph tsunami sweeps by and raises
hope

to be alone means within ourselves
find that place of peace, release
our grasp on the meaning of freedom
Stay safe, we will see you soon
Stay safe, underneath the constant moon.

Rachel Sambrooks 2020

Hi everyone – welcome to the Friday writing prompt. Today I’ve been inspired by the amount of cooking and baking I have been doing during the Lockdown (along with everyone else I bet!). I don’t follow recipes much but they are a great source of inspiration for creative writing. You can make a recipe out of anything in life. Take a pinch of inspiration from these recipes for creative writing:

1. YOU PLUS MIXING EQUALS – WHAT? Make a list of ten things about you – what makes you different to everyone else? What do you like to do. Take one real recipe. Replace the ingredients with those things you have listed – is there a poem in that?
   
2. RECIPE BOOK. Take a recipe book, a poetry book and a novel. Pick l phrase at random from each – try not to make a value judgement on whether it is a ‘good’ phrase. If that is a problem then close your eyes and point a finger! Write the phrases out and then mix up the words into whole new phrases – do any of them inspire you to write further.
   
3. FOOD CUPBOARD RECIPE Take these ingredients – banana, peace, war, cabbage, mix, goodness, lost, things, myth, year, academy, crisps, heated. Start writing a story with the line ‘She looked up…’ and write using the word list in order – only one per sentence! You can use dialogue, repeat words, or even play with verse. What can you come up with?
   
   EXAMPLE:
   1. The Rachel Recipe – (from Butter bean and chorizo stew) Slice the experience and tip into a large love of travelling over a medium meditation. Add the writing and the comedy, bring to the stage, then be determined for 10 years. Swirl through couch to 5k, dance and crafting, the best season is summer and share amongst family.

As you can see, I didn’t use all the phrases, it doesn’t all make perfect sense but it’s a start. And this is what we are doing – making a start. Mixing things up, producing a result and tasting what it is. It might taste great or it might get burned but at least we did something!

Hi, Rachel back again – We have had some lovely pieces come in, as a response to our trip to the Dicken’s Museum and as a response to the last writing prompt. Enjoy them below, and check back in tomorrow for more fun writing ideas.

Charles Dickens’ House by Liz
I found upon trawling through the rooms of 48 Doughty Street, that there is a pervading sense of comfort, order, well-being and middle-class wealth.    Charles Dickens came to live here when he was just becoming a known writer in 1837.   By the time he left in 1839, he had become a ‘literary superstar’, so obviously the London house, with his personal dressing-room and his book lined study, was  conducive to his work.
I remember seeing the black and white David Lean film of Great Expectations in 1946, when I was aged 9, with my parents and two older brothers.   We went to the Ritz cinema fairly regularly in my childhood.   It was obviously a treat for my parents, even if we had to queue in the bitter cold all around the block.   The opening scenes were so stark and frightening that they have been seared into my memory ever since.   Pip is seen running along the skyline against a darkening sky in a howling wind, with winter trees beginning to crack and swirl in the impending storm.   Pip runs across to a churchyard in the dark to place some flowers at the base of a tombstone.  The wind’s howling increases and the trees take on an aura of ghostliness.   Pip looks around fearfully in all this chaotic weather.   The tension ratchets up and up and as Pip rises and walks away he suddenly emits a piercing scream.   It is shocking.   This is the first human sound since the film began.   He had run head on into Magwitch.  
In 1948 we saw Oliver Twist.   Again the turbulent weather and bleak surroundings were the actors.   A figure of a woman is seen on the horizon walking down through the fields, in the dark, in a raging storm.   She stops now and again to catch her breath and regain her strength.   She continues her walk, clearly on a mission.   The heavy, relentless rain stops her to rest again and we see she is drenched through to the bone.   She continues to walk until startling, jagged, zigzagging lightning frightens her to pause again and we see that she is pregnant..   She trudges on until she finally sees a distant light across the fields.  She forces herself on until she reaches the swinging lantern illuminating the  words ‘Parish Workhouse’.   She pulls the bell-rope and is admitted in.   No human voice is heard at all in this introduction.
I don’t read any Charles Dickens’ books as I find them just too heartbreaking.   However, Charles Dickens was a social reformer and, in describing these appalling conditions, he helped to bring about the reform that followed in Victorian philanthropy.

The Old Toasting Fork by Adeline
I have lived in a box for many years and was so relieved when you found me and took me out of the box. It was good to know that you remembered me and times we shared in the past.
I think the first time we met each other was in a little country cottage in a small rural area in a place called Boardmills in Northern Ireland.  Your parents used to go there to stay at weekends to get away from the hustle and bustle of their busy work filled weekdays in Belfast City.
There was no oven or cooker in the cottage, only an open range with a fireplace to cook on.  I was used for toasting bread for breakfast, toasting crumpets for lunch, toasting soda bread for tea.  Even though the main meals were cooked in a big pot which hung over the fire, I came in very handy indeed for anything which needed toasting.
Sometimes I even toasted treats for you.  Do you remember the toasted marshmallows?  I’ll bet you do. They were your favourite treats.
When your family eventually packed me up in a box with other items that were no longer needed I lay there feeling unwanted for many many years. I was so happy when you found me again.  I am no longer needed for the job of toasting food, but I sit proudly on a prominent shelf in your kitchen and have become quite a talking point for family and friends when they visit.

Blog post from Rachel Sambrooks tutor for HCA Creative writing course.

Hello, I hope everyone is keeping safe and well. I’m going to be sharing some work from our group over the next few weeks and a few tips on how to keep creative when you’re stuck indoors.

The easiest ways to start writing are like anything else – just begin. But how? Some of my favourite starter exercises are so simple you don’t think it would lead to anything… but often they are a secret door to a garden of imagination (excuse the poetic licence) so why not give them a go and see where they take you –

1. One word. Write one word. Then use that word in a sentence. Then use that sentence in a paragraph.
2. Memoir. Remember a favourite place, close your eyes and imagine it for a moment, then write down what you see in your minds eye. Read it back, does it describe the place well? Are there any objects or people you remember?
3. Responding. Look out of the window and describe what you see. How does it make you feel? What can you see, hear? What do you imagine you could smell, taste, touch? You can also do this with any painting, photograph or image.

This story from Liz captures emotion very well, and I imagine if you’ve ever worked in an office you can relate!

The Lift

Louise spotted him among the morning crowd and moved fast to squeeze in behind him through the revolving door and join the crush at the elevator bank. Quelling hard down on panic, she gave a sudden vicious sideways nudge to send him flying into the ‘top floors only’ lift. She pressed level 20, doors closed and she placed herself foursquare in front of the control panel. He looked at her in shocked surprise.

‘Good morning, nice to see you. It was so nice to see you yesterday evening and several other evenings for that matter, in the Slug and Lettuce way over in the back streets, taking a resorative drink after a hard day’s work. It was interesting, too, to see Carrie Evans join you. Carrie Evans no less, Associate Partner from Carters. The two of you looked quite cosy so I wasn’t surprised to see you depart and then disappear through the hotel door further along the street. I saw you both come out an hour or so later. I don’t think our CEO would like to think of you sharing pillow talk whilst hobnobbing with the enemy. Nor would he like to think of your nice wife, who entertained us so well at the Christmas party, telling us all the cute things your little ones do and say. He is a committed family man!’ Louise smiled as his face, so close, changed from anger to fury. His fists clenched in menace.

‘Don’t touch me Leon,’ she said. ‘Blood and bruises won’t look good on me for the rest of the day. And a body found in a lift won’t do you any good either. Look, I’ll press the basement button now to please YOU, but please understand this, and understand it very, very well. You are never again to send your poisonous little barbs flying across conference tables and desks at me. Little darts full of sly put-downs and veiled accusations. The intention is to undermine me, Leon, but alas, it doesn’t. And never again are you to surreptitiously move a coffee cup from one side of the desk to the other during my absence or turn a folder upside down, or move my coat from one stand to another, or pilfer my in-tray. Because if you do, or do anything else to disturb me and stop my nice upward curve to the boardroom, I can and  will blow the whistle on you Leon and don’t you doubt it for one single moment.’

The elevator slowly slid to the basement and stopped. Doors opened. In a flash Louise pressed 0 again and with all her 5 foot nine, 10 stone of might and main plus the benefit of many karate lessons, she managed to foil his efforts to grab her. She was out of the lift in seconds before the doors closed and it started the slow upward journey again. In full panice now, she used all her fumbling fingers to press every button she could on the outside keypad, jabbing down, up, down for minutes until the elevator brain eventually scrambled and deactivated. She heard the grinding groan of the lift as it stopped between floors.

Louise took several deep breaths, steadied herself, slowed her thumping heart, stiffened her backbone and walked up towards her desk, and as she did so an almighty yelling and pounding came from the lift shaft. She smiled and took her seat at her desk.

By Angela, 3rd May 2019

The welcomed surprise of warmth in the early morning

Rays of sunshine which bring the promise of a perfect day

Crowds of excited people eagerly queuing in anticipation

Gentlemen sporting summer shirts, some wearing hats others caps

Glamourous ladies in their floral frocks, seemingly competing with the floral displays

The enormous white circus like tent which is the Grand Pavilion

An abundance of wonderful coloured blooms

Giant sized peonies and a carousel of fuchsias

A rainbow of chrysanthemums

Pink pineapples and pink bananas

Perfectly formed giant onions each one appears to be a clone of the other

Hard won gold and silver medals which have pride of place on best of the very best exhibits

Music and singing emanating from the band stand

The sound of delicate water droplets descending from a curtain waterfall

People making admiring comments about all that they see

A horticulturalist passionately explaining that plants can produce negative or positive pollen

The scented perfumery stemming from the rose garden

Cooked food reminding me that it’s time to indulge in a tasty lunch

Wonderfully flavoured thirst-quenching cocktails

Delicate wafer-thin milky chocolate covering deliciously light ice cream

Warm and happy to be able to take in the wonder of this annual spectacle

The smoothness of giant twisted abstract metal shapes

Throbbing feet that even sensible shoes could not protect after a long day

To plant some seeds to replicate a fraction of what my eyes have captured

Astonished by the imagination possessed by humans who work in concert with nature

by Angela, 17th May 2019

The island was buzzing with the impending annual holiday Blue Joy Festival, which took place at midnight every 1^st of July, the time of the full moon. This was a time of great celebration as it represented the dawn of eternal life for all the living spirits in the world be they animal or plant.

Everyone was getting themselves ready for the revelry to come. All homes in on the island were painted with bright blue colours.

People bought special clothing, new shoes, the ladies would wear skimpy party dresses the men were to wear new linen shorts or trousers. Everyone would paint their faces with blue dye.

Bakers made the annual delicacy called spirit bread, balloons and streamers adorned the streets.

Everyone left their homes at 11.30pm gathered in the centre of town which was 1 mile from Blue Joy beach in the dead of night they all lit torches and marched slowly towards the beach singing the Blue Joy ballad, “We respect all spirits we pray that they live on forever feeling no pain only existing in eternal joy”

The islanders ate, drank, sang and danced barefoot in the sand until dawn. As the giant orange sun rose in the sky they knew their work was and the spirits were pleased.

By David, 3rd May 2019

The pier and the cafes and restaurants

The Seagulls flying around and looking for chips

The air and sand, salty water

Chips and burgers

Good and happy

The jukebox and the slot machines

Good, happy, amazing, fantastic and brilliant

To go to the betting office and back the horses, win 400 quid

In Southend, came down to see my sister