The end of an era

Writing is very much a "solo" activity and I've always been grateful for the support of my writing friends and the groups to which I've belonged. But in the activity itself I've always had company from my dogs, my long-suffering pets who, time and again, have heard me read aloud lines or passages I've been struggling with, who have walked miles with me as I've planned projects and mulled over ideas, who have sat at my feet as I worked at the desk. Three days ago I had to say goodbye to Megan, my companion of nearly fifteen years; it really feels like the end of an era.

"Dear Diary ..."

Traditional diary keeping - with pen and notebook - has apparently declined dramatically in recent years with so many people choosing to record the events, thoughts and feelings they would previously have consigned to paper by electronic means instead. And sometimes, over the past thirty odd years, I've wondered why I've been faithfully recording so ordinary a life in some detail several times a week anyway. But this week, as I've been immersed in a mammoth sort out and clear up of things, I've been really glad that I did scribble down the minutiae of that life - in retrospect it makes fascinating reading!

But it's not just been a nostalgia trip, leafing through those pages. Obviously from the point of view of writing memoir it's invaluable to have contemporary documentation, rather than having to rely on memories which are so easily distorted by the passage of time. But all sorts of ideas have been sparked off for fiction and poetry too - for example, for a short story set in the 1980s the references to events and personalities in the news, comments made about the political situation (unrepeatable opinions voiced concerning a certain Prime Minister!) ... there's plenty there from which to create an authentic background. And people have been resurrected from those pages, people to whom I've not given much thought in a long time but who may well form the basis of forthcoming characters. It's made me think too about using a diary format for a fictional piece I have in mind, and renewed my interest in writing up several long-distance walks I've done (all duly recorded and photographed). So there's more than enough to get the year underway!

Welcome 2018

Having really looked forward to it this year, Christmas proved memorable for all the wrong reasons, so the turn of the year came as something of a relief. Major traumas can so easily derail future plans and projects but I felt very heartened by this quote I came across this morning -

Lift up your eyes upon

the day breaking for you.

Give birth again 

to the dream.

Maya Angelou 

I do hope that the day and the year breaking for you is happy and fulfilling. 

Christmas greetings

Whether or not you hung up a stocking last night, whether or not you celebrate Christmas, after a year that has seen so much national and international tragedy and sadness I hope that this season brings us all what we need the most - peace, friendship, comfort and companionship, and the determination to make them last.

The Writer's Room

I always find it's good in the run-up to Christmas to have some other things to take your mind off the  the turkey, cards still not written, presents not yet bought! This has certainly been a busy week, with an interesting session on Thursday at Corinium Radio, being interviewed by Rona Laycock about "Digging Up The Family" for an edition of The Writer's Room to be aired on New Year's day. If you're in the land of the living after your New Year celebrations, you can hear the programme on-line (www.coriniumradio.co.uk) at 2pm, with repeats on January 3rd and 5th at the same time.

Now, however, it's 10pm on Christmas Eve, so if the turkey doesn't get some attention and the presents don't get wrapped ...

In the bleak midwinter?

As I said in my previous post, I could do without winter - and quite happily hibernate from autumn to spring!  But I think even hibernating animals wake occasionally, and I'd certainly rouse myself for Christmas get-togethers - it's good to have the opportunity for catch-ups with people you rarely see during the rest of the year.

One Christmas get-together we've already had this year was last Friday's New Bohemians party night. I haven't been able to make many of their sessions this year and it was a most enjoyable evening. Seasonal music, mulled wine and mince pies and some hugely entertaining limericks about poets written and performed by Robin Gilbert and Roger Turner really got us into the mood; David Clarke's poetry quiz both amused and floored us - OK, we all knew the author of the excerpt from "A Child's Christmas In Wales", but would you recognise a picture of Sharon Olds wearing a Father Christmas outfit?! Some great contributions in the open mic as always. New Bohemians goes from strength to strength and next year's programme sounds really promising too. 

Robin limericking

A seasonally decked Alison Brackenbury

The weekend brought my pet hates of the winter through - thick snow and freezing temperatures. Perhaps you heard Helen Mort on Radio 4 yesterday talking about seasonal poetry and why snow in particular has inspired so many poets (myself included - see below!). After the coldest night of the year here and pavements like ice rinks outside this morning, I think I'm hunkering down for the day; there's more than enough work on the desk. 

Child's Play

Mouldering leaves beneath

fog smothered lamps,

snow shrouded streets, 

ponds in rigor mortis - 

winter is trigger-happy,

a small boy pointing a stick,

"Bang, bang - you're dead!"

But, come the spring,

it's time to go home for tea.

His victims jump up, resurrected,

laughing at the absurd game

he won't play again

until next December.

(Copyright Gill Garrett 2015)

"It was a dark and stormy night ..."

For a variety of reasons I'm rarely able to perform with our local Community Players these days, but I do miss "treading the boards" and I always try to support the group's productions. Each December they have a seasonal revue and raise funds for local charities; the event has been running for nearly twenty years now and is a highlight in the Charlton Kings calendar. Last night's was terrific - a full house, an appreciative audience and a great line up of acts.

Once upon a time ...

Whilst I thoroughly enjoyed the music that was played and the poems that were read, it was the stories that really caught my imagination. And they started me thinking of all the people who, over centuries, have sat around on cold winter nights, weaving magic with tales of ghosts and griefs, love and longing, heroism and homesickness. Last night we were sitting in a dark church hall with rain lashing the windows; I don't doubt that our ancestors, probably sitting by fires in caves, predators prowling in the blackness outside, were equally enthralled, moved, frightened and amused by the story-tellers of their time! There's something very special about the tradition of oral story-telling.

Whilst I've been typing this, it's started to snow quite heavily. Again this year my garden has seemed confused by autumn and the onset of winter - I've had primroses out since November and a fine crop of buds on the tree just outside the study window. Winter isn't my favourite season and a bit of a spring preview certainly cheers me along, but I just hope that these premature visitors will survive through the worst of what's to come!