Monday 31 December 2007
Sunday 23 December 2007
Saturday 15 December 2007
It's that time of year again.
Life goes up and down from day to day and week to week and often there is a feeling that it is going nowhere. So once a year I sit right down and write myself a letter.
It starts with everything I don't feel good about. Health, finance, relationships, ongoing worries and outstanding problems, things I want to do but haven't managed to get round to, as well as new problems which came up in the year but have already been dealt with. My Grandmother used to say that people under the weather need a "good dose of opening medicine", though that was for the bowels rather than the brain. Opening medicine for the brain has just as good an effect. Just dump it all onto the keyboard or paper, and feel a great sense of relief.
The next stage is to write down, under the same headings, all the things that are going well, that I can (or should) feel good about, and examples of the things I've enjoyed during the year. Strangely enough, it is often harder to be honest in this section than in the previous one, because that niggling little devil on my shoulder mocks "You're fooling yourself, it'll go nowhere". Ignore it! It knows nothing! Write down the good stuff, however tenuous!
I've reversed the traditional annual review order of "what's gone well, what's gone not so well", because I found that when I looked at my situation that way round the negatives were shouting at me while I was trying to be positive. Now I get them out of the way first with that satisfying great dump with the mental 'opening medicine', and the positives can come out from the undergrowth, some shyly, some confidently, some triumphantly.
Next comes my forward look. What would I like to achieve in the coming twelve months? NOT goals or targets, because for someone with a tendency to depression specific goals and targets can be counter-productive. The little devil on the shoulder has real fun with them - "Who are you kidding? You'll never make that!", and if they are missed, " Yah, told you so, you'll never get anywhere!". When working on this part, I inflate a meditation bubble around me which pushes the devil off my shoulder onto the floor, where I can't hear it anymore. This is positive me-time! Rather than specific measurable goals which I can beat myself up over if I miss them, I look for things that will make me feel better, with confidence that the universe will bring them. Two wonderful and totally unexpected examples from the last twelve months are this blog and our evening forays into poetry readings and story telling.
OK, we're not there yet! I print out what I have written so far, sit down with a cup of coffee and read it again and think about it. Positively. Then I go and collect the letter I wrote to myself last year (several years of them live locked away from one year's end to the next) and read through that one again. This is the magic moment, the reason for the whole exercise, because every year, however rough it has felt, there has been real progress. And where new problems have arisen, I can look back at earlier ones which have now vanished and say (saying it out loud helps!) "I cleared that, I'll clear this!" It's also good to be reminded that occasionally problems vanish of their own accord. As someone said, "My life has had many disasters, some of which actually happened!"
Then I allow myself to have another look at what I want to achieve in the next twelve months, make any revisions which the comparison exercise has stimulated, brew another cup of coffee while the final version is printing off, then sit down and read it through again. And that's it! No 'contract' with myself, no 'to-do' lists, I just take it up to the black tin box and lock it away until next year, trusting that the boys and girls in the back of my brain have got the message and, inspired by all that coffee, will get on with it!
Nadolig Llawen a Blwyddyn Newydd Ffantasteg!
Sunday 2 December 2007
LEAVING
Intuition arises
A sense
A word
Consciously aware
Of perception
Reality is larger
Encompassing
Of truth
Slices thought
Absorbing details
Threads
The space of place
Between objects
Moves insight
Culmination of all
That is
And will be
The path is written
Unless we change
To listen
To our deepest whisperings
The glimpses of stars
Silver dust
We can reach
In our dreams
Of life
Juliette Llewellyn
13/16.11.07
Hey folks! Written after our 'Journeys: Arriving' exercise the other session in response to Briony's 'Journeys: Leaving' suggestion. Am working on the other piece Ruth :-)
A sense
A word
Consciously aware
Of perception
Reality is larger
Encompassing
Of truth
Slices thought
Absorbing details
Threads
The space of place
Between objects
Moves insight
Culmination of all
That is
And will be
The path is written
Unless we change
To listen
To our deepest whisperings
The glimpses of stars
Silver dust
We can reach
In our dreams
Of life
Juliette Llewellyn
13/16.11.07
Hey folks! Written after our 'Journeys: Arriving' exercise the other session in response to Briony's 'Journeys: Leaving' suggestion. Am working on the other piece Ruth :-)
Saturday 1 December 2007
Memories of Christmas at home in Sweden
I was going to post something about the Swedish Christmases I remember, but I've been beaten to it here. Enjoy!!
The Light at The End Of The Tunnel
The Light at The End Of The Tunnel... is the light of an oncoming train...
In the interests of economy, The Light at The End Of The Tunnel is to be switched off...
Yes, but. When I was deep in depression, a good day was one when I thought that maybe one day I would perhaps see a faint light at the end of my tunnel.
And one day I did.
Don't knock it!
(Originally posted early 2006 on a blog of mine which went nowhere!)
In the interests of economy, The Light at The End Of The Tunnel is to be switched off...
Yes, but. When I was deep in depression, a good day was one when I thought that maybe one day I would perhaps see a faint light at the end of my tunnel.
And one day I did.
Don't knock it!
(Originally posted early 2006 on a blog of mine which went nowhere!)
Friday 23 November 2007
A poetic language to describe the universe
Browsing around, I've just come across an interesting article in Interactions, the Journal of the Institute of Physics. Trust me! It's on page 8.
Wednesday 21 November 2007
You are always an electron away from a proper snog
Just listened to Gwyneth Lewis's Stardust for the second time. Entrancing.
I'd be interested to know how people with no background in fundamental particles found it, but from the writer's viewpoint I loved the interweaving of the narrative and the play itself. Maybe there is a technical term for that - question for Briony next time!
Half way through the second hearing, I realised that it is a similar technique to that Dylan Thomas used in Under Milk Wood. But sorry, Dylan, I preferred Gwyneth's!
I'd be interested to know how people with no background in fundamental particles found it, but from the writer's viewpoint I loved the interweaving of the narrative and the play itself. Maybe there is a technical term for that - question for Briony next time!
Half way through the second hearing, I realised that it is a similar technique to that Dylan Thomas used in Under Milk Wood. But sorry, Dylan, I preferred Gwyneth's!
You are always an electron away from a proper snog
Just listened to Gwyneth Lewis's Stardust for the second time. Entrancing.
I'd be interested to know how people with no background in fundamental particles found it, but from the writer's viewpoint I loved the interweaving of the narrative and the play itself. Maybe there is a technical term for that - question for Briony next time!
Half way through the second hearing, I realised that it is a similar technique to that Dylan Thomas used in Under Milk Wood. But sorry, Dylan, I preferred Gwyneth's!
I'd be interested to know how people with no background in fundamental particles found it, but from the writer's viewpoint I loved the interweaving of the narrative and the play itself. Maybe there is a technical term for that - question for Briony next time!
Half way through the second hearing, I realised that it is a similar technique to that Dylan Thomas used in Under Milk Wood. But sorry, Dylan, I preferred Gwyneth's!
Thursday 15 November 2007
Wednesday 7 November 2007
Shell
Inside
I can reside
Quiet
Me
Effervescent yet free
Let others
In
Barriers slip
Wash away
Like sea
Juliette Llewellyn
06.11.07
This came to me as i was in a Cafe having a cup of tea after the class. Arose from the shell stimulus yesterday. Perhaps what i may have written if i had been unhindered by associations of polished shells!
I can reside
Quiet
Me
Effervescent yet free
Let others
In
Barriers slip
Wash away
Like sea
Juliette Llewellyn
06.11.07
This came to me as i was in a Cafe having a cup of tea after the class. Arose from the shell stimulus yesterday. Perhaps what i may have written if i had been unhindered by associations of polished shells!
Vocation, Vocation, Vocation
'Shortly before the recent Forward prizes for poetry were awarded, I was rung up by a journalist who was trying to talk to all the poets on the shortlist for best collection. She asked me why so few young people considered poetry as a career, and whether I had anything to say to those who might have it in mind. This struck me as a strange and original approach, and I replied with a laugh that poetry was more like an affliction than a career. As luck would have it, I was among the prizewinners, and the next day the Independent ran a piece headlined: "This is no way to earn a living, says prize-winning poet." '
'Poetry is an imaginative necessity for the poet, for good or ill. It provides many of the writer's greatest joys, but writing poetry is often very difficult and frustrating, while not writing it can be intolerable, and not only for the poet. Whether a poet is writing or not, a good deal of his or her time is likely to be taken up with thinking about it, remembering poems, examining rhythms, finding a way in to the next poem. In blank patches nothing you have learned seems of any help: it's as though you have woken up in a world that no longer speaks your language. Something comparable, I imagine, holds true for those working in any art form. Hence my use of the word "affliction": you have to laugh at a situation in which your work is involuntary but where, equally, you have no grounds for complaint. It's a bind of almost theological neatness.'
'Poetry is a vocation: it possesses you. So the choices are either: write poetry or go mad, or: write poetry and go mad. The attrition rate among poets is high, and even given the vocation there is no guarantee that any of what you write will prove to be good or durable. As TS Eliot said, you may have messed up your life for nothing.'
'Isn't there a danger, some might ask, of taking yourself too seriously? Fortunately, a system of checks and balances operates, guided as though by an invisible hand. For example, only last week this very newspaper represented my collection The Drowned Book, which the Forward judges described as "heart-wrenching", by reprinting a comic poem called "Drains". No danger at all, thank heaven.'
Excerpts taken from Sean O Brien's article in Review: Saturday Guardian 13.10.07
http://books.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,,2189790,00.html
'Poetry is an imaginative necessity for the poet, for good or ill. It provides many of the writer's greatest joys, but writing poetry is often very difficult and frustrating, while not writing it can be intolerable, and not only for the poet. Whether a poet is writing or not, a good deal of his or her time is likely to be taken up with thinking about it, remembering poems, examining rhythms, finding a way in to the next poem. In blank patches nothing you have learned seems of any help: it's as though you have woken up in a world that no longer speaks your language. Something comparable, I imagine, holds true for those working in any art form. Hence my use of the word "affliction": you have to laugh at a situation in which your work is involuntary but where, equally, you have no grounds for complaint. It's a bind of almost theological neatness.'
'Poetry is a vocation: it possesses you. So the choices are either: write poetry or go mad, or: write poetry and go mad. The attrition rate among poets is high, and even given the vocation there is no guarantee that any of what you write will prove to be good or durable. As TS Eliot said, you may have messed up your life for nothing.'
'Isn't there a danger, some might ask, of taking yourself too seriously? Fortunately, a system of checks and balances operates, guided as though by an invisible hand. For example, only last week this very newspaper represented my collection The Drowned Book, which the Forward judges described as "heart-wrenching", by reprinting a comic poem called "Drains". No danger at all, thank heaven.'
Excerpts taken from Sean O Brien's article in Review: Saturday Guardian 13.10.07
http://books.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,,2189790,00.html
Tuesday 6 November 2007
Keeping things simple
Quote from Sean Penn on the Today programme this morning:
"This is a one-issue world, quality of life."
Wonder if Gordon and David were listening? Probably wouldn't get it if they were...
"This is a one-issue world, quality of life."
Wonder if Gordon and David were listening? Probably wouldn't get it if they were...
Tuesday 30 October 2007
White Candle
He rummaged around the kitchen draw, fumbling in the darkness. Must be here somewhere, Mum said she always kept white candles for emergencies. Cold metallic sharp scissors slipped against his finger tips, a ball of string wound tightly, old teaspoons. Without his eyes he relied heavily on feeling. There, the smooth waxiness of a white candle nestled between some silver forks. He grabbed at it and clutched the candle in his left hand. Diving immediately back in for the box of matches which he found straight away.
The velvet darkness surrounded him. Hush had fallen about the house since the power cut half hour ago. An earthly, natural hush. Suddenly the chaotic music which had invaded the airways had stopped and now all he could hear was the gentle swish of the trees in the wind in the garden. The bright light had vanished to be replaced by a dim blackness. There was something restful within the situation. He could have sunk in to it further but he needed to read up on some work for tomorrow.
Striking a match on the box, he lit the string on the tip of the candle. The match sparked and flared briefly and the flame then quickly transferred to a slower, calmer, more resilient light form the candle. The darkness dissipated a little and he could make out the lines of the chairs in the lounge. Harsh edges rounded and softened in the light. He gently placed the candle in the nearby bottle. Wax slid from its tip, sealing its new home.
Juliette Llewellyn
16.10.07
The velvet darkness surrounded him. Hush had fallen about the house since the power cut half hour ago. An earthly, natural hush. Suddenly the chaotic music which had invaded the airways had stopped and now all he could hear was the gentle swish of the trees in the wind in the garden. The bright light had vanished to be replaced by a dim blackness. There was something restful within the situation. He could have sunk in to it further but he needed to read up on some work for tomorrow.
Striking a match on the box, he lit the string on the tip of the candle. The match sparked and flared briefly and the flame then quickly transferred to a slower, calmer, more resilient light form the candle. The darkness dissipated a little and he could make out the lines of the chairs in the lounge. Harsh edges rounded and softened in the light. He gently placed the candle in the nearby bottle. Wax slid from its tip, sealing its new home.
Juliette Llewellyn
16.10.07
Looking for Lorca 30th October 2007. I'm sitting writing this on a bench in the sun in the little orchard attached to the house where Federico García Lorca lived in Granada, Andalucía. This house, where he said he produced some of his calmest work, is now run by the local council, the Junta di Andalucia, and the visit times posted on the door bear no relation to reality. This afternoon, our coach party is booked to visit the Alhambra, and our guide has impressed on us the need to get there on time, because there is a timed traffic flow through one of the palaces and no possibility to buy an individual ticket on the day. OK, no problem. The first two tours of the Lorca house have been booked by school trips, but the third slot or the final one on the day would suit me fine.
I went into the reception office in good time, to be totally ignored by the custodian behind the counter. He was having two phone conversations at once, on a landline and a mobile. However, the “next tour” presentation folder on the desk showed my target time, still half an hour away, so I started looking through the books on display. I had hoped to find some parallel texts, English and Spanish, because my Spanish is still basic and it saves time diving into dictionaries for new words. However, they were all in just Spanish. No problem. So many nationalities visit, and it would be impossible to cater for all of us. I selected Poema del Cante Jondo, sure that I would be able to find a parallel text once I could get my fingers on a keyboard again.
Once my man saw that I wanted to buy something, he came off the phones to talk to me. I said I wanted to book a place on the next tour as well, pointing to the time on the folder. ¡Ah, no, that was not possible! He flipped the page to show me the next one, too late for my Alhambra visit. No good. So I flipped the pages to the final visit for the day, but with a shrug he turned back to what was really the final visit for the day, at a time when I would still be at the Alhambra. ¡Choices! ¿Lorca or the Alhambra?
Lorca was taken from this house on August 19th 1936 by Falange militia, driven into the countryside and murdered. He was an intellectual, a socialist and gay. What more excuse did Franco's thugs need? I suppressed unworthy thoughts about the possible ancestry of the man behind the counter, and made my decision. I will come back to Andalucía on a pilgrimage when the almond trees are in flower. I will visit Lorca's birthplace in Fuente Vaqueros, which is now the Museo Casa Natal Federico García Lorca. I will visit the place of his murder, near Víznar, and I will come back to this house, La Huerta de San Vicente, with plenty of time to find an available tour.
¡Hasta la vista!
Miguel
Looking for Lorca
30th October 2007. I'm sitting writing this on a bench in the sun in the little orchard attached to the house where Federico García Lorca lived in Granada, Andalucía. This house, where he said he produced some of his calmest work, is now run by the local council, the Junta di Andalucia, and the visit times posted on the door bear no relation to reality. This afternoon, our coach party is booked to visit the Alhambra, and our guide has impressed on us the need to get there on time, because there is a timed traffic flow through one of the palaces and no possibility to buy an individual ticket on the day. OK, no problem. The first two tours of the Lorca house have been booked by school trips, but the third slot or the final one on the day would suit me fine.
I went into the reception office in good time, to be totally ignored by the custodian behind the counter. He was having two phone conversations at once, on a landline and a mobile. However, the “next tour” presentation folder on the desk showed my target time, still half an hour away, so I started looking through the books on display. I had hoped to find some parallel texts, English and Spanish, because my Spanish is still basic and it saves time diving into dictionaries for new words. However, they were all in just Spanish. No problem. So many nationalities visit, and it would be impossible to cater for all of us. I selected Poema del Cante Jondo, sure that I would be able to find a parallel text once I could get my fingers on a keyboard again.
Once my man saw that I wanted to buy something, he came off the phones to talk to me. I said I wanted to book a place on the next tour as well, pointing to the time on the folder. ¡Ah, no, that was not possible! He flipped the page to show me the next one, too late for my Alhambra visit. No good. So I flipped the pages to the final visit for the day, but with a shrug he turned back to what was really the final visit for the day, at a time when I would still be at the Alhambra. ¡Choices! ¿Lorca or the Alhambra?
Lorca was taken from this house on August 19th 1936 by Falange militia, driven into the countryside and murdered. He was an intellectual, a socialist and gay. What more excuse did Franco's thugs need? I suppressed unworthy thoughts about the possible ancestry of the man behind the counter, and made my decision. I will come back to Andalucía on a pilgrimage when the almond trees are in flower. I will visit Lorca's birthplace in Fuente Vaqueros, which is now the Museo Casa Natal Federico García Lorca. I will visit the place of his murder, near Víznar, and I will come back to this house, La Huerta de San Vicente, with plenty of time to find an available tour.
¡Hasta la vista!
Miguel
Sunday 21 October 2007
Thursday 4 October 2007
CIRCLE
If I step into you
Is it safe to be
Will you take care
Of the essence of me
Delicate, soft
Loving and clear
Boundaries gone
Holding you near
Juliette Llewellyn
02.06.07
For National Poetry Day
Is it safe to be
Will you take care
Of the essence of me
Delicate, soft
Loving and clear
Boundaries gone
Holding you near
Juliette Llewellyn
02.06.07
For National Poetry Day
Monday 1 October 2007
Wednesday 19 September 2007
UK At Home - Writing & Photo Project
http://www.ukathome.co.uk/assignments.php
Looks an interesting project. It asks for essays written about your home to be sent in (aswell as the photos). Actually its on now!
Looks an interesting project. It asks for essays written about your home to be sent in (aswell as the photos). Actually its on now!
Saturday 8 September 2007
The Power of Putting Pen to Paper
Dr James Pennebaker, Professor of Psychology at the University of Texas, has researched the connection between writing and health. He did a study in which volunteers wrote about a traumatic event in their lives and their feelings around it. Immediately after writing about the event they felt horrible. But six months later, compared to the control groups who had written on other topics, the journal group felt better.
Prof Pennebaker findings show that writing a journal improves sleep, strengthens the immune system, decreases pain levels and lowers blood pressure. He said ‘Writing about their deepest thoughts and feelings about trauma resulted in improved moods, more positive outlook and greater physical health.’
Why journal writing should make a difference to people’s health can perhaps be explained by Petra King. She is author of the Quest For Life and Your Life Matters, and founder of the Quest For Life Centre in Bundanoon, NSW, and Australia. She has helped over 50,000 people suffering from trauma and life threatening illnesses. Our emotions are enmeshed in our bodies, Petra explains, but writing uses different neural pathways to those of emotions.’ A reaction is just a re-activation of the whole neural pathway system. Writing can make a more appropriate response rather than just reactivating it’ she says. ‘Writing gives people a safe controlled environment in which they can begin to get the energy moving of whatever it is they are feeling. Once it stops churning around inside our heads and we find the language for it, then we begin to have some power over the experience.’
When Petra was diagnosed with leukaemia at the age of 33, writing was one of the tools she used in her own recovery. ‘I was so appalled to think that anyone might see the sort of stuff that went on inside my head,’ she confesses, ‘that I had to give myself permission to burn whatever I wrote after half a page.’ She realised when she first put pen to paper and wrote and burnt those half pages just how negative, judgmental and self-critical she felt. ‘Sometimes,’ she revealed, ‘you don’t even know what it is that you are feeling, or it can be a smorgasbord of feelings: confusion, shock and fear. Writing can give us that capacity to separate them out.’
Often the people who attend her writing courses and the quest For Life Centre are unable to vocalise how they are feeling. So writing can be a safe way to explore their feelings. If someone has been abused in earlier life, writing can often enable them to find the words and feelings around the issue. So when they leave the centre at the end of the course, they are able to go home and confront a parent about what happened in their childhood and find a way of saying out loud what had been unutterable until then.
Other people have turned to the cathartic release of their journal in dealing with grief. Pam Angus-Leppan found her journal writing invaluable when she lost her husband, Peter, through illness, several years ago. They had been married for 48 years. ‘It was a very strong relationship,’ says Pam. ‘We had little need for other people, except our children.’
For six months after Peter’s death, Pam wrote for 20 minutes first thing in the morning. ‘I wrote anything that came in to my head. I talked to myself in the journal. “I feel awful, in fact, bloody. What is it exactly? Is it some specific thing?”
She slowly found that what she was thinking was in her mind rather than reality, and began to notice that the world was nicer than she thought. ‘It gave me a direction towards things that were interesting.’ At 70, she started a law degree, and now, in addition to the rigours of essay writing and exams, she goes ten pin bowling.
American Julia Cameron is author of The Artists Way, an inspirational guide for anyone wanting to unblock their creativity. Of all the tools she recommends in the book the most useful, she believes, are what she calls ‘morning pages’. These are three pages written in longhand first thing every morning. The page doesn’t need to make sense. She sees them as a way of moving through the fears that stop a person doing what they are meant to be doing.
‘I think the morning pages give us our lives,’ Julia Cameron says. ‘We go to the page and we write down this is what I wish I had more of, what I like. This is what I don’t like, what I wish I had less of. I have to call my sister back. I need to buy kitty litter. None of this looks like it has a lot to do with art, but these are the things in between us and being present in our lives.’
She believes that morning pages make them able to see what is going on around them, instead of just ‘watching their inner movie’. One Australian woman remarked to her: ‘Julia, I was perfectly happy drunk in the outback, then I started doing morning pages and now I’m a Hollywood scriptwriter.’
The Artists Way was written to help blocked artists. But the book has reached s afar more wider audience and has been an invaluable resource for people facing such diverse challenges as getting divorced, or dealing with illness. She describes the book as being a bridge for many people, ‘I don’t think you can divide spiritual energy from creative energy,’ she says. ‘They are the same thing. You can’t divide creative energy from your health energy.’
Jacqueline Murphy teaches writing for storyworks Australia, and uses writing to help businesses bring their visions in to being. She sees morning pages as a non-rational, non-mental approach to writing. It’s about keeping the pen moving and it doesn’t need to make sense or have a plot. ‘I think it’s a kind of release,’ she says, ‘I love the empty feeling you get from it.’
Journal writing is something she sees as being more rational, more of an enquiry in to herself, and what the burning issues are for her that day. It is also a way to strategise, says Jacqueline. ‘I think its one of the most beautiful things you can do for yourself. It’s a very private, intimate relationship with yourself. It’s a way of valuing yourself, and all sorts of wonderful thins arrive out of it, such as insights, ideas and plans. It makes you more conscious.’
Both mediums, she finds, give her a deeper understanding and acceptance of herself and her emotions, and enables her to express herself more clearly in both the spoken and written word.
Excerpt from: The Power of Putting Pen to Paper
Rosamund Burton
Kindred Spirit Magazine May/June 2007
Prof Pennebaker findings show that writing a journal improves sleep, strengthens the immune system, decreases pain levels and lowers blood pressure. He said ‘Writing about their deepest thoughts and feelings about trauma resulted in improved moods, more positive outlook and greater physical health.’
Why journal writing should make a difference to people’s health can perhaps be explained by Petra King. She is author of the Quest For Life and Your Life Matters, and founder of the Quest For Life Centre in Bundanoon, NSW, and Australia. She has helped over 50,000 people suffering from trauma and life threatening illnesses. Our emotions are enmeshed in our bodies, Petra explains, but writing uses different neural pathways to those of emotions.’ A reaction is just a re-activation of the whole neural pathway system. Writing can make a more appropriate response rather than just reactivating it’ she says. ‘Writing gives people a safe controlled environment in which they can begin to get the energy moving of whatever it is they are feeling. Once it stops churning around inside our heads and we find the language for it, then we begin to have some power over the experience.’
When Petra was diagnosed with leukaemia at the age of 33, writing was one of the tools she used in her own recovery. ‘I was so appalled to think that anyone might see the sort of stuff that went on inside my head,’ she confesses, ‘that I had to give myself permission to burn whatever I wrote after half a page.’ She realised when she first put pen to paper and wrote and burnt those half pages just how negative, judgmental and self-critical she felt. ‘Sometimes,’ she revealed, ‘you don’t even know what it is that you are feeling, or it can be a smorgasbord of feelings: confusion, shock and fear. Writing can give us that capacity to separate them out.’
Often the people who attend her writing courses and the quest For Life Centre are unable to vocalise how they are feeling. So writing can be a safe way to explore their feelings. If someone has been abused in earlier life, writing can often enable them to find the words and feelings around the issue. So when they leave the centre at the end of the course, they are able to go home and confront a parent about what happened in their childhood and find a way of saying out loud what had been unutterable until then.
Other people have turned to the cathartic release of their journal in dealing with grief. Pam Angus-Leppan found her journal writing invaluable when she lost her husband, Peter, through illness, several years ago. They had been married for 48 years. ‘It was a very strong relationship,’ says Pam. ‘We had little need for other people, except our children.’
For six months after Peter’s death, Pam wrote for 20 minutes first thing in the morning. ‘I wrote anything that came in to my head. I talked to myself in the journal. “I feel awful, in fact, bloody. What is it exactly? Is it some specific thing?”
She slowly found that what she was thinking was in her mind rather than reality, and began to notice that the world was nicer than she thought. ‘It gave me a direction towards things that were interesting.’ At 70, she started a law degree, and now, in addition to the rigours of essay writing and exams, she goes ten pin bowling.
American Julia Cameron is author of The Artists Way, an inspirational guide for anyone wanting to unblock their creativity. Of all the tools she recommends in the book the most useful, she believes, are what she calls ‘morning pages’. These are three pages written in longhand first thing every morning. The page doesn’t need to make sense. She sees them as a way of moving through the fears that stop a person doing what they are meant to be doing.
‘I think the morning pages give us our lives,’ Julia Cameron says. ‘We go to the page and we write down this is what I wish I had more of, what I like. This is what I don’t like, what I wish I had less of. I have to call my sister back. I need to buy kitty litter. None of this looks like it has a lot to do with art, but these are the things in between us and being present in our lives.’
She believes that morning pages make them able to see what is going on around them, instead of just ‘watching their inner movie’. One Australian woman remarked to her: ‘Julia, I was perfectly happy drunk in the outback, then I started doing morning pages and now I’m a Hollywood scriptwriter.’
The Artists Way was written to help blocked artists. But the book has reached s afar more wider audience and has been an invaluable resource for people facing such diverse challenges as getting divorced, or dealing with illness. She describes the book as being a bridge for many people, ‘I don’t think you can divide spiritual energy from creative energy,’ she says. ‘They are the same thing. You can’t divide creative energy from your health energy.’
Jacqueline Murphy teaches writing for storyworks Australia, and uses writing to help businesses bring their visions in to being. She sees morning pages as a non-rational, non-mental approach to writing. It’s about keeping the pen moving and it doesn’t need to make sense or have a plot. ‘I think it’s a kind of release,’ she says, ‘I love the empty feeling you get from it.’
Journal writing is something she sees as being more rational, more of an enquiry in to herself, and what the burning issues are for her that day. It is also a way to strategise, says Jacqueline. ‘I think its one of the most beautiful things you can do for yourself. It’s a very private, intimate relationship with yourself. It’s a way of valuing yourself, and all sorts of wonderful thins arrive out of it, such as insights, ideas and plans. It makes you more conscious.’
Both mediums, she finds, give her a deeper understanding and acceptance of herself and her emotions, and enables her to express herself more clearly in both the spoken and written word.
Excerpt from: The Power of Putting Pen to Paper
Rosamund Burton
Kindred Spirit Magazine May/June 2007
Saturday 18 August 2007
Auguste Rodin: The Earth & The Moon 1898-99
Large rugged white rock. Stands solid. Two figures, one male, one female. Gently entwined heads touching, almost asleep. Their bodies naked. The man's right arm stretched over his head and his face resting on the woman's flowing hair, which spreads throughout the rock. Her arm blocking his legs and her right leg curled upwards just tucked behind her left ankle. Smooth polished bodies sculpted in to rough chipped white glistening marble.
Where did the stone come from?
How did he make the shapes of the bodies?
How is the stone so smooth?
Why are they naked?
Who is the woman?
Who is the man?
What is their relationship?
Are they in love?
Have they kissed?
Are they asleep?
Why is she blocking him a little?
When did they live?
Why do they care for each other?
How long did it take to make?
Why is it here?
Were they real people?
Are they fantasy?
Do they exist?
Why is it unfinished?
Why are only half their bodies showing?
Was it sculpted from memory?
Who was it for?
Where was it put when finished?
Why is it so famous?
Does the artist like it?
How do you lift it?
Is it very heavy?
Is it cold?
Does it feel hard?
Can i have one at home?
Why does the stone glisten?
Why do i like it?
Why is the man floating?
Why is her hair so long?
Does he love her?
Will they always be close?
Will i ever know?
Juliette Llewellyn
16.08.07
The Davies Sisters Exhibition: National Museum of Wales
http://www.museumwales.ac.uk/en/106/
Where did the stone come from?
How did he make the shapes of the bodies?
How is the stone so smooth?
Why are they naked?
Who is the woman?
Who is the man?
What is their relationship?
Are they in love?
Have they kissed?
Are they asleep?
Why is she blocking him a little?
When did they live?
Why do they care for each other?
How long did it take to make?
Why is it here?
Were they real people?
Are they fantasy?
Do they exist?
Why is it unfinished?
Why are only half their bodies showing?
Was it sculpted from memory?
Who was it for?
Where was it put when finished?
Why is it so famous?
Does the artist like it?
How do you lift it?
Is it very heavy?
Is it cold?
Does it feel hard?
Can i have one at home?
Why does the stone glisten?
Why do i like it?
Why is the man floating?
Why is her hair so long?
Does he love her?
Will they always be close?
Will i ever know?
Juliette Llewellyn
16.08.07
The Davies Sisters Exhibition: National Museum of Wales
http://www.museumwales.ac.uk/en/106/
Friday 17 August 2007
blue notebook
feels like an essential part of an ongoing transformation process.
lists and jotted ideas as they come to me
the size is important as it forces me to condense ideas to a few most important words
i began carrying a small notebook about four years ago as i found myself frustrated and tired from repeating ideas over and over in my head so as not to forget them.
sometimes a phrase or idea or memory or new understanding feels intensely important at the time and i feel such a buzz of excitement when i make a note of it - though on reflection at calmer times it can lose its urgency but at other times i am delighted to be reminded of a certain train of thought and may go on to expand on it further.
when i started carrying a notebook i was seeing a psychologist and i found that after stirring up thoughts and feeling with him new understandings would occassionally occur to me at unexpected moments and it seemed useful to capture them - mainly for my own use but sometimes as an area in which to start the next time i met up with him. i suppose i sort of saw it as my ''homework'' and feel i was continuing to ''work'' on things in between sessions to make as many useful changes as possible as speedily as possible. although at the time some notes seem essential i usually find that i absorb the insights over time and can end up feeling fine about throwing used pages away.
i suppose in a way it feels like a friend to confide in at any time i sit and think and feels like a symbol of trying to make positive changes, depending on myself rather than always needing someone else involved in the process.
sometimes the actual process where i put ideas into solid words has been essential as it can make me focus more clearly on choosing each word and phrase carefully and in doing that i have sometimes made exciting new links on the page as i make notes.
lists and jotted ideas as they come to me
the size is important as it forces me to condense ideas to a few most important words
i began carrying a small notebook about four years ago as i found myself frustrated and tired from repeating ideas over and over in my head so as not to forget them.
sometimes a phrase or idea or memory or new understanding feels intensely important at the time and i feel such a buzz of excitement when i make a note of it - though on reflection at calmer times it can lose its urgency but at other times i am delighted to be reminded of a certain train of thought and may go on to expand on it further.
when i started carrying a notebook i was seeing a psychologist and i found that after stirring up thoughts and feeling with him new understandings would occassionally occur to me at unexpected moments and it seemed useful to capture them - mainly for my own use but sometimes as an area in which to start the next time i met up with him. i suppose i sort of saw it as my ''homework'' and feel i was continuing to ''work'' on things in between sessions to make as many useful changes as possible as speedily as possible. although at the time some notes seem essential i usually find that i absorb the insights over time and can end up feeling fine about throwing used pages away.
i suppose in a way it feels like a friend to confide in at any time i sit and think and feels like a symbol of trying to make positive changes, depending on myself rather than always needing someone else involved in the process.
sometimes the actual process where i put ideas into solid words has been essential as it can make me focus more clearly on choosing each word and phrase carefully and in doing that i have sometimes made exciting new links on the page as i make notes.
Monday 13 August 2007
Blogger's block?
It's not easy to get into the habit of sharing our ideas on a blog, even a private one like this, but I just came across http://www.lifeclever.com/10-tips-for-beating-bloggers-block/
I haven't checked out the list of resources yet - it's a little late for that at just gone midnight, but they look intriguing...
Enjoy!
Michael
I haven't checked out the list of resources yet - it's a little late for that at just gone midnight, but they look intriguing...
Enjoy!
Michael
Thursday 9 August 2007
Extract 2: Ghost Writing - Hilary Mantel
'...For some years i lived in Africa, in Botswana, and people there used to say that to see ghosts you need to look out of the corner of your eyes. If you turn on them in a direct gaze, then, like Eurydice, they vanish.
The whole process of creativity is like that. The writer often doesn't know, consciously, what gods she invokes or what myths she's retelling. Orpheus is a figure of all artists, and Eurydice is his inspiration. She is what he goes into the dark to seek. He is the conscious mind, with its mastery of skill and craft, its faculty of ordering, selecting, making rational and persuasive; she is the subconscious mind, driven by disorder, fuelled by obscure desires, brimming with promises that perhaps she won't keep, with promises of revelation, fantasies of empowerment and knowledge. What she offers is fleeting, tenuous, hard to hold. She makes us stand on the brink of the unknown with our hand stretched out into the dark. Mostly, we just touch her fingertips and she vanishes. She is the dream that seems charged with meaning, that vanishes as soon as we try to describe it. She is the unsayable thing we are always trying to say. She is the memory that slips away as you try to grasp it. Just when you've got it, you haven't got it. She won't bear the light of day. She gets to the threshold and she falters. You want her too much, and by wanting her you destroy her.
As a writer, as an artist, your effects constantly elude you. You have a glimpse, an inspiration, you write a paragraph and you think it's there, but when you read back, it's not there. Every picture painted, every opera composed, every book that is written, is the ghost of the possibilities that were in the artist's head. Art brings back the dead, but it also makes perpetual mourners of us all. Nothing lasts: that's what Apollo, the father of Orpheus, sings to him in Monteverdi's opera. In Opera North's staging, the god took a handkerchief from his pocket, licked it, and tenderly cleaned his child's tear-stained face.'
Taken from Ghost Writing - Hilary Mantel
Guardian Review 28.07.08
http://arts.guardian.co.uk/edinburgh2007/story/0,,2136374,00.html
The whole process of creativity is like that. The writer often doesn't know, consciously, what gods she invokes or what myths she's retelling. Orpheus is a figure of all artists, and Eurydice is his inspiration. She is what he goes into the dark to seek. He is the conscious mind, with its mastery of skill and craft, its faculty of ordering, selecting, making rational and persuasive; she is the subconscious mind, driven by disorder, fuelled by obscure desires, brimming with promises that perhaps she won't keep, with promises of revelation, fantasies of empowerment and knowledge. What she offers is fleeting, tenuous, hard to hold. She makes us stand on the brink of the unknown with our hand stretched out into the dark. Mostly, we just touch her fingertips and she vanishes. She is the dream that seems charged with meaning, that vanishes as soon as we try to describe it. She is the unsayable thing we are always trying to say. She is the memory that slips away as you try to grasp it. Just when you've got it, you haven't got it. She won't bear the light of day. She gets to the threshold and she falters. You want her too much, and by wanting her you destroy her.
As a writer, as an artist, your effects constantly elude you. You have a glimpse, an inspiration, you write a paragraph and you think it's there, but when you read back, it's not there. Every picture painted, every opera composed, every book that is written, is the ghost of the possibilities that were in the artist's head. Art brings back the dead, but it also makes perpetual mourners of us all. Nothing lasts: that's what Apollo, the father of Orpheus, sings to him in Monteverdi's opera. In Opera North's staging, the god took a handkerchief from his pocket, licked it, and tenderly cleaned his child's tear-stained face.'
Taken from Ghost Writing - Hilary Mantel
Guardian Review 28.07.08
http://arts.guardian.co.uk/edinburgh2007/story/0,,2136374,00.html
Extract 1: Ghost Writing - Hilary Mantel
'I have written a memoir called Giving Up the Ghost, which is about my own childhood, but also about my ancestors and children who were never born, and about the ghosts we all have in our lives: the ghosts of possibility, the paths we didn't take, and the choices we didn't make, and expectations, which seemed perfectly valid at the time, but which somehow or other weren't fulfilled. I describe ghosts like this: "They are the rags and tags of everyday life, information you acquire that you don't know what to do with, knowledge that you can't process; they're cards thrown out of your card index, blots on the page."
As a historical novelist, I'm a great user of card indexes. I like to write about people who really lived, and try to wake them up from their long trance, and make them walk on the page. When you stand on the verge of a new narrative, when you have picked your character, you stretch out your hand in the dark and you don't know who or what will take it. You become profoundly involved in this effort to clothe old bones. '
Taken from Ghost Writing - Hilary Mantel
The Guardian Review 28.07.08
http://arts.guardian.co.uk/edinburgh2007/story/0,,2136374,00.html
As a historical novelist, I'm a great user of card indexes. I like to write about people who really lived, and try to wake them up from their long trance, and make them walk on the page. When you stand on the verge of a new narrative, when you have picked your character, you stretch out your hand in the dark and you don't know who or what will take it. You become profoundly involved in this effort to clothe old bones. '
Taken from Ghost Writing - Hilary Mantel
The Guardian Review 28.07.08
http://arts.guardian.co.uk/edinburgh2007/story/0,,2136374,00.html
Friday 3 August 2007
Inspiration everywhere, if we detach
A battle was raging all across the playroom. Transformer robots clashed on the ground and in the air as the commander, grandson Sandro, marshalled first one side then the other, changing tactics depending on where the combatants ended up after each sally. Now and again, he would stop the action to explain patiently to me what was happening. The sides were Goodies and Baddies, of course, and the Goodies don't always win. However, although people were being zapped, powed and destroyed all over the place, everyone recovered in time for the next battle. No bodybags here. Intrigued by his even-handedness between Goodies and Baddies, I asked him which he was, Goody or Baddy. With one of those withering looks that only a five-year old can produce, he explained, “Neither. I'm not here!”
How about that as a slogan for a writer! “I'm not here!”. Totally involved in the plot but detached from it as well, letting the characters build the action and writing down their fascinating history as it unfolds, building the tension by accepting that the Baddies win for much of the time!
And it's great to know that he isn't a committed goody-goody...
Friday 27 July 2007
Unity
Together as one
We unite
We collide
Collaborating many
Until we decide
Upon a direction
An open slide
Over the edge
And into the wide
Abyss of universe
Galaxy pride
Together as one
We ride
Juliette Llewellyn
03/03/05
We unite
We collide
Collaborating many
Until we decide
Upon a direction
An open slide
Over the edge
And into the wide
Abyss of universe
Galaxy pride
Together as one
We ride
Juliette Llewellyn
03/03/05
Thursday 26 July 2007
Hello & Welcome!
Hi Sarah, Ruth, Chris, Mike, Michael & Monica!
Here we are! Our creative writing blog space!
Just post as & when you wish & at your own pace. Any questions let me know and i'll try to help....
Otherwise Happy Creative Blogging!
Take care, Juliette
Here we are! Our creative writing blog space!
Just post as & when you wish & at your own pace. Any questions let me know and i'll try to help....
Otherwise Happy Creative Blogging!
Take care, Juliette
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