Tag Archives: ideas

Maiden, Mother, Crone – The Silent Eye Weekend Part 1

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When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.’

I should have expected it, really. It was, after all, a Silent Eye weekend, and I knew from the previous one I’d attended that the themes and ideas would reveal themselves gradually, and in different ways. Last time, for me at least, it was all about emotion – Joy, Sorrow, Awakening. This time, on a weekend entitled Maiden, Mother, Crone, I thought that the energy I’d feel would be feminine. But it was interesting how this seemed to spill beyond the stones to everyday life, to a larger question that is becoming more relevant in our current society – the role of women.

I am a feminist. Of course I am. To me, feminism is about equality. About women having equal access to the liberties and choices afforded to men. Equal pay, equal rights, access to education, to birth control, to travel, to liberty. To a balance in society where each gender is given the chance to reach their full potential, whatever it may be. For so very long now, women have been relegated. To wife of, daughter of, sister of, mother of, as though our worth were somehow intrinsically bound to the men in our lives. Women go to the same universities, take the same degrees, chase the same qualifications, work at the same companies as men. Yet, somehow, we are lesser. We are expected (regardless of whether we want to or are able to) at some point to give it all up to have children, to ‘just get pregnant and leave’ as though recovery from the rigours of pregnancy and childbirth while caring for a tiny helpless child is some sort of lifestyle choice, the ultimate expression of our womanhood and all we are destined for.

I realise, too, that I speak from a place of privilege. That I do have choice in most things. However, there are many others who do not and so, while such imbalance exists, it is up to us to speak out. Our voices are louder now than they have been for thousands of years and with that, perhaps, comes hope. Hope for change, and for balance, another theme revealed on the weekend which, even though I’d only been in Scotland a few hours, had already begun to work its magic.

When I arrived at my hotel in Inverurie I was very early; far too early, I thought, for my room to be ready. But the cheerful woman at reception was more than happy to help me, bringing me a drink and telling me I could get into my room in about fifteen minutes. Having been up since 4:30am to catch my flight, this was welcome news. I had a small amount of time before I had to meet the group, so thought I’d have some lunch and a rest before heading out.

A sleek grey pamphlet caught my eye. ‘Room Twenty One’ it read. It turned out to be a small spa in the hotel and, when I was informed I got a discount for staying there, I decided to book a short massage to relieve the tension of the flight and, also, let’s be honest, as an indulgence.

The young woman who massaged me was friendly and talkative and, I discovered, the best friend of the woman who had checked me in, who turned out to be the daughter of the family who owned the hotel. She was also a single mother and had been offered the job by her friend, enabling her to work around school hours. (Later I heard them talking, her friend asking if her children were all right to be collected from school, her concern gentle and genuine.) Our conversation soon moved to the larger idea of women in society, and how difficult it was to find meaningful work around school hours and childcare, that businesses were missing an opportunity to give educated committed women a chance to work again, even with reduced hours. She spoke of her sister, who had two degrees but was working in a corner shop while her children grew up. She said she was wasted there, far too intelligent, and that she hoped she would get to write the book she’d always wanted to, now her children were getting older. I said I hoped she would too.

When the treatment ended we both expressed how nice it had been to talk, and she wished me a pleasant stay in Inverurie. I went back to my room, got myself ready, and headed out into the grey afternoon to meet the group. I dressed in wet weather gear, carrying spare boots and an extra jacket. We had been promised ‘an introduction to the weekend’, but beyond that no one, except our guides, knew what to expect.…

If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

Storycatcher

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Inside me, stories wait.

I can plunge my hand in and stir them up, like brown leaves dancing in water.

But I cannot catch them, for if I try they grow wings like starlings and fly, scattering beyond my reach.

Instead I must wait, patient, like the fisherman.

Let my fingers tickle the water, rather than plunging in.

My heart open,

Hoping

That one will slide into my open hand

And decide to stay, for a while.

If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me on Twitter @AuthorHelenJ,  Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest. Plus my latest book release, A Thousand Rooms, is now available on Amazon. Visit my Amazon Author Page to see more.

30 Day Blog Challenge – Day Twelve – Out Of Control

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dreaming-of-a-holidayIt’s day twelve of the 30 Day Writing Challenge, and today’s prompt is: Out Of Control.

And I have nothing. Nada. Bupkus. Zilch. I’m out. Christmas burnout? I’m not sure. I do have a lot of other ideas running around in my mind at the moment, but none of them really fit the brief. I did get a couple of sentences, a few flashes of idea, but nothing that really had legs.Wherever ideas come from isn’t sending anything new my way today.

Technical difficulties beyond my control – normal service to resume shortly.

…

Huh. Maybe I did have something, after all ;-D

Walking It Out

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The path beckons...

The path beckons…

I like to walk.

I walk every day, through choice as much as necessity (we are a one car family) and, unless it’s really raining, I enjoy the fresh air and exercise. The gorgeous girl and I walk to her school every day – we play word games and look at the world around us, watching snails sliding along brick walls, flowers blooming and changing, cats and dogs and birds and butterflies. It’s a lovely part of my day and I feel very fortunate to be able to do it. And on the way back, when I’m alone, I relish the opportunity to let my thoughts out to play. I’m exercising my body but also my mind – it’s amazing how many key plot twists or character conundrums I’ve been able to solve simply by walking along, not thinking necessarily hard about the idea, but just letting it flow with my steps. There is a type of meditative walking you can do, where you tie your breathing to the steps so that you are present in the moment – I haven’t tried it, mainly because I’m worried I’ll drift into the road or something, but I like to think that what I do sometimes is similar.

So as a writer, walking is very good for me. I recently wrote a short story inspired by an unusual porch light I noticed on one of my walks, and much of the woodland feel of my Ambeth Chronicles comes from walking through forested lanes as the seasons changed around me. It’s also good if you’re feeling a bit low. Sometimes I wonder why I’m writing, especially if a rejection comes through, but then I walk and remember that I write for the joy of writing itself, of telling these marvellous stories that keep appearing in my mind.

You could argue that working from home as I do gives me more opportunity to walk but it’s something I’ve always done. When I worked full time in an office I always incorporated a walk into my day, whether to or from work (when I could) or, if I was too far from home, using my lunch break to get out and explore the neighbourhood, taking my mind away from the computer screen for a little while.

And that’s another point. When I say walking, I don’t mean wandering along scrolling through Facebook or checking emails or satellite positions or whatever it is those people are doing (you know the people I mean). The ones who walk along holding their phone out in front of them as though it’s some sort of guidance system, leading them to where they need to go. Sure, sometimes I might stop and check for an email if I’m expecting something, but for the most part when I’m walking I’m more interested in what I can see around me, the people I’m with and the ideas in my head. I carry a notepad and pen to jot things down, and then I just let things happen.

So if you’re stuck in the plot, or just need to clear your headspace, go outside and walk it out.

This post, minus a few alterations, was originally published in July 2014, back in the dim dark days when no-one ever came to visit my blog. The sentiments still ring true, and so I thought I’d dig it out, give it a polish, and share with you again. 🙂

Fragments

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Words fly away. At least, that’s how it feels once I get them on the page. Until then they bounce around in my head, solid fully-formed sentences waiting to be let out. I walk home with them, go out with them, wake up with them – I have no control over when they arrive. All I can do is turn them over again and again, placating them until I can get to a place where they can be set free. Once written, they dissipate, gossamer, ethereal, and I cannot truly recall them again. Only by reading am I reminded.

I’ve been reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic, and in one section she talks about how it feels when you get an idea. She references a poet, Ruth Stone, who said that she could feel the ideas coming towards her, galloping across the fields, and she had to be ready to catch them and write them down. Quite magical, really. And that’s how these sentences feel when they come to me – captured ideas that I have to write down and set loose again, like unruly children bouncing around, knocking at the doors of my mind and demanding to go outside.

Another favourite author of mine is the late great Douglas Adams. His posthumous release, The Salmon Of Doubt, is a collection of writing collated from his notes over the years, including an unfinished Dirk Gently novel. Some are excellent, especially his account of two dogs he used to meet on his daily walks. Many of them are fragments. Ideas that come and demand to be written down. I have a folder of them myself – I imagine most writers do. Partially finished stories, some still holding the magic potential to grow and become fully fledged, other just bits and thoughts and dreams. All of them have one thing in common – they demanded to be written.

This blog, also, is a collection of fragments. And this is today’s.

Unearthing Ideas

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Where do ideas come from? Ambeth was inspired, as I’ve said before, by something that happened to me when I was a child. But it has grown and evolved, the characters telling me things and taking me down paths I didn’t realise were there, and I’ve learnt to sit back and let them tell the story, my fingers mere conduits on the keyboard for what they wish to say. I’ve a few other ideas floating around – a house full of leaks, a glimpse of something in the Thames, a porcelain cap for my tooth, a dead woman – they are all jumping off points for other stories that are still percolating in my brain, waiting to come out.

I’ve heard the feeling of finishing a story being described as ‘entering open water’ – heading out to sea. But for me the analogy that rang true immediately came from the great Stephen King. He described finding a story as ‘unearthing a fossil,’ and as soon as I read those words I could see mine. Can still see them, poking out from the forest floor, delicate carapaces of bone or polished wood, it’s hard to tell as I unearth even more of them. Three are now clear of the ground, the stories complete, just a bit of polishing required. The others are still offering up new discoveries, new aspects every time I look at them, whether it is a change of only a few words or a whole new idea. But the important thing is that I keep looking at them, keep exploring the angles, the nooks and crevices, until the job is done, the story told.

Perhaps it is something to do with the way a writer’s brain works. That we can take a single small event, or notice something strange while out for a walk and spin from them a story. Ideas are everywhere, if you care to look for them.

Night Scribbles

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I woke last night with a half formed idea for a blog in my head. Something about rejection and happy thoughts and yet acknowledging it was tough yada yada.

I tossed and turned and mumbled about it, then went back to sleep, a smile on my lips, certain I had a nice post for this morning. But when I woke up the idea that had seemed so good at whatever-o-clock in the night now felt kind of silly. And the thoughts that had held it together and made it seem workable were breaking apart, like tatters of silk in the wind.

A friend once said to me ‘Go to sleep on a question, wake with an answer.’ This is actually a pretty good way to address things sometimes – it’s certainly worked for me with several character issues I’ve had. One character, who I had written as quite awful, had been whispering in my ear, insisting he wasn’t that bad, that he had reasons to be the way he was. And he was right.

But then how could I justify him doing ‘the very bad thing’ he  needed to do in order for the plot to turn out the way it did? For there was no way around that – I’d thought on it for weeks and there was no other option. So I went to sleep, keeping the idea in my head, and when I woke the answer was there. I suppose you could say this is a form of mindfulness, of targeted thinking with a desired result, and so that’s why it worked.

The tatters and rag-tag ends of ideas that come to us, unbidden, in the night are quite different. Some of them are excellent and worth keeping, while others, like my post, are not. I have on occasion woke with fully formed sentences wanting to be written down, or characters insisting to speak. But for the most part they are things like this classic Tumblr post, which always makes me laugh.

So how about you? Have you had an amazing idea for a story arrive in the middle of the night? I do confess I keep a notebook next to my bed, just in case inspiration strikes. But for the most part it is rag-ends and bobtails, disappearing like mist as the sun rises.