Drawing attention to poetry

Adding further weight to the argument that Corby is the go-to place around here for unexpected arts events, I was at the town's theatre last night, The Core at Corby Cube, for an event organised by the Northamptonshire Children's Book Group, a branch of the Federation of Children's Book Groups*.

Author and illustrator Chris Riddell, former Children's Laureate, was in town promoting his new anthology, Poems to Fall in Love With. He was already in situ as the audience rolled in, sitting behind a desk sketching, with the images being presented on to a screen. Also on stage were our readers for the evening: local actors Will and Sue, and Elaine, a student from one of the town's senior schools.

It was an interesting format. Chris chatted amiably about the poems and then as one of the readers stepped forward he sketched an appropriate illustration, live, right there, before your very eyes, replicating the fabulous images that accompany the poems in the book. Several lucky people went home with one of the pictures.

The book is beautiful inside and out, with a cover that just makes you want to stroke it and a broad selection of poems ranging from Kate Tempest to Sylvia Plath, Leonard Cohen to William Blake, and all points in between.

It was a great evening and Chris was generous with his time as we queued up to get our copies of his book signed. I know from speaking to the organiser that he'd had a pretty full-on day, but you wouldn't have known it from the way he engaged particularly with the youngsters, posing for selfies and chatting as though he had all the time in the world. What a nice man.

* Check out this organisation if you have any interest at all in children's literature - and who doesn't?

Ten-minute drama

It was a real privilege to be in the audience last night for Carword, a presentation by Core Playwrights Ensemble.

The (mostly) amateur dramatists have been meeting for the last few months to write 10-minute one-act plays, which were performed last night in Corby's theatre by four professional actors, each playing multiple roles. I've never seen drama done like this before, but it worked really well, a bit like live-action flash fiction.

Afterwards there was a Q&A session with the writers, actors and directors, during which I wrote copious notes all over my programme (which intrigued the woman sitting next to me, who kept leaning in to see what I was up to). Here are some of the key points:

• There doesn't have to be a twist in the tale. Recognition of how a scene is going to pan out can be just as satisfying. What matters is forming an emotional connection between the characters, and between the characters and the audience.
• It's good for actors and writers to develop a piece together, but there comes a point when the former have to kick the latter out of the room!
• A back story can help, but isn't always necessary. One of the actors said if there was no back story it allows the character to evolve purely from the script.
• Ten minutes isn't long in which to develop an entire story. The word 'discipline' cropped up several times. 

There are actually nine people in the group, but only five plays were chosen for performance. However, the other four stayed involved in the process, working with those selected and supporting them with encouragement and constructive feedback. I love the generosity of that.

I came home inspired. Congratulations to everyone involved. 

Seeing the trees in the woods

I went for a lovely walk yesterday under the guidance of local historian Dr Peter Hill. He took a group of us to Thoroughsale and Hazel Woods in Corby, regaling us with the myths, legends and histories that have shaped the town. We showed us where to find a piece of Roman Road (preserved by the council from buildings and roads)  and a haunted gamekeeper's cottage, as well as pointing out 'faces' in tree trunks. This is the phenomenon of simulacrum (plural: simulacra), from the Latin for likeness. It's related to pareidolia, which is the psychologist's term for the brain's tendency to detect forms and faces in nature where none exists.

Peter explained about the four types of trees we saw: standards, those that were coppiced, those that had been pollarded and, a new term to me, stag trees, like the one pictured above. Hard to believe, but this is a dead tree, stripped of foliage and showing signs of having been burned at the base, but still standing with its 'antlers' held high.

Elsewhere, we saw a Gemini tree (right), made from two tree trunks apparently kissing. Legend has it that this was a popular courting place for a pair of star-crossed lovers. The boy was murdered and the grief-stricken girl killed herself on the same spot. Their souls were reunited forever in this tree.

If you ever need inspiration for a piece of writing, you could do a lot worse than visit the woods.

'I talk to the trees'

www.rogerhancefrps.com

If you're short of inspiration this morning, might I suggest that you take a walk into the woods?

I went on another Our Woods event in Corby on Sunday, and while the leader wasn't the best we'd had over the course of the festival, some of the other people proved very knowledgeable about the history of our particular patch and of woodland in general and the things that grow there. I get a bit annoyed with folk whose view of nature is overly romantic, but it's hard not to be moved when you see the tiny flowers and buds starting to appear on the hawthorn.

One of our group was a fungus expert and he pointed out the new season's Scarlet Elf Caps, brilliant red growths that almost look artificial, poking their heads above the leaf litter (pictured above). Then there was King Alfred's Cakes, so called because they look like burnt buns - until you break them in half to reveal concentric rings, like those inside a tree. Some people reckon they smell of charcoal, but I could only smell 'outsideness'.

A piece of King Alfred's Cake, about the size of a 10p piece

So if you've got a moment today, pop out and stand amongst the trees. Push your feet down into the ground like roots and turn yoru face up to the canopy. Close your eyes and listen. Breathe deeply and taste the air. Enjoy the textures and look for shapes in the bark (pareidolia). And let your imagine run wild.

Creative outlets

Image: Morguefile.com

I seem to be being offered outlets for creativity all over the place at the moment. Hot on the heels of the artist-led walkabout a couple of weeks ago, I went on a similar excursion on Sunday with storyteller Jo Blake Cave, who told us tales past and present about the Corby woods. I came home feeling inspired to write my own stories.

Prior to that, I was invited to take part in a dance taster session with choreographer Neil Paris -  'No pressure to commit to anything: just come along and have a bit of fun!' I was told. Well, I've been caught like that before! Of course, a taster is going to lead to something and sure enough there is a show in May, but before that we have to come together and create the piece. Actually, it was fun and I found I was able to throw myself into it pretty well, considering how controlling and controlled I  usually am. I wasn't entirely comfortable when asked to interpret four key words - fearless, empower, breathe and secret - through movement, but I did my best.

Elsewhere, the Weaving Words writing group came up trumps again with some fantastic stimuli (stimuluses?) for writing. I thought I was doing well. Then this morning, I was reading a couple of chapters of A Life Discarded by Alexander Masters and there on page 159 is the sentence:

'He mows the grass until it bleeds.'

How am I supposed to come up with something as fabulous as that?

Arts and books follow-up

The new guidebook

What an extraordinary weekend I'm having. As I previewed in my last post, I went to an outdoor theatrical event last night as part of Corby's 'Our Woods' festival. It was astonishing, one of those truly weird and wonderful things that you can't quite believe you're seeing, not least because it was in - er - Corby. I mean no disrespect to this town where I used to live and where husband Clive still works, but honestly: Corby!

Then this afternoon I've been to a spoken word event in St Edmund's Church in the tiny village of Warkton. Back in February, I went to a  creative writing workshop that focused on the Montagu Monuments that are housed in the nave of the church - you can read more about that here - after which all the participants of this and other, similar events were invited to submit a few words for possible inclusion in the new guidebook.

Well, the guidebook is now out and this afternoon's event was to launch it. Those whose words have been included were invited to take part, and I'm pleased to say I was one such contributor. As you may remember from an earlier post, I'm not very brave when it comes to reading out my stuff in public, but I did it and people were kind enough not to throw rotten tomatoes at me. (We were in church, after all.)

What next, I wonder. 

The spice of life

Mixing things up a bit this week. Monday was a mixture of yoga and editing, as usual, but then in the evening I went to the Friends Meeting House in town for a fundraising event for the Tibet Relief Fund organised by the Northants Buddhists (multi-faith indeed!). We did some Tai Chi and Qi-Gong (which was VERY strange - in a good way) and a little yoga. Then we had a talk followed by meditation. It was a peaceful evening.

In complete contrast, I went to visit an engeering firm this morning to glean some information so that I can write some website copy. It was a proper grimy place and the desk in the 'office' was littered with peculiar-looking lumps of metal. I was quite happy - I love the smell of workmen - and I now know what it means to spark erode broken taps, which I'm sure will come in useful one day. The premises are tucked away in the far corner of one of Corby's industrial estates, where all sorts of businesses make a living: there's a crisp factory, a breakfast cereral manufacturer, body shops, workshops, IT businesses, kitchen-makers: you name, there's probably one there. Hm. I smell a sitcom!

Tomorrow I'm going to the launch of 'Our Woods', a festival of events to celebrate the woodlands of Corby through song, dance and light that will run from September to next May. Then I'll be dashing off to ukulele practice.

It's all go. I might find time to get a bit of writing done, too, if I'm lucky.