Stepping out of my comfort zone

The past workaday week was enlivened by a couple of unusual happenings.

On Thursday, I spent the whole day teaching yoga to Year 12 students at a local senior school. This was a real privilege, but I was shattered by the end of the day. No wonder full-time school teachers always have their eyes fixed on the next holiday! You can read about it on my yoga blog here.

Before that, though, on Wednesday evening I had a book launch for Nine Lives as part of a Weaving Words presents event. This is a new happening, organised by my friend and guide Kezzabelle (Weaving Words is her writing community, of which I am part).

To say I was nervous is an understatement, but once I got going I was fine. The event was held in the upstairs room of the Eden Cafe here in Kettering. We dressed the set, as it were, to look like my book cover, which was Kez's idea and made a real difference, transforming an already lovely room into a proper performance space. Our friend Ros played a couple of songs to get us in the mood and then off we went. I read three of my monologues, and two more out of my book were read by other people. There were poetry readings and there was art for sale.

I sold a few books and made some new friends, so I'm counting it as a successful evening. Most important, though, I learnt lessons about what works and what doesn't, and what areas of my performance I need to work on.

The only down side was the dent my ego took when I saw the photos! Inside - and I'm sure I'm not alone in this delusion - I'm 17 and gorgeous. The reality is that I'm old and jowly. Perhaps I should follow singer Sia's example and wear a long wig over my face.

Mixing with the best

We had a particularly fine session at Weaving Words yesterday. Whether it was because we were all feeling refreshed after our summer break or were celebrating the start of a new term I couldn't say, but the ideas were flowing and the energy high.

One of the many things we discussed was the benefits of associating with other writers and artists. There's something about mixing with creative souls that brings out the best in us, so if you want to write, hang out with writers; if you want to sing, hang out with singers; if you want to paint - well, you get the idea. I'm not talking about gatecrashing preview nights or making a nuisance of yourself outside the stage door, but I'm convinced that my increased writing output over the last year is due in no small part to the connection I have made with Kezzabelle and the other Word Weavers. 

I don't know if we pick up creative thoughts by osmosis or energy transfer, but I am quite sure that there is nothing like a session with writers, musicians, actors and so on to set my senses tingling and my pen twitching. It goes without saying that you must never pinch another person's ideas, but an image or a snatch of conversation can be the catalyst for something wonderful.

As always, I'd welcome your comments.

Writing matters

I know, I know: I've missed two opportunities to Celebrate the Small Things, and numerous other days when I should have had something to share with you all. I've just been snied out with work, as they say: or perhaps they don't say where you live. 'Snied out' - and that's probably not how it's written - is one of those phrases that my current husband brought with him. It means 'snowed under', and the audible connection is there, I think.

I do love a bit of well-placed dialect, so long as it doesn't muddy the waters of understanding. Where, for instance, do you stand on the word 'bint'? I've always understood it simply to mean a young girl, perhaps one who was rather naive, but not an especially offensive word. I used it this afternoon at Weaving Words and only one person agreed with me; the others thought it was at best derogatory and at worst downright insulting. The question is: do I replace it in my piece of writing?

We went round the circle today offering a piece of work each for supportive critiquing. My contribution was something I'd written for a competition (deadline looming) and I was grateful for the input of my fellow Weavers. It was a useful exercise, not least because the more we practise scrutinising the work of others, the better we get at self-editing. I'll let you know if their suggestions bear fruit, of course.

On the topic of competitions, my winning entry in the Association of Freelance Writers love poem comp has been published in the latest issue of the AFW newsletter, and I've written something for the association's blog here.

'Behind the jug in Annie's room'

At our lovely Weaving Words writing group this week, one of the prompts we were given was 'Filter', to be interpreted any way we liked. Off you go! I wrote something about clearing space in my head, letting go of stuff that is no longer useful to me and so forth. Not worth sharing as it stands, but I might turn it into something (fabulous) at a later date.

Inevitably, we ended up talking about physical clutter in our homes. I'm not a hoarder, but I am married to one, so I share the pain of random boxes of curiosities that will 'come in for something one day'. One of our group has moved home many times and confessed she has some boxes that have been shifted from house to house without even being opened. My advice was to dump them. She also has a box that has lost its original label along the way and she was written on the outside: 'Lord knows!' Why doesn't she have a look? 'Too scared of what I might find,' she said. That would drive me crazy.

In our house we have a small plastic tub that we call the Kitchen Drawer Box, because when we moved from our previous house the contents of said drawer were tipped into a box and there they have stayed. It's full of things like the radiator key, a tin of 3-in-1, a football boot stud remover and silver polish (these last two being particularly redundant, yet somehow they stay). We've all got these ridiculous places - haven't we?

And the title of this post? That's a family saying. We have no Annie and therefore no such room or  jug, but it's where we say something that you can't find will be hiding.

Making connections and weaving words

I was co-host at a yoga workshop yesterday, which is always a lovely way to spend an afternoon. What was particularly nice this time was that everyone there knew at least one other person; sitting in a circle, there was a complete chain link through the whole group. We did some bending and stretching, working through chakras and making the best of the autumn sunshine. (Apparently it rained at home, which was all of half an hour away.) We finished, as always, with deep relaxation. Bliss!

There was a nice connection this afternoon, too, when on the spur of the moment I went to the Weaving Words writing group run by Kezzabelle, our local performance poet and all round good egg. Who should open the door, but one of my former yoga students!

One of the exercises we did together was to write a list of all the things we'd done in our lives that we were proud of. I found this incredibly difficult - in fact, we all did. I could remember doing well in a primary school, but beyond that... After some discussion/therapy, we picked one thing off our preliminary list and worked it up into the beginnings of something literary. Because I'm not very good at it, and because Kezza is a poet, I thought I'd have a go at something verse-like. All I can say is, if they ever need someone to rework Rupert the Bear, I'm the woman for a job.

Work in progress? Definitely!

Weekend roundup

Sunny Staithes already seems a long time ago

I've only been back at work for a week and it's as though I've never been away. All my freelance work was sitting there waiting for me - which will be nice when payday comes around, but was something of a shock to the system. Even so, I still managed a couple of coffee/lunch dates, so it's not all been nose to the grindstone and shoulder to the wheel.

I also dropped into the Weaving Words writers' group. I can't often make this, because they meet on Wednesdays when I'm usually teaching yoga. It was nice to see Kezzabelle and the gang. We sat in her garden until it went dark, wrapped up in blankets and illuminated by candles and lanterns: all very bo-ho!  We began with a prompt -  'camping', 'strong women' and 'encouraging words' - and it always amazes me how varied the results are when we come to read them out.

Also on the writing front, I made it to the shortlist of the Words With Jam First Page Competition, but didn't win.  Oh well, back to the drawing board. Congratulations to the winner, Annnie Walmsley, and there were a few names I recognised on the shortlist, too, so well done us!

This writing lark is clearly in my blood. My mum has recovered from her recent malaise and has a little something in the local paper's letters page. She has also heard from the Daily Telegraph that one of her contributions to its letters page will be used in its next book. Honestly, there's not stopping her!