Trust God and Sally Forth!

Kettering: Progress and Concord

At Weaving Words this week, we learnt that the town motto of Newark in Nottinghamshire is Deo Fretus Erumpe, meaning Trust God and Sally Forth. Isn't that splendid?

Of course, there was a round of jokes about who this Sally Forth woman was and why she was so trustworthy; but isn't erumpe a fabulous word? It sounds a bit Carry On, Councillor to me, as though it should be the root of 'rumpus', but it is actually the word from which 'erupt' is derived.

Needless to say, we used this as a prompt to devise some town mottoes of our own. We only had a couple of minutes on this, but I came up with:

Kettering (where the local football team plays in red and black): Look to the Poppies
Northampton (home of the shoe-making industry): Put Your Best Foot Forward
Corby (famous for its steel works): Steel Yourself and Forge Ahead
Uttoxeter (my home town in rural Staffordshire): Plough Your Own Furrow

It was great fun - and I'm sure you can come up with something for your own town. However, if you go to www.civicheraldry.co.uk you can discover, amongst other things, the genuine mottoes.

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.

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.

Celebrate the small things, 10 March

Today I'd like to celebrate the arts in all their glory.

First, I'd like to reiterate my celebration of Vicky Bultitude's contribution to ebook Strength Becomes Her - more here.

Second, I ran across an old acquaintance when out browsing in Uppingham a few days ago. I wandered into the North Street East Gallery and realised that I knew its owners, Hilary Salomon (whom I originally met at Zumba class) and her husband Michael Moralee. If you're ever at a loose end in Rutland, the gallery is definitely worth a look.

Third, I'm off to an intriguing event on at Kettering Arts Centre this evening: The Harry & Chris Show, which is described thus:

Having played together in various forms for over 10 years, World Poetry Slam Champion Harry Baker teams up with BFF/Jazz Musician Chris Read as the imaginatively titled ‘Harry and Chris’. After a debut sell-out run of ‘The Harry and Chris Show’ at The Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2016, they are bringing their brand of poetry, music, love and laughter all around the country.

They will be apparently be supported by Gecko, but there is no mention of what his/her/their/its talents might be, so your guess is as good as mine But honestly, poetry slam meets jazz - what's not to like!

Have a good weekend, folks.

Want to join in and celebrate with us? Hop over to Lexa's blog here and sign up.

Who are the strong women in your life?

I could have saved this snippet until Friday, because it's a celebration, but I couldn't wait.

My fellow Weaving Words writer Vicky Bultitude has an essay in a book published today. It's called Strength Becomes Her and Vicky contribution is 'Sacrifice' a reminiscence about her Nan. If you got a couple of quid spare, you could do worse than pop along to the Kindle Store and treat  yourself a copy - a great way to mark International Women's Day.

Enjoy!

Celebrate the small things, 3 March

Looking out of the window into my windswept and rain-soaked garden, it's quite hard to find something to celebrate today, but here goes.

I have lots of freelance work on at the moment, which is good news. It all helps to bring me closer to the day when the mortgage will be paid off. Another submission has been greeted with 'Not sure, let me think about it,' which is better than 'No thanks.' Also, my son has landed another music teaching contract to boost what he's already doing.

Finally, I have a couple of stories available on Smashwords. Briefs Encounter is free anyway, but next week the site is running a promotion: Read an eBook Week, during which my other story, Robbing Hoodies, will be available for just 49cents (usually 99cents). If you were tempted to pop over next week and have a look here, I'd be interested to know (a) if the promotion code is actually there, (b) whether you found the site easy to use and (c) what you thought of my story (there is a facility to leave a review). Thanks.

Have a great weekend, folks.

Want to join in and celebrate with us? Hop over to Lexa's blog here and sign up.

'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.