Novels

Well, I happened to glance at this blog.  I don't seem to have updated it much lately, and I still don't feel much like updating it - but, further to my last post, I felt that I would like to mention that I am reading novels again.  I am into Daphne du Maurier, at the moment.  Having re-read "Rebecca" and "Jamaica Inn", I am currently enjoying "Frenchman's Creek" - although occasionally, in recent days, I have struggled to keep going with it, and maintain my concentration.  But I will persist!  Then, I'm going to re-read "My Cousin Rachel", hopefully...I've written poems based on "Rebecca", "Jamaica Inn" and "Frenchman's Creek", too.  They are on my Tripod site and poetry blog.

Last year, I wrote various personal posts on this blog.  I don't feel like adding anything along those lines right now.  Maybe I should concentrate on literature related posts, in the future - although I will probably do the opposite now, as I always seem to like contradicting myself, and taking a different direction from the one that I had intended.

Finally - another post on this blog!

So here I am again, having neglected this blog for so long. I have just read my last posts, and felt that it was time to attempt another: my first of 2013.

Well, 2012 was hard for me. Very hard. On so many levels.

I continue to struggle with various physical and mental health issues.

However, I would like to say that I have now read another novel, as well as some non-fiction and, as ever, poetry. It was a book called "Ingrid and the Wolf", which a friend gave me ages ago - aimed at children really, but a great read - and so the "nothing since 'The Bell Jar'" cycle has finally been broken! I am also reading some non-fiction, and of course - poetry!

I did manage to produce three collections of my poetry last year. For more details about these, please see my other blog, which I set up to give details of any new writing projects.

I find that it is not easy to be as emotionally open in this blog post, as I was in many of last year's posts - but I felt that I had to start somewhere. I hope that I will "get into" blogging again, as it has helped me in the past.

Love and peace.  xxx

Change, dark days, poetry and holding on

Change is scary. So is reaching rock bottom and feeling unable to change. So is feeling that your emotions are out of control.

I know that I need to change direction as a poet - as a writer. I am hoping to produce a collection, containing many of the poems written during 2012, August or earlier. It is nearly finished, other than some technical "issues" with the cover.  I can honestly say that I don't know if I would be here if it wasn't for my poetry - and for my husband, Colin, of course - and the friends who have been there for me this year, to various extents - but all of whom I value deeply. In terms of the poetry, I hope that I can now begin to move away from the intense, emotional poems which I have been writing, and find new themes and subjects that will inspire myself, and hopefully others, too. Who knows? Maybe one day I will rediscover my enthusiasm for fiction writing, and write another novel. Yet, at present, I cannot even concentrate for long enough to read a novel - still nothing since "The Bell Jar", which affected me deeply.

I don't want to go into "poor me" mode. People out there are seriously ill, and struggling with life, for so many reasons, and in so many ways. But I have certainly struggled with physical and mental illness, increasingly so - and, when it becomes hard to leave the flat at all, life can seem hopeless, and I have thought about - and felt like - ending it all - but, in my heart, I don't really want to. There is so much in this life that is beautiful, and worth living for, and I just know that I need to hold on.

"Keep Holding On" - thanks, Avril (Lavigne). I'll try.

Failed update to my profile on Poemhunter!

This is an unusual blog post.  Basically, I was trying to update my Poemhunter introduction/biography section.  Poemhunter was in a "bad mood", following my taking three or four attempts to remember my password!  Anyway, I don't think that my updated information was saved in the end, but on this occasion, I had actually had the sense to do a "copy/paste".  I couldn't face another attempt at updating Poemhunter right now, and I don't know if I will get around to it at all.  Sometimes that's how it goes.  You lose the moment, as it were.  However, I felt inspired to include my "attempted new introduction" here, as a blog post.  So here it is:


I have an intense passion for poetry - both the reading and writing of poems!

Most of my recent poems are very personal, but not all of my poems have been autobiographical - notably when I first started writing poems, having previously been more interested in fiction writing.

I would describe myself as a survivor poet, and am proud to identify with the survivors' poetry movement. I write mainly about emotions, and my style has definitely been influenced by my recent interest in emo poetry.

I have also written spiritual poetry, which is another important aspect of my work for me.

I love traditional forms, such as the sonnet and kyrielle, but I have been writing mainly free verse lately. It goes in phases. I love both rhyme and free verse, and haiku/senryu. I just love poetry, basically! Which takes me back to the first sentence of this introduction.

Attachment

I don't feel that this is going to be a full-length blog post, but it needs to be a blog post, rather than a Facebook status update, or a Tweet. It's just a question, really:

Is it possible to genuinely care about people without becoming "attached"? I realise that health and social care professionals have boundaries and conflicts, but I'm not talking about professional caring. I just sometimes feel that I need to distance myself from everyone I know or meet, but then there is a conflict because I naturally care about people, and I can't switch off my feelings. And I'm not sure that I want to - but I can't handle being hurt and misunderstood, and I have such overwhelming fears of rejection and abandonment. Ironically, such fears seem to come true all the more, as I start to worry more about them, and gradually become obsessed by them. All I want is to be able to genuinely help and support the people for whom I care. If I am not really doing that, what is the point?

I just wish that Stacey was here. I miss her so much. And I wish that I had talked to her more about what she meant about not letting people "get too close", in case they "got inside her mind".

I have actually written slightly more than I had originally anticipated - so I obviously made the right decision, in opting to make this into a blog post. That said, whether I should be saying this at all - well, that is another issue - but I can't seem to hold back, even though I know that I will later panic about having posted this on my blog...

Behind the words

I have been reading some of my early poems - currently looking through my poetry collection, "Paula Tree" (published in 2003). And I am deciding which ones to share again, and which to hold back. With many poems, I know immediately that I want to share them, or that I don't. But the case is not always so clear.

The following poem is hard-hitting, especially the ending: "...She patienty awaits his death,/and psychotherapy". It isn't exactly light verse!

The poem has personal meaning for me. I suppose that I have been in a few "not so great" relationships myself, but it wasn't about me. It was in part about a situation involving a friend of mine, an old school friend, with whom I have since lost touch. That was the initial motivation to write the poem anyway, but I feel that probably I was expressing my feelings more generally about women who are caught up in abusive relationships - although there is no reason why it would not be equally applicable to men who are in abusive relationships. I remember having a conversation with my friend, on her decision to go back to her fiance (later, husband), after he had hit her. She told me that her eldest sister was also regularly being hit by her long-term partner, and that this sister had said that she hit her boyfriend back sometimes. She advised my friend that she could do the same. Very nice in theory, but the strength of a man, as opposed to that of a woman - not to mention the fact that this friend had a serious physical disability...Sorry, but that just wasn't, and isn't, good enough for me! Why fight violence with more violence, anyway? That's just wrong, and bad advice!

I don't normally discuss why I wrote particular poems, or what I meant by them, as I feel that, in general, poems should "speak for themselves". Also, the reader will always have his or her own interpretation, and I tend to prefer to allow such interpretations to develop naturally. I just felt that, on this occasion, I needed to say something, by way on explanation, about the meaning, and intentions, behind my words.

One more thought. I have always remembered Madonna saying that the song "Till Death Us Do Part" (from her "Like a Prayer" album) was mostly autobiographical - about her marriage to Sean Penn - but that the song wasn't entirely about her, as she was writing about someone who felt permanently trapped in a violent marriage. And ultimately, she didn't feel that way, and had had the strength to leave. I always feel that people are confused by the fact that, as a creative writer, you might want to write about a situation that is almost the same as the one that you are in, or have been in, but with a twist. I am talking about imagining that one key factor, or several, were different. I did this a lot in my early poetry, and it often led to my work, and ultimately myself, being fundamentally misunderstood. My earlier blog post ("Poetry: fact or fiction?") deals with some of these issues, but only really scratches the surface of what I was trying to express.

The poem:

Black and Blue and Purple

He beat her until black and blue and

purple, so she left him, and then

faithfully scurried

back for more. She can hit back

if she likes, she argues. Well, she

can, but he just laughs aloud. I

watch her retreating

gratefully, respectfully, into his

luke-warm embrace, her shelter from

oblivion or

liberation, or

proper happiness. She patiently awaits his death,

and psychotherapy.

Friendship

Okay, so here goes. I haven't got the answers, but I have so many questions. To be honest, I have my own answers to some of the questions - or my own feelings, and beliefs - or maybe not such much beliefs, as a knowledge of what I would like to believe.

How do you know whether someone is a friend or just an acquaintance? Can acquaintances ever become friends? Can friendships lapse to the point at which a friend becomes an acquaintance, or would that only be able to happen if the person wasn't really a friend to begin with?

Can you be friends - real friends - with people whom you haven't met in the "real world"? Yet? I guess that mainly I am talking about "online friends" - but also pen-pals - the old-fashioned variety, who like to write letters, put stamps on them and post them in physical postboxes! How about people whom you used to see, but now only communicate with online? Ones with whom you have met up once or twice, or several times, but don't currently see - and yes, stay in touch with online?

Can you love friends in the same way as family members? Do the rules have to be altered according to the gender of the friends in question - in which case, does it have to be adjusted again according to your sexual preferences and theirs? Why should this be the case, if the friendships aren't based upon sex, anyway?

How do you know when you are completely wasting your time and emotional energy on people who don't really care? What if you still care?

Fear of abandonment destroys your self-confidence and your trust in your relationships with others - that much I do know. And when your "building blocks" - your family base - isn't solid to start with, it is that much harder, on so many levels.

If you find it hard to make friends in the first place, due to factors such as depression, agoraphobia and social phobia, the attachment is likely to be that much stronger. You may be loyal, kind and loving, but it is hard for people to appreciate that, if you simply come across as "needy" and desperate.

One of my friends died of breast Cancer in 2010. She also suffered from depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. I can remember her telling me that she "couldn't let people get too close", for fear that they would "get inside her mind". I don't know how I feel about this because, ultimately - if she hadn't believed this, maybe we could have been closer, in the comparatively brief time during which she was a part of my life. At the same time, I relate, on a very deep level, to much of what she told me, and I have many similar issues.

I often think in terms of parallels, as this expresses the closeness yet distance between our separate, individual experiences. To me, our friends are people who love and respect us, and whom we love and respect in return, and who choose to share our lives, as we travel along parallel paths.

And yes, a friend is for life, not just for Christmas - or Solstice...