Tag Archives: #amwriting

A little update

Hello! I hope you’re all well and enjoying the first signs of spring – I have daffodils poking up all over the place and the birds are definitely pairing up – I fear I may have pigeon wars again this year.

If you’ve been a subscriber to Kathryn Anna Writes for some time (thank you!) you’ll have noticed some changes to my content over the last few months. In an attempt to streamline things a little, and also to be part of the growing community of writers and thinkers on Substack, I’ve switched some of my more writerly content away from this website to make space for more about my new venture writing personalised wedding poems and making poetry prints. My initial idea was to copy all my new musings over to here, then I remembered Google hates (and I mean hates) duplicate content, so I’ve had to make the decision to make a more definite split.

I’ll still be posting updates and news on here, but any longer essays and poetry film are on my new(ish) publication This Wild Feeling. I’d love it if you’d join me over there (it’s completely free) and I’m ever grateful for your continued support, which ever platform you choose to use stay in touch.

Until next time,

Kathryn

xx

How I’m weaning myself off social media

If you’ve had chance to read my post Getting my act together, you’ll already know I’ve reached a point of reset in my career. I have many aspects to work on and one of the most immediate is to change my relationship with social media.

I realised towards the end of last year that social media was having a negative influence on my brain, specifically my attention span. I’ve never been a person who’s chased “likes” or found myself seething with jealousy at Fifi’s news that she has a new sofa (I adore seeing folk’s happy holiday photos and joyful pets) but I am increasingly aware that at best I don’t enjoy the time I spend on social media and at worst my attention span has significantly decreased.

My moment of clarity came after reading a brilliant article by Tom Cox which summed up my feelings with aplomb.

Social media has long been a useful way for writers to reach readers but it’s also more dominantly a way for writers to reach people with attention spans like grated parmesan who are too psychically oppressed by social media to read books any more.

Why not just delete my account

The simplest thing would be to leave the various platforms. Unfortunately as a writer and a small business, I rely on social media to gather readers and customers. Algorithms and advertising are making this increasingly ineffective and I intend to find other avenues for publicity but for now, a social media presence is still necessary.

How I’m weaning myself off social media

My first step in weaning myself off social media was to think about why I use it.

As a person with M.E. the most challenging symptoms are poor stamina and brain fog. One of the techniques I use for day-to-day living is to schedule frequent breaks (this is a lot more annoying than it sounds). If I’m writing, or doing domestic tasks like cleaning, cooking, or gardening I set an alarm to give myself a ten-minute break every forty minutes. Typically, I’ll go and scroll through Facebook or Instagram, watching reels of dubious comedy value or scant public interest. More and more I’ve been using this as my primary form of relaxation.  Ten years ago, I’d have picked up a book or magazine.

What I gain from scrolling social media is a sense of escape, a sense of time out from my day. It’s a habit and habits can be shifted.

What I am using to replace social media

My second step has been to consider what to replace my scrolling with. If I’m physically tired and beset by porridge brain, then choosing a hefty intellectual book may not meet my need. This is expressed brilliantly by Roz Goddard in Poetry Projects to Make and Do

Currently my addiction to soft-boiled crime fiction is telling me I’m feeling overwhelmed in my life and need to carve out the time to enter the world of forensic archaeology, sand dunes and peril that isn’t my own.

Poetry Projects to Make and Do published by Nine Arches Press

My first major change was to stop reading books I felt would add gravitas to my online persona and return to reading books I enjoy. I feel a little embarrassed to write this– a little exposed – but honesty is the key to everything and if this article is to be of any value, I need to show how entrenched I had become in the creation of a curated life. The pressure to read books that impress, rather than books that bring joy is another consequence of the grip social media has on my inner as well as outer life.

Since I’ve made this decision I’ve enjoyed reading, laughed, cried, looked up new words, finished a book in a day, read another in tiny fragments because it moved me so much and flicked through a magazine with a lightness no stream of targeted ads could possibly deliver.

Create physical barriers

The third step was to think about the times when I don’t feel such a pressure to “check my phone.”

The answer (as it is to so many things) is when I’m gardening. My fear of dropping my phone (or flinging it into the compost bin where so many gardening gloves meet their doom) combined with a pair of slightly tricky to remove gardening shoes mean I rarely take my phone outside. Gardening is an activity that remains blissfully free of a social filter, apart from posting (too) many photos of flowers.

Having established that physical distance is a decent deterrent I’ve started leaving my phone upstairs when I’m not actively using it to post an ad for my business or respond to emails. Adding an extra action means an extra stage of thought (a bit like putting biscuits in a higher cupboard). I’ve also gone back to using recipe books, to avoid the five minutes scroll while the onions brown (or burn!). Instead, I sit out in the yard and listen, or look out of the window at everything I often fail to see. A mini meditation, with a backdrop of not letting the onions go too crispy.

Pay attention to how I feel

My final action is to pay attention to how I feel. I check in with myself after reading or a few minutes sitting and absorbing my surroundings and note any physical changes. The words I keep writing are “my breath feels more open.” This isn’t the best sentence in the world but what I think I mean is that I am more relaxed, my breathing is deeper – I am more peaceful. The words I write after spending extended time on social media are “my shoulders hurt” and “I feel tense.” I know which set of feelings I prefer.

Nothing new…

I’m very aware that none of these techniques are groundbreaking or particularly amazing. What is amazing is the impact I’ve felt after just a week. I am more inclined to read and more disciplined about the amount of time I spend on my phone. I also realise how much of my own life I’ve spent on this pocket-sized tyrant. Having a chronic illness like M.E. means I have limited energy so why the blazes have I chosen to slip into advertiser driven inertia? I’ve got around 20-30 good years left at best and I don’t want to spend any more of them in a state of passive consumption, hoping that someone, somewhere notices what I’ve posted online. I need to find better ways of making myself feel good, heard, and valuable.

In many ways, writing on Substack has potential to rekindle that sense of community I felt during the early days of social media. Having M.E. and living in a semi-rural environment means I’m pretty isolated. I’m also in possession of a personality that means small talk and chattering crowds leave me unnerved and hollow. I frequently say the wrong thing in the wrong place and have a knack for talking too seriously at parties. Substack offers small, focused communities that I feel brave enough to speak in. So far, I’ve encountered people like 

Kathryn Vercillo who are passionate about creativity and mental health, people like 

Dave Bonta who spend time reading and sharing fabulous array of poetry blogs and people like 

lucy sweet whose Lucyverse more than meets my need for satire, and laugh out loud weirdness. In short, I’ve encountered writers, artists and thinkers eager to share, learn and just enjoy being.

This seems to be a place I can talk about books and poetry, a place where I can read about things got that are going on in the world without the pile on of anger and self righteous opinion. I can read long form intelligent, amusing essays written for the joy of writing, rather than attention-grabbing soundbites. I’m weaning myself off the petrol dopamine hit, the sugar rush content and finding true nourishment. I feel I’m getting part of myself back.

Thank you so much for reading – I hope this has been useful, if only to make you feel glad you have a healthier relationship with social media than I do! In my next article I’ll be looking at how I’m trying to silence my “who’s going to listen to you” voice and assuming I manage to keep away from the temptation of life hack reels, I’ll have another poetry film ready for you to enjoy on Friday

Poetry Film

KATHRYN ANNA MARSHALL

·

APRIL 13, 2023

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Until next time

Kathryn

xx

Getting my act together…

One of my goals for this year was to commit to regular updates on my blog. I’ve been a keen blogger for a while – it’s very much a diary as well as a way of connecting with people. Last year I lost my way a little (I suspect grief may have been a driver for this) and tried all sorts of ill-fitting hats. I want to get back to writing in my own voice and valuing my own thoughts and ideas – a blog is the perfect place to do this, and my new platform, Substack is a veritable feast of ideas and excellent writing.

My aim is to post regularly. For me this means posting at least once a week with a regular update of what’s going on for me as a writer. I also intend to longer form pieces that look at ideas and thoughts about writing in more detail. I aim to post every other week alternating with my poetry films.

The best place to see these updates is Substack – you can subscribe for free, and you’re guaranteed to see what I write. You’ll also find some of the most interesting new writing on all sorts of subjects and by all sorts of people. It’s as far from mindless social media scrolling as you can get – other than going to an actual library and reading of course, but that can be tricky to do in a snatched few minutes between all the other things we all have to juggle.

Just a word on visibility; you’re probably familiar with the fact that social media is a woeful way to keep up with all but a very few folk (I think I see about five friends!) – it’s almost as though all they’re really interested in is getting me to advertise… if you’re keen to keep up with how things are going keep an eye on your inbox. My original WordPress site is still very much alive too, so you can always look me up there if Substack isn’t your thing.

I’m excited to see what this year will bring, and as with everything, it’s always better when I’ve got my friends with me.

On to this week’s round up then. I’ve had a week of solitude, which has been rather nice. I’d like to say I’ve devoted it to writing, but domestic duties have got in the way. We’ve had the last two windows replaced in our little terrace, so things will be much less draughty. As with any job like this the dust was, shall we say, exuberant, and much of my week has been devoted to calming it down.

As well as my role in dust control (always the poet) I’ve spent more time tweaking and fretting about my commercial venture Kathryn Anna Writes Bespoke, written another article for one of my lovely content writing clients, before finally finding time to write and review some of my own work. I’ve sent off a mini round of submissions, caught up with some of my What to Look for in Winter notes and still not started Poetry Projects to make and do! Top of the list for next week.

What I love about writing is that it gives me a sense of who I am beyond anything else. It’s the most important thing I can do in terms of self-care, and the most important thing to make time for. I’m making changes to the way I structure my week which I hope will have a positive impact on my writing. I’m also making changes to how I use social media – you can read more about this on Wednesday!

Until next time

Kathryn

xx

December brings days of solitude

I am returned! November is always a time of reflection, celebration and in latter years preparation for the assault of mourning that December brings (and yes it does create some manic conflict with Christmas).



I have been bewildered this year. I am realising how very much living with cPTSD affects every aspect of my life (the fact I still feel so uncomfortable describing my diagnosis is yet another symptom). I realise I temper myself, modify, dampen, reduce my impact and space in the world. I shy away from opinion, gnaw at myself for days after social situations and generally fight the fact that I even exist.

I feel like a fraud when I describe myself as a trauma survivor, as though there is some kind of trauma Olympics and I am a mere bronze medal recipient. Yet here I am, experiencing Hypervigilance that is so acute I yelp at the sound of my own (very lovely) husband coming home, am suffused with Oscar worthy panic if the phone rings unexpectedly, and constantly have to wrestle my mind back from imagining the deaths of those I care about.



This is exhausting and terrifying. I’ve learned that these symptoms ebb and flow, and so am more prepared for their onslaught at times when my physical and mental capabilities are challenged. I am used to it and understand that it’s a part of the way I live. I am reaching a point where I know that those that matter understand it too.



This state of hypervigilance makes socialising very difficult. I am constantly second guessing those around me, constantly looking for clues as to who is safe and who may be a threat. This happens without me really realising, but I have learned that it means I make instant (sometimes inaccurate) assessments of a person or situation and modify my behaviour accordingly. I seek to mask the storm in my mind, in order to function and of course to make my escape intact. The flip side of this is that when I encounter those who seem safe, who give me some sense of connection then the bond can be intense – almost too much the other way.



It occurs to me that this tempering of behaviour impacts my writing. I have been wrestling with myself as a writer over these last few months. Where do I fit? How do I “get in” to all these groups and gatherings of poets that are so kind and welcoming and yet still terrify me? I am not sure I can find the pathway, never mind walk on it. I have notebooks filled with work that I’ve “toned down” or reworked to make them a bit less sad or serious. I read work that is oozing with poetic devices and concepts that I would cut from my own poems because of fear that it seems too “poetic” and therefore beyond me (who do I think I am?) I judge my words before they reach my pen, filter them through a gauze of what iffery. I stick to writing observational type poems about trees to avoid any upset, I keep my language sensible and plain. I keep my ideas and thoughts to myself, because what is the point of me expressing them when there are so many others doing it so much more effectively. I am my own jailer, my own dungeon master. And I still do not know how to get free.



So I hide. I choose to garden or bake because these things demand less and have simple, clear results. I wonder whether perhaps it would be better not to write, perhaps I just need to accept my mediocrity and get back in line. Keep to my place. Yet I could be the voice of the quiet, the voice from the chair at the edge of the room, the hare in the shadow of grass, bursting across the fields, racing from those who seek to extinguish her.




As ever, my response is practical. I have the luxury of two days’ solitude this week and have designed a mini poetry retreat. I’m spending time reading Jean Atkins’High Nowhere High Nowhere, in preparation for a review I’ll be publishing in the next few weeks (spoiler – it’s an utter swoosh of brilliance), I’ve dug out two of my favourite books on the craft of poetry (The Ode Less Travelled and The Craft ). I’ve made a timetable and I am thoroughly enjoying myself. It’s rare to have time to write and to explore my own skill and I’ve had to be firm about not wandering away into applying for jobs or exploring new ideas for wedding poems. Those things are important, but taking time to nurture and grow my skills is important too. Just doing this feels like an act of resistance and rebellion against the “who do you think you are” voices that pepper my mind.



I have focused my learning on formal styles of poetry. I find the order and puzzle of formal writing both challenging and comforting. Wrestling to find the way into a villanelle or sestina calms my mind in a way that free verse enlivens it. Perfect for creating a space of reflection and focus on what I love about being a writer. I’m aware of how much I’ve learned since I last worked with these two books – I feel more confident and have honed my level of understanding. My progress is slow but it is there.



Things have been remarkably quiet on the poetry film front too – sheer lack of time and a touch of trepidation are to blame. Working with the words in Dust are challenging at this time of year, which holds so many anniversaries (last time I saw my brother, last emails, last phone conversations) this week is the anniversary of his death, and I hope to spend some time making the seventh film from Dust – I’ll post it as soon as I have.



I am glad to have writing as a companion through the dark days that December brings. Thank you for joining me.

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Until next time

Kathryn

Xx







Another step forward

This has been a week of big achievement. If you follow any of my social media you’ll recall I had two poems shortlisted in Ironbridge Poetry Competition, which is as close to being on my doorstep as possible, unless the cat starts to take up a new role a literary mogul. I was invited to read and whilst my first instinct was “I can’t” the fact that the venue was just two minutes walk from my front door made me want to take the opportunity. I’ve been reading and recording my work a lot more as part of my editing process and of course I recorded my video for Sanofi. This practice helped but nothing quite prepares the body for the power of its flight response.

So there I was. Sunday morning, in a suitably poet-like dress ( I restrained myself from the Byron sleeves this time) the comfort of chunky boots and my jade pendant that goes with me to every scary situation. This was going to be the first time reading in real life. I shook ( just the one leg bizarrely) but my voice stayed steady, I managed to look up at my audience, pause where I wanted to pause and even breathe occasionally. In hindsight perhaps choosing to read a poem about one of my last conversations with my Dad added a layer of difficulty I didn’t need, but I’ve never been one to take the easy route. Unless I’m hill climbing. Then I’m scouting for it before I set foot on the path.

I felt lovely. Energised, and pleased to have spoken my poem as it needed to be spoken, with the added boost of praise from a poet I really admire. I’ve put off reading in public for a very long time and realise that it is something I desperately want to do – to hear the sounds of the language I have chosen, and to test out the impact or effect on those who are listening.

silver corded microphone in shallow focus photography
Photo by Kane Reinholdtsen on Unsplash

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It’s time to push my poetry further

That’s not what I want to write about today. I’m curious about something else. I seem to be at a point as a writer where I’m being shortlisted for a lot of things – good things that I wouldn’t have even entered a couple of years ago. This is positive. But I’m not winning which shows there’s something missing from my work. I’m very pragmatic about the whole business of having work selected for publication and winning awards or competitions, after all, poetry is subjective, judges and editors are human. But for this to be happening so often there must be something I need to improve.

I feel a little closer to the answer and it’s because of something mentioned by Pat Edwards, curator of Welshpool Poetry Festival and judge for Ironbridge Poetry Competition.

“The winning poem struck me on the very first reading and it became clear to me that this was the one every other poem had to beat.” Pat expanded on this at the live event, describing how the winning poem Scrabble by Helen Kay “wouldn’t leave her”.

Hearing Helen read her poem I understood exactly what Pat meant. There are so many elements that make this poem stand out for me – the click of the sounds all the way through that mirror the scrabble tiles of the opening lines, the line stops that mirror the disjointed train of thoughts, the details that place the poem in a specific time and place and the final phrase that is so subtle and so devastating. Helen’s poem has stayed with me this week too.

How does this inform my own journey to the altar? To become the bride rather than a perpetual bridesmaid? I realise I need to be more brave. More bold. Stop censoring. I refine and cut out not just to improve a poem, but to avoid causing offence, to avoid upsetting people, avoid making them feel bad. I think this is perhaps part of the inevitable people pleasing that is a classic trauma response. I also realise that this is perhaps why I have chosen poetry as my primary means of expression. Imagery and metaphor can say exactly what I want them to say, without me having to say it. The joy of post-structuralist understanding that meaning is fluid, always in flux renders my role in meaning less stark, less involved. There is freedom in this. Freedom in poetry. I am going to embrace it. What are your thoughts on this ? How can I take my poetry beyond the joy of the shortlist to the heady heights of being picked?

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My next couple of weeks will bring more work on my pamphlet – it’s failed to be snapped up by the first two competitions so I’m taking this as a sign that it needs a little more something. It could be the order, it could be a missing poem. It could be I’ve just pitched to the wrong place. The joy of keeping going is not lost on me. I’m having fun, of the most devastating, heartbreaking challenging kind, but as I said at the start of this post, I’m rarely one to take the easy route. I’m enjoying Ros Woolner’s Unfinished Sonnet Project as well as working on my annual attempt to be published in my most hallowed of magazines Under the Radar. I’ve a few more bespoke poetry commissions too, which give me chance to indulge in a different type of writing which brings a different type of joy. I feel very, very lucky to be living this life, disjointed and frustrating as it may be at times. I am safe, I am warm and I get to write.

Until next time,

Kathryn

xx

Confidence Shift

plus my poem for Sanofi’s People’s Poem

This has been a strange week. I’ve been ill in bed for a good part of it, with short bursts of garden clearing in between. I’ve also had a lot of poetry news, some good, some not so good. I’ll come on to the good news soon, but first I want to talk about the not so good.

I’ve noticed a change. Previously when I failed to place in a competition or my work wasn’t selected for publication I felt intense pain, disappointment, sadness – to the point of turning off all updates about said comps or publications. I’m a bit embarrassed about this and even at the time I knew it was an extreme reaction. It’s understandable – placing work in the arena to be selected or rejected is always hard and poetry does have a strong element of placing your inner self up for judgement. Some of this, I’ve learned, is also about CPTSD and the challenges that it brings in terms of regulation of emotions.

I don’t have this reaction any more. I feel sad, of course and have a little cry and wallow for half an hour. After that I get on with looking for where else might be a good home for my poem. What’s different? It’s hard to say. I think the best way to describe it is that I trust my work, I trust my judgement about whether it is good or bad and I trust my ability to find the right place to publish it. This is a huge step. It makes the whole process of writing more enjoyable, more craftsperson-like. I’m no longer pouring out poetry in a fit of wild emotion  and expecting it to be published warts and all (this has happened but only very rarely). The wild emotion bit still happens but now I spend time with the work, learn what I’m really trying to say and think about what I want the reader to take from the poem.

The joy I get from writing has grown immensely, and the response I get to my work has shifted significantly. There are of course questions about how we value our work and whether it matters if work is published or not – that is the subject of another article. For me at this point in my career, having work selected for publication is a big part of my own sense of validation as a writer. I have scant formal education in creative writing (something I yearn for) and I’ve always felt very much on the edge of the playground, watching the popular kids know how to do complicated skipping games. I still feel like that a bit, but I’m more comfortable  being on the edge and doing my own thing, while getting the  occasional wave from the popular kids.

Why has this happened? I’ve had a hard year. My dad died at the end of last year and I’ve had to take on new roles in the family that really don’t sit easily. My health has been poor and my workflow has faltered. Hardly a recipe for confidence.

A great deal of this shift is the result of taking the plunge and paying for a month of mentoring. I’ve been saving for this for a couple of years and actually doing it marked a shift in my own respect for my work. By paying for professional support and guidance, I was saying that I felt my work was worth more than a few pounds on a poetry course – it was worth investing in. I also had the chance to work with exactly the right type of mentor. I’ve worked with Wendy Pratt on several courses and felt she would be a good fit. I was right – Wendy proved to be someone who recognised that my biggest barrier was confidence and gently pushed me to be both brave and honest about the work I produce. I respect my work now, rather than dismissing it as rubbish. Most of the time at least. I still have a very difficult time accepting any success – my first reaction is to dismiss and diminish any achievement, but I’m working hard on this too.

On to the good news. I mentioned on social media a couple of weeks ago that I’ve had work selected as one of the top ten entries to the Sanofi People’s Poem project.

Headed up by Jaspreet Kaur, this project was designed to explore the lived experience of people who have various health conditions, culminating in a celebratory event at Battersea Arts Centre on National Poetry Day. My poem, If my body was a basket, was selected as one of the top ten entries and placed on display, plus I was invited to read. Health constraints meant this was impossible but where I would once have just said a sad and disgruntled no, I offered to record myself reading and send it to them. I’ve never done this before – I’m the type of shy soul who lurks on poetry zoom sessions, occasionally plucking up courage to type something in the chat – so this was a big step. I’ve had great feedback about the poem which has boosted my confidence a bit more and I thought I’d share it here.

Conscious incompetence

For someone who considers themselves a private, almost secretive, soul I appear to be happy to share my exploration of poetry film without filter. I think this is because it thrills me. I make a film, I want to share it immediately. This is possibly foolish. Until a few weeks ago I was in the merry state of unconscious incompetence. This is the point at which you’re learning a new skill and have no idea of just how much you don’t know. The simple thrill of the activity carries your beyond any sense of reason or caution. You plunge in, flail about, somehow manage to doggy paddle your way to where you need to be and are so thrilled to be there the method really doesn’t matter. It’s a joyful place.

To become good though it’s necessary to edge into the most uncomfortable part of any learning process. Conscious incompetence. You suddenly realise you know nothing. You have been deluded, ridiculously enthusiastic and entirely foolish. You feel embarrassed, despondent – all those emotions that make a person want to give up. A couple of weeks ago I joined “ Poetry Film Live”. This is a free event where people talk about their work, explore ideas about poetry film and showcase their own creations. I felt myself shrink inside. You see I’m fairly ignorant about this world. It’s new, I didn’t know such a thing existed until around this time last year and I was overwhelmed by not only the brilliance of the work but the brilliance of the people making it.

The initial gloom and grind of imposter syndrome crept in of course. I batted it off. I love making these films. I realised the main thing I felt embarrassed about was that these first few films made use of a lot of stock media. The answer? Well initially I fretted about not being able to get out to make loads of films, worried that I would never be the type of person who considered themselves a “real” photographer. Then realised that I take dozens and dozens of photographs, I take photos that play with light, that try to capture a feeling, convey a mood. I have a library of images that is perfect.

Using my own images brings something else again to these films. The senses of words and pictures intertwining is even stronger and I feel I have created something beautiful that enhances the poem – one which is even more poignant since Dad died last December.

You can see all my poetry films, including this latest one, on Words and Pictures

Things I forget when I compare myself to others

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Learning curves, business brains and getting back to creativity.

Learning curve

A cool week in Coalbrookdale. I’ve started a business course (free from Learning Curve) that’s giving me the basics of business start-up. A lot of the course harks back to my old days at Dollond and Aitchison, training people how to dispense specs but there’s a fair chunk that is stuff I’ve studiously ignored for much of my life (think tax, profit, accounting) but realise I need to give a little attention to. It’s a straightforward course and a good grounding in the basics.

More excitingly I’ve received a set of paper samples ( my definition of exciting has always been quite niche) from GF Smith and they are beautiful! I already print my Bespoke Poetry on quality paper and as things expand I’m hoping to offer a range of ready to buy work as well. Creating something with this kind of attention to detail elevates it to be the quality product I’m aiming to produce.

These are small steps, but mark a point of both clarity and of valuing this project. I realise that I can create work that is easy to place as part of an event as well as being a pleasing piece of writing. I want to create something that people value and that can only happen when I value it myself. It’s slow to build this kind of thing, but orders are coming in and I can’t  tell you what a thrill it is to know my words are being read as part of milestone occasions, and enjoyed as a genuinely thoughtful gift.

The final boost to this project happened last week. A friend (who’s always been incredibly supportive of my work) introduced me to someone a web designer and proceeded to tell me they could help me with a new site, and that they’d be willing to do this free of charge. I’m still a bit overwhelmed at this level of kindness and belief in what I do. It’s given me such a boost and will make a huge difference.

I’ve had a productive week with my own writing too. I’ve sent my new book out into the world to see if it can find it’s publishing home, entered poems for consideration in two anthologies and printed a selection of poems for an exhibition in our local “Free Little Gallery”.

One of the poems that will feature in my mini exhibition in Coalbrookdale’s Free Little Gallery

Amongst all the “business” side of writing there has been very little actual writing. I’m hoping this will change with a couple of courses I’m part of this month. First up is Wendy Pratt’s Late Summer – A Sensory Experience  a writing challenge that I hope is going to help me calm the busyness and really focus on the world around me. On Monday I have a workshop with Liz Berry via The Poetry Business called Twilight and Dusk – I love everything about Liz Berry’s work and her gentle subversiveness makes for inspiring workshops. I’m excited to begin work on something new.

If you’re interested in in my poetry film and in hearing me read some of my work you can find me Substack – I’m going to be adding more readings and film over the next few weeks and I’d love it if you’d join me there. Follow this link and subscribe to stay up to date!

Thank you for reading, and have a great day!

Kathryn

xx

Pick yourself up, dust yourself off

Oh, so it’s been a while since I’ve done an update. It’s been quite a week full of ups and downs as ever!

New poems published

Let’s start with the ups – I had some lovely publication news this week. A poem that will be part of the new pamphlet (keep reading to find out more)  has been accepted for publication by a gorgeous magazine called The Dawntreader – it’s a fantastic publication full of folklore, nature and a love of all things ancient and slightly mystical – I love to read it and I love that I’ll be part of an issue soon.

I’ve also received my contributors copy of Dreich through the post – I submitted four poems last October and it’s fabulous to see them in print. Dreich is such an exciting poetry press with a sound legacy – some of the poets I most admire are published by them and I always pinch myself a little when I have something accepted.

The poems themselves have changed a little – it’s always strange to see different versions and I often wonder whether to revert back. But redrafting is a way of drawing out the real essence of what I’m trying to say. I see it as a kind of evolution.

New pamphlet news

First off – I really struggle with the word pamphlet. For me it always conjures up something a wee folded brochure advertising the latest deals at Dominos. In the poetry world, the word is used to describe a small collection of poetry. Why it’s not just called a small collection of poetry is shrouded in the mists of time (and probably tradition) The British Library describes a poetry pamphlet as

“Poetry pamphlets are generally published by independent presses and are crucial in introducing the work of new poets or highlighting a thematic collection from more established writers.”

and the OED offers this definition.

a small booklet or leaflet containing information or arguments about a single subject.

and offers this handy example

“he published a spate of pamphlets on the subjects about which he felt strongly.”

If I delve back into my A-level history studies this makes sense – Martin Luther was a vehement pamphlet distributor and the idea of a pamphlet being a source of strong views, experimental work and argument is immensely appealing. Yet I still can’t shake the image of Dominos.

No matter. The work has been done. Final edits have been made, the order ha been wrestled with (absolutely the most difficult part of the process)* and I am about to let my poems fly free. I’ve my eye on two competitions initially, with another two lined up in case the words don’t decide to nest yet. I’ve enjoyed working on this project, am excited about potential acceptance, dreading the down of being declined but overall pleased that I have achieved this.

New-Old business news

And you know, I still feel as though it’s not enough. Why? Money. As you know the bottom has dropped out of the casual copywriting world which means my income is pretty much zilch, apart from one brilliant client (who also happen to be the ones I like writing for the most – yay!). Years of training that the only work of value is that which gleans cash is embedded, and its fair to say I feel pretty down about losing this bit of income. My hopes of taking the bespoke poetry industry by storm have faltered a little and there has been a touch of wailing and gnashing of teeth.

But

I’ve realised what I need to change. Bespoke poetry is a very different style of writing to my usual way and because of this I think I need a completely different brand. I also need to actually take this seriously as a business. To that end I’ve signed myself up to a free course about business start-up, enlisted the help of a bunch of friends to be my “focus group” and intend to do things the right way round  – i.e., plan a bit, rather than jump in like an excited Labrador puppy and realise I can’t actually swim. Watch this space to see how the story unfolds! I’m still taking orders whilst these changes are taking place and you can find out more on the Bespoke poetry section of this website.

In case you missed it I’m also on Substack – this is a really exciting platform for writers. I confess I’ve not got to grips with it yet (Labrador puppy again) but I’m aiming to make this the place for poetry film, readings and exploration of how writing helps health mental, and indeed physical, health. I’d love it if you’d join me there.

That’s it for now, thank you so much for reading. I’m off to deadhead the geraniums and try to discourage the pigeons that have taken up residence in next door’s bay tree. I suspect I will only succeed at one of these tasks.

Kathryn xx

The year I gardened for my father

Early last week I damaged my cornea. Opened my eye on Sunday morning, yelped in pain and continued to do so for the next 48 hours. The pain was so severe the only way to be comfortable was to keep both eyes closed and move as little as possible. Not ideal when I had to negotiate bus, tube and train to get home. Being led by the hand across unfamiliar stations created a sense of vulnerability beyond anything I’ve experienced.

Recovery was only achieved by absolute rest. For three days all I could do was listen to the radio with my eyes closed and comforted by a warm compress – even a glance at social media caused agony. I dozed, administered drops every four hours; I reset.

The year I gardened for my father

Enforced isolation does strange things. My journal entry for my first day up and about after the incident reads

“Sparks of writing return. Grief is leaking, yet its grip is loosening”.

The heart of my work this year is loss, grief, and all the confusion that comes along with it. Dad and I didn’t talk much. Feelings were taboo, and politics became so combative it was painful for us both. We did connect through plants and gardens. I grew my first flowers with him – nasturtiums, in a little patch of ground at the side of the house. I don’t know who was more proud when the glowing trumpets announced my success and admission to the world of plant lovers. Where ever I have lived, I have found somewhere to grow things – even just pots on the steps of my first rented room. The cycle of nurture and reward, the sheer wonder of the plant that self-seeds, the care that is always rewarded. Gardening deals with the big stuff without me really knowing.

The distress of thinking I had lost this non-invasive way of negotiating emotions was huge. For the first part of this year the sight of each emerging bulb was another reminder of the words I wouldn’t say. I gardened through tears. I gardened out of duty.

Subscribed

“Trust the poems and they will look after you”

This beautiful phrase is from an interview with Liz Berry in issue 98 of Mslexia. The whole interview is a delight – funny, sharp and insightful – but this phrase struck home. During these first greif months, I have scratched out poems every month, trying to write for Dad, for the lost gardeners. These poems have potential and they will become something beautiful – after they are not all written yet. For the moment they are way to trace and reflect on grief.

Writing is one of the best tools I have to help unravel the emotions and complications that emerge after this kind of loss. Like gardening it has been hard to settle back to writing, hard to approach. There are too many champions missing. Also like gardening, I am very, very glad to have a glimmer that it is about to return.

Writing for wellbeing

What last week’s incident helped me realise is that whilst my exploration of writing and wellbeing has been invaluable, it somehow hasn’t quite been me. I have, as many grieving people do, detached myself from my emotions and distracted myself with facts. I’ve tried on a hat, that fit well enough, but perhaps didn’t suit me. I intend to continue to explore the role writing plays in supporting and enhancing mental health, but I shall explore as myself, rather than as someone I think I ought to be. Would you like to join me?

Mentoring update

April has been quite the month. I’ve been flying high from inspirational mentoring and also experienced one of my worst episodes of PEM (post exertional malaise) for around 12 months. I should be used to these extremes by now, but they never fail to knock and shock me.

Let’s begin with the mentoring. I have gained so much from these sessions. I feel a difference in my body when I think about my writing. I no longer feel quick of breath and anxious – I feel I breathe to my stomach, pull myself up and, to quote the 2010s “own it”. I don’t feel embarrassed about trying, I don’t feel that I have to be a certain type of poet to be successful, and I have a clear sense of who I am and where I want to be. There will be hiccups and setbacks, but I’m very used to dealing with those, and having a sense of ownership means I can tackle any setbacks head on, rather than spiralling into thinking “I’m a terrible writer I should just give up”.

Writing and wellbeing

I realise this is the thing that drives me as a poet. Poetry and song lyrics have been my strength throughout my life, and the value of poetry for mental well-being cannot be underestimated. On of my goals over the next year is to develop a series of writers workshops specifically designed to manage and enhance mental well-being. Learning to stop and look, to consider emotion and to express those emotions is a powerful and valuable thing. I’m laying the groundwork through research, and you’ll find a series of articles about writing and well being on my Substack.

There is value in time spent writing

Another huge step has been to release myself from feeling I had to keep my foot in the door of the content writing industry. I genuinely enjoy content writing and spent a while mourning the loss of regular income (and goodness I still do). I also realised that the world of the kick ass copywriter is not for me. The endless round of applying for jobs I’m not really qualified for (marketing is a very different animal to writing) is quite a task and undoubtedly soul destroying especially given that the modern way seems to be to just ignore unsuccessful applicants. I ended the first quarter of the year feeling washed up and useless.

The timing of my mentoring could not have been better. I bought the sessions with money I had for my 50th birthday, intending to start in the new year. After the loss of Dad, I simply didn’t feel I’d do the sessions justice and Wendy kindly allowed me to postpone. The first session began with the magic question “what do you want from your writing”. What do I want ? When did I last even consider that? Like many people I am so bound up in meeting the needs of others that “what I want” rarely enters my head and when it does it is swiftly despatched. Wendy writes about this extensively in her latest article How to give yourself permission to write, which is well worth a read. The concept isn’t restricted to writing either – this way of thinking can be applied to anything you love to do but don’t feel able to make room for. I’m almost at the end of my mentoring month and one of the overarching results is that I feel confident enough in my own work to give it priority and protect my creative time.

Commercial ventures as a writer

I do however still need to generate some income. The few hours of content writing I could do was never going to make me rich, but it did bring a little extra cash our way. Part of my new found confidence in my own work means I am refocused a couple of commercial ventures. I have written, designed and printed a series of botanical greetings cards, inspired by the language of flowers and illustrated by Maggie Cameron. Learning about dots per inch, printing quality, bleed boxes and other terms I never knew I’d need to understand has been quite a challenge, but I’ve done it and am really pleased with the results. The cards are available from me, and our fabulous local florist Nettie of the Gorge.

I’ve also relaunched my Bespoke Poetry service. Spending time researching what others offer, finding where my work and style will fit has taken a little time, but it’s been time well spent. I had my first external order this week, and I loved creating something that will be part of such an important day. I feel like one of those people I read about in magazines who find a new life after 50.

This month marks ten years since my diagnosis with M.E. I am astonished at where I am now. It’s really hard, I’m still pretty poorly most of the time. Writing has given me an identity, and a reason to keep seeking a place in the world. Creating workshops to support others, and writing work that connects with people gives me a sense of value that felt impossible when I first fell ill. Here’s to keeping going.

I leave you with these beautiful words about Dust. It’s a year since we successfully crowdfunded the project. I’m proud of this book for so many reasons, and none more important than responses like this.

We keep going

We do. I do. Even when keeping going is less than simple. This week has been one of peaks and troughs. I began with a visit to Nettie of the Gorge, a beautiful florists in Ironbridge. My nervous gabble about my flower poems was well received, and not only will I be selling my work in this gorgeous space, I got some solid advice about how to make the work into a more appealing format. I’ve also spent time this week fine tuning my Etsy offering, creating Flower Scrolls that I think look gorgeous and can offer at an affordable price point. I enjoy this – it’s hard not to get disheartened (instant success is not going to happen) but I feel I have a strong product and hope that things will take off soon.

I’ve also revamped my Bespoke Poetry offering, thinking about the different occasions I can write for, and increasing my online presence. If you have a moment to check out my Etsy shop and share it via your social media or messages that would be amazing.

Visit my Etsy shop

I’ve also spent time this week writing and researching articles for my Substack. I’m enjoying thinking about the connections with writing and wellbeing, and the research I’m doing is adding substance to writers workshops I am developing for the latter part of the year. It’s good to be using my research skills for something I really believe in.

My substack is also going to be home to my readings – part of my mentoring workshop involves me reading my own work, for feedback and critique and I’ve realised I really enjoy reading the poems aloud, and to an audience. I’ll be adding poems to my Substack over the summer.

Visit my Substack

My week ended with two hours of immersion in poetry. I am so glad I took the plunge to have professional mentoring with Wendy Pratt. I feel more in control of my own work, know where to improve and crucially know where my strengths lie. I feel like I’ve had a mini spa – the tension and strain has left my shoulders and the sense of uselessness (an inevitable consequence of unemployment) has faded a little. And so, I keep going.

Until next time

Kathryn

xx

New Adventures

Image of a pool and trees taken at Attingham Park in December

This year hasn’t been the best. Loss of significant loved ones, loss of stable income, and of precious routine have created a perfect storm that has been hard to handle at times. I write a great deal about my mental health and I know that many of you who read my blog struggle with similar issues.

I am still here. I am still writing (just) and I am determined not to go to ground. The people who are no longer here are two of the people who most loved the fact that I wrote – albeit in very different ways – and their encouragement and sheer joy at the words I put to paper is something to treasure despite the impossible sadness that they’re no longer here.

Adventures in poetry continue

Last year I had a big birthday, and with that birthday came gifts. These gifts were smushed together and I finally had enough cash to get professional advice about my career as a writer. Events took over and I only began my mentoring with Wendy Pratt last week. How glad I am. My nagging feeling that perhaps I needed to take the downturn in copywriting work as an opportunity crystallised in the realisation that if I spent as much time developing my creative practice (and crucially my presence as a writer) as I did writing about drainage in Australia, then perhaps just perhaps I may be able to rewrite my path once more. Wendy has helped me clarify, plan, motivate and move some way towards believing I can do this. Most importantly, she’s helped me give myself permission to try.

Substack news

I’ve long felt this blog was a little to much like a personal diary (which is exactly what it is). I love writing it and I love that people read it – but I want to write other stuff too. Substack has been on my radar for a while, but squeezing in time to manage another platform felt too much…can you see where this is going?

So I now have a Substack. The first post will be published at around 6pm on April 14th and I’ll publish a new post every two weeks on a Friday evening. I’ll be exploring poetry, well being and nature, with more of an emphasis on whys and hows rather than simple focus on my creative practice. I hope you’ll all join me on the imaginatively named Kathryn Anna Writes .

There’s a little more

Eager followers may remember my foray into poetry film. My first steps have stalled a little but this is a medium that excites and challenges me. I’m hoping to showcase new poetry film as part of my substack and hope you’ll join me for that too.

This blog will still be live, and I’ll still record my comings and goings – it’s been a great space to use to connect with people when connecting is hard. Thank you all, as ever

Kathryn

xx