I have been invited to join Landfill, a writers' collective.  The others in the group are experienced and skilled in writing for theatre.  They are also witty, funny and all round good guys. 

We are putting on a night of comic sketches, theatre sketches and flash fiction at Seven in Chapel Allerton on 28th November and if all goes well, there will be more to come.  Please see our myspace page, which is still under development, for further details.

Here are a few of the solutions I promised. Try them and let me know what you think:

A solution for writers experiencing lack of motivation

Collect some motivational statements about writing or about creativity or perserverance. Two of mine are, 'The writer cannot be a mere storyteller; he cannot be a mere teacher; he cannot merely x-ray society's weaknesses, its ills, its perils. He or she must be actively involved in shaping its present and its future' (Ken Saro Wiwa) and 'Nommo', which means the power of the word. Choose ones that speak directly to your needs or beliefs, and post them where you write. Use them to keep yourself writing.
Adapted from Jack Heffron, The Writer's Idea Book

A solution for writers who have 'nowhere to write'

Imagine you have a room of your own to write in. This may not be a room at all. It may be a wood, a beach or a busy train station. Write about what the 'room' would look, and feel and sound like. Read your piece back. Identify how the room or factors of it could be brought into reality.


A solution for writers who feel they have lost touch with their creativity

At the seventh stage of Rogerian therapy, the highest stage man is finally, 'a unity of flow, of motion' Write about a time when you have experienced unity of flow with your creativity, perhaps you felt as though you were surfing the crest of a wave, perhaps you felt like magma bubbling up from the earth's crust. Describe the feeling. Explore the circumstances – the time of day, the location, your mood before beginning. Do you think any of these circumstances contributed to your achieving 'unity of flow'? Create one or more of these circumstances the next time you write.

Last week I was exploring 'obstacles to writing' with two of my groups.  I asked them to write a list of all the things that stand in the way of them writing.  Here is mine:

Planning and preparing for workshops,
College work,
Tax returns and other administrative tasks,
Phonecalls,
Family duties,
Domestic duties,
Friends/social life,
Exercise,
Surfing the net,
Procrastination - 'when I've finished the washing-up and painted the kitchen and my son has finished high school, then I'll finish my second novel',
Tiredness/apathy,
My inner critic

Feel free to share your obstacles.  Potential solutions coming soon.

Kate is on the brink of a discovery which will use blogging and the worldwide web to change the face of mental health.   It is not yet clearly defined but I am certain that it will be a massive success.  As part of her exploration, Kate is asking for people to try to define the impact blogging and being part of a blogging community has had on their lives.  (She'd love to hear from you if you haven't already responded but her profile is private so message her if you're not yet connected). 

From the responses on her blog and the blogs of Spooner and Holly, it is clear that blogging and being part of a blogging community has had a huge impact on many of the people Kate knows on here, particularly within the Divas Dolls and Spuds movement.   

This is a matter I have given much thought to and have discussed in detail with Kate on many occasions.  I still haven't even nearly got my head around it but here is where I am now.

My relationship with blogging has been many things; it has been exciting, time-consuming, healing and it has been rocky. 

As detailed in a previous blog, I have met other writers and artists who have helped me progress as a writer and a human being either because of the insight their blogs offered me or because of their responses to my own blogs (both privately and publicly).

 On the other hand, some of the blogs I have written have caused problems with people I know, sometimes because they have felt I have divulged too much about them or a subject they were uncomfortable with.  (This comes with the territory of being a writer so is not unfamiliar to me but is still, at times, difficult).   

For a couple of months, I also had a secret blog.  Having a pseudonym allowed me to express a different side of myself, a side that I could not explore in my professional role.  It was fun.  It was liberating.  It was therapeutic.  I was able to comment on the divas' blogs uncensored.  I was able to do this because that blog was not aimed at children and because it was anonymous.  When the divas, dolls and spuds needed support, I did my best to give it.  What's more, having them comment on my secret blog without judgement helped me clarify certain things and validated my experiences. 

I have so much respect for Holly and the other women and men who are part of her community.   Holly advises her divas and dolls to be 'a woman first who has a great many gifts and fills many roles'.  Ironically, this has been my main difficulty with blogging and being part of a blogging community.   While I greatly valued (and still do) Holly's mutually supportive community, I have at times felt torn between taking and giving support as a friend and fulfilling my responsibilities and role as Ms Writer, which are also responsibilities towards myself.  Part of this is because I write for children as well as adults and want children to be able to visit my site safely (and fun and liberating though TT is, the divas will agree that it is not suitable for children!).  Part of it is that I have so many roles and ambitions that regularly reading and responding to so many blogs on top of my other commitments, including the other blogs I had already committed to, is outside my capabilities.  When I realised the extent to which my writing and coursework was suffering because of my involvement with blogging, I had to acknowledge my limitations and be true to them and to myself;  put simply, there came a time when I had to spend less time on Myspace. 

However, although my relationship with blogging is ever-changing (my blogs now focus almost entirely around writing), it is such an exciting form with so much potential and has been beneficial for me both professionally and personally.  I can't see myself stopping for a while yet.    

I haven't read any Derrida since uni but I found this on youtube and thought it was worth sharing. I fully comprehend Derrida's experience of the necessity of writing when in the moment of writing.

Yet it fascinates me that the consequences of writing something subversive ironically become a concern only when he is in that liminal state between sleep and wakefulness. The 'vigilance' he refers to is - for me - his inner critic, the censor. Isn't the world lucky this vigilance comes to Derrida at that point rather than in the moment of writing?

Sometimes mine invokes fear in me even before the moment of writing. My concerns tend not to be as grand as Derrida's. Questions that plague me are 'Will this piece shock members of my family too much?', 'Is it too personal?', 'Will my readers believe this narrator (who kills or steals or sleeps with someone else's husband) is really me?' and the common one, 'Is this a load of rubbish?' Often these criticisms come afterwards, not in my half-sleep but in the penetrating light of day. Usually the 'load of rubbish' one and the readers believing the narrator is really me are right.

The others tend to be moral dilemmas, not in the writing but in the desseminating: 'Should I publish this if its publication could cause a heart attack in my father?' Generally, I believe that in writing the things that move me, in putting them out THERE, I am being true to myself and to my readers but there are some stories I will not share because I don't feel they are mine to share.

Installment 2 of my blogger blog.   You may recognise this from somewhere.  First person to recall where else this story is gets a virtual kiss. 

Once upon a time there was a quiet young girl called Becky. Becky played away her youngest years with her best friend Snogglepuss. Snogglepuss had purple skin with yellow spots and a fluff of blue hair. He was even taller than a grown-up and had a beautifully crooked nose. Snogglepuss lived in a hole in the big old oak tree at the bottom of Becky's garden. For many happy years the two friends climbed trees, played Tig, and made up stories about faraway lands.

Then one day, someone (she can't remember who) told Becky that Snogglepuss was an imaginary friend. Becky felt very cross that Snogglepuss had kept his imaginariness a secret for all these years and ran to the bottom of the garden to find him.

There he was, in his favourite place, sitting with his back pressed-up against the ancient oak. "Hello," he said in his funny party whistle voice, like nothing at all had changed.

That made Becky even crosser and she shook her fists all the way from her eyebrows to the tops of her thighs. Her face swelled up like a red balloon and she took a really big deep breath. "You are not real, you are not real, you are not real," she shouted (because she'd heard that saying it three times gets rid of fairies and thought it might work with imaginary friends too). And, right before her eyes, Snogglepuss faded, spot by spot, until he disappeared altogether.

A few days passed when every time she thought about Snogglepuss, she felt angry. But after a few weeks, Becky forgot that she was cross. Becky was bigger now and didn't have time to waste being angry with imaginary friends. In fact after a few weeks, Becky didn't think much about her friend at all and soon Snogglepuss slipped out of her thoughts altogether.

Now Becky was bigger, she had friends who were little girls like her, not enormous purple friends with strange noses. Now Becky was bigger, she talked to her friends on the phone about important things like ballet and football results. Now Becky was bigger, she and her friends went to each other's houses and dressed up in their mums' going out clothes.

But then one day Mummy shouted at her, really loud so it hurt her ears. More than anything, Becky wanted to cuddle Snogglepuss and tell him how mean her mother had been. She wanted him to pull silly faces until he made her laugh. She didn't want to talk to her silly giggling friends in their silly high heels. She wanted her friend Snogglepuss.

Becky ran away from Mummy's angry face, tears splashing her cheeks, to the bottom of the garden. She reached the big old oak and looked around…

But of course Snogglepuss wasn't there. She had sent him away. She had made him disappear. And who knew where he was now? How could she have been so horrid? Poor, poor Snogglepuss. Becky sat at the bottom of the tree and sobbed. Snogglepuss wasn't there and what was worse, she knew in her heart she would never see him again.

AS WITH ALL STORIES, THERE ARE ALTERNATIVE ENDINGS TO THIS TALE. HERE IS ONE OF THEM:

But as Becky sat there, eyes tight shut with crying, she heard a tiny little sound.

"Hello," someone said, in a funny party whistle voice.

"You are real, you are real, you are real," Becky cried and before her eyes, Snogglepuss appeared spot by spot, until his fluff of blue hair grazed the branch above him.

Snogglepuss flung his arms around her and, in that moment, Becky knew he was her very best friend of all.

After a virtual conversation with Faye, I remembered that I had intended to post the blogs I write on Blogger on here too (as Faye does).  My Blogger blog focuses specifically on writing and might not be of interest to all my readers.  But some aspects might be.  So over the next few days, I'll be playing catch up and posting one a day.   

 This is the first one:  

I found this beautiful shed at the edge of the wood in Hebden Bridge and it reminded me of the nature-nurture debate with regards to writing. Is good writing something you can cultivate or is it something that is either present in your nature or not?

Enjoy your Sunday xx
P.S. If you are interested in hearing me read some of my stuff, don't forget you can do so at Ms Writer Speaks.  Thanks so much to those who have already listened and left comments.
P.P.S. I am happy to link to writing related sites I like on Blogger so long as they are suitable for children.