Tag: writer’s life

Stepping Out

I often make a point of getting out and about, appreciating the surrounds, finding calm in nature, inspiration in creativity, and optimism in colour. A recent visit to Stone Lane gardens was oozing in nature, creativity and colour. An enchanting woodland gardens on the edge of Dartmoor, famous for its Birch and Alder trees, and home to a collection of inventive sculptures, as well as giant rhubarb leaves (or at least I think so).

Another wonderfully colourful outing was an accidentally well-timed visit to Tiverton canal, where we were fortunate enough to meet the old shire horse, and resident collie of the horse-drawn barge, all set against a perfectly idyllic riverside backdrop.

There have been a few trips recently, delving into the countryside, looking for places to offer quiet, contemplative calm. And there is a reason for this, after being hit with the tragic death of my wife’s lovely mum, Ruth. It was of course a tragedy for Kate and all the family, and a loss that reverberated throughout the Royal Devon and Exeter hospital, since, like Kate, Ruth worked there as a nurse for many years.

#nursinglegends

We were comforted by the fact that Ruth died peacefully in the intensive care unit. Since my own hospital stay in 2019, I had gifted the unit with one of my paintings, and while waiting in the family room for news of Ruth, it was a comfort to see familiar artwork.

Throughout this time, it has been food for the soul to step out into nature, whether to the granite tops of Darmoor’s Haytor:

Or the tranquil fields of Dart’s farm:

Or closer still to home, along the banks of the river Exe, where sight of an old red telephone box filled with flowers, went some way to lift the spirits.

Wishing everyone a good and peaceful week ahead.

xxx

Summer Days

A moment to reflect on summer days, which have been a riot of colour for one reason or another. During Pride month, it would be remiss not to mention Exeter Pride, as colourful as ever and such a great thing to be back after so long. An eclectic gay day filled with love, laughter, and a public display of respect and tolerance; it’s always interesting to compare with the more political marches of ‘back in the day’, and a sombre reminder of all those still fighting for their rights. Usually, I get a gazillion snaps of the parade, but this year it was the faces of friends. Perhaps it still feels like a novelty, being out on mass. All ending with a stage of rap, beat boxing, poetry and drag. Such a great day!

 

Another local treasure that I was introduced to only recently came when I went to see a friend, Peter Farrie, perform at the glorious gardens of Studio 36. Prepare to feast your eyes on a wild and colourful spectacle that is a hidden garden here in Exeter, largely unknown but a favourite among art lovers. (Peter was also brilliant. Click here to check out his website of mellow sounds, catchy lyrics, and poignant snapshots of life.)

And last, but by no means least, a visit to Torre Abbey in Torquay, in time for a wonderful exhibition featuring Nigerian-born British artist, Chinwe Russell and her prominent women in history collection.

She said, and I quote: “In my usual bold style, I seek to remind us of the powerful powerhouse that women represent around the world. I am a huge admirer of women, who despite the many atrocities committed against them around the world, remain strong and steadfast to assure the next generation in perpetuity.”

Wangari Maathai was a particular favourite of mine, a woman who inspired a few lines in my climate change poem:

“Meanwhile, for inspiration look ahead of the curve,

Africa…

Mass reforestation and the great green wall, an aptly ambitious reserve.”

The art, gardens, building, and history perfectly capture a brilliant fusion of old meets new meets colourful.

All topped off with a view of the sea, and a lone swan beneath a bright blue sky.

Hope everyone’s having a great week… xx

The Magic of Fantasy

It’s been a week of furniture building and the house being upside down, including, shock horror, my writing room being out of action, and bookshelves out of reach. Among plenty of sorting and cleaning, I made progress on a latest painting project, more on that another time. And for solace, I thought of some of my favourite characters from fantasy fiction.

Any here that you recognise?

 

Rooted in the imagination, the inventive genre of fantasy knows no bounds. And soon, soon I’ll be back on Book 3 of Blood Gift Chronicles. And I’m looking forward to it, seeing how the world further expands bringing new landscapes, new people, new vivid sensory images to delight, appal, and offer up a spot of virtual travelling. We all have some favourite story places. I would gladly visit the lands of Patricia McKillip’s The Forgotten Beasts of Eld, and share a meal with Sybel in her cottage on Eld Mountain, watched by her weird and wonderful menagerie called by wizardry. Or a visit to the remote deserts of apocalyptic Sudan, in Nnedi Okorafor’s Who Fears Death, and meet with Onye, a powerful, gifted, flawed, steadfast young woman. I can still hear the sound of her singing voice communing with the desert.

George R.R. Martin said, ‘We read fantasy to find the colours again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs sirens sang.’

Yes to all of the above, and to learn, reflect, challenge, escape, have fun, and flex that all important muscle – the imagination. Fantasy shines a new light, and creates a different edge. It redefines boundaries and allows for reclamation of landscapes. It offers up worlds filled with adventure, to inspire, offer hope, and teach us that anything really is possible. It shines a light on our identities, letting us know we are valid and valued, despite our strengths and flaws. It emboldens us to demonstrate we can tackle our demons, fight for our cause, and realise a state of peace and empowerment. And so much more.

So there is no shortage of inspiration, in a genre that can extend to the reach of your imagination. I look back fondly on scenes from the first two books in Blood Gift Chronicles: some of the stark environments thrust on Suni in Return of the Mantra, where she discovers what she is made of, contrasted with a mountaintop view where her view of the world will be forever changed. And in The Warder, as the dominoes fall, squeezing characters and revealing timeless bonds, the world extends into new lands where old and new, the mundane and the fantastical, coexist. If I close my eyes I’m transported to the islands and the musty air in the cavernous temple, with the sound of footsteps crossing the mosaic-tiled floor; in contrast to the warm desert winds of Shendi, carrying spells and curses that touch all those with the gift to hear…

Finally, I’m happy to report I’m back in my writing room, ready to explore new worlds.

Have a great weekend!

 

Pause for Spring

It’s been a busy start to the year with writing, painting, and various associated events, as well as sorting out the rest of the year’s calendar. And it’s been lovely to catch those snippets of early spring sunshine, for a breath of fresh air and a wander out into the local surrounds.

While Mia hangs out in one of her favourite spots,

The nearby bluebells are out and the magnolia is blooming.

All looked on by the highlight of Tin Lane: the wonderfully, mosaiced Loft Club.

The occasional trip to the beach for a blast of sea air, preferably when it’s quiet and the sound of lapping waves is pretty much all you can hear.

Or a peaceful early evening wander around the park, catching gorgeous trees in their best light.

Not forgetting the local wildlife.

And on the subject of outings, a recent day trip to the town of Totnes is worth a mention. Nestled between Dartmoor and the south Devon coastline, I’ve long loved this Bohemian market town:

All this, set atop a riverbank.

Not that you need an excuse to visit Totnes, but a friend was exhibiting some of her gorgeous pottery, along with a group who paint and create inspired by the granite line on Dartmoor.

And last but by no means least, actually before spring sprung, we were visited by the moon at Exeter cathedral, and what a spectacle it was. We were certainly honoured to be on route for this globe-trotting phenomenon, 7-metre, scaled representation created by the artist, Luke Jerram.

And finally it’s back to work:

Keep reaching for the moon!!

Wishing everyone a good week ahead.

xx

 

Winter Days

Of writing advice, Ursula Le Guin once said,

‘As for “write what you know”, I was regularly told this as a beginner. I think it’s a very good rule and have always obeyed it. I write about imaginary countries, alien societies on other planets, dragons, wizards, the Napa Valley in 22002. I know these things.’

I couldn’t agree more and while working on the third instalment of Blood Gift Chronicles, the current ‘write what you know’ takes me to the islands of the far western archipelago and the world of mages…

But today, I thought I’d stop by and share a couple of real-life ventures, while taking a break with a change of scene to recharge the batteries.

Crisp dry winter days can be the perfect time to visit ordinarily busy seaside towns, like the colourful fishing port of Brixham, perched on the tip of Torbay. With colourful buildings crammed into the hillside, swans swimming in the sea, cartoon street art and Xmas decorations taking pride of place in January, it’s a picturesque and eclectic place.

Not forgetting the Man and Boy statue, celebrating Brixham’s fishing heritage and commemorating lives lost at sea.

Brixham is a place I’ve driven through and always planned to return for a chance to explore, not least because of the extraordinary spectacle moored in the harbour: a full-size replica of the 16th century Golden Hind. Complete with rigging and crows nests it stands almost in touching distance of the walkway, a close encounter that brings home day to day life in Brixham.

December’s day trip was a more tranquil outing to North Devon’s Rosemoor gardens and a winter sculpture trail. Among woodland and lawns, pathways and mazes, I’ll leave you with what was a real feast for the senses.

Until next time…

 

Festive Lights

Blood Gift Chronicles Book 3 is well underway. I look forward to giving a writing update in the new year, but for now I thought I would take a pause in my working day to share some local festive cheer. It was just a quick trip this year, tagged on to a shopping day, but it’s always a treat to soak up the ambience of Exeter Xmas market, complete with the cathedral looming in the background providing a wonderfully gothic feel.

Then on to spot the decorated trees on-route, since no trip would be complete without a visit to the annual charity tree display – a wonderful reminder of the great work of our local charities.

For the Xmas light display we went further afield with a trip to Powderham castle, armed with mugs of peppermint tea and chocolate brownies to snack on. With the whole castle and gardens lit up like a Xmas tree, it was an impressive display.

But perhaps the star of the show were three orphaned lambs wearing Xmas jumpers, tucked away in the grounds of the secret garden, unfazed by ogling visitors looking to catch that perfect Xmas card shot.

For now it’s back to work, but in the meantime…

Wishing everyone a very Merry Xmas

Happy Holidays, and a

Happy, Healthy, Peaceful New Year 

xxx

 

One World

Just over two months in the new house and it’s feeling like home. Mia continues to be outwitted by the resident squirrel on its hunt for buried nuts, and I’ve discovered a wonderfully bizarre monkey puzzle tree on my regular walk.

In other news, the street is being put on trial for food waste recycling. In the spirit of every little helps the environment, we’re all hoping it stays. Of course, we need many more big helps, and like people all over the world, I watched the events of COP26 unfold on the news. And so, to continue with last week’s theme of climate change, I thought I would share a recent poem inspired by global talks and the dedicated activists demanding we all do better in fighting the looming calamity.

Fight the Calamity; By Susie Williamson

Are humans really the superior species,

Skilled in reasoning, language, solving difficulties?

Introspection is seen as one of our strengths,

So what came of the Paris Agreement?

Did we tighten our belts, get smart, or continue in decadence,

Turning a blind eye to owed recompense?

 

Cop26 comes round and the truth will be told,

To climate activists around the globe.

The suited and booted leading with false ideations,

Reckless in the knife-edge survival of Africa, and those island nations.

It’s not 1.5 or even 2, but a roadmap to 2.7 degrees,

Yet again, the same nations will be on their knees.

 

Or under water; some are already there,

Vanishing islands and coastlines, but with new gas fields, who cares?

Until Mia Mottley steps up and takes to the mic,

Calm and considered, but with words set to strike.

This PM of Barbados speaks for those without choices,

For the powerless, angry, despairing voices.

 

Her message is clear, her intent at the heart,

National solutions just don’t work.

Are we really so blinded and hardened, deaf to the cries,

So willing to turn our backs on countless lives?

So adept at othering, we seem to be,

Price tags on people, scrap humanity.

 

We talk peace and prosperity here in the west,

A blanket omittance of nations oppressed,

Prosperity, illusion if only one third prospers,

While the rest of the globe cowers and suffers.

In the face of calamitous threats, life under siege,

When will global leaders fess up and lead?

 

Will they mourn us on the front line? Eddy Grant once said.

Not when pound signs are favoured over existential dread.

Voice, ambition, action is lacklustre so it seems,

In solving global crises of climate refugees.

Will the path of greed harvest our common destruction?

Or will we choose survival via temperature reduction?

 

There’s no time, we’re at that fork in the road,

The train’s ready, horn blasts, all aboard!

Code red G7, G20, wake up at the COP,

1.5 to survive, 2 degrees and no backstop.

Just death to Barbuda, Kenya, Mozambique,

Antigua, Fiji, The Maldives,

Try harder the people of Samoa holler,

Don’t we treasure Barbados and the people of Dominica?

Tuvalu is sinking, it’s happening now,

Don’t sigh, don’t shrug, don’t sit back and ask, how?

Central banks work in trillions, too huge to fit in our heads,

We have answers, resources, so make a watertight pledge.

Sign up to the global peace army,

Say no to death, and yes to humanity.

***

A Splash of Colour

There’s a familiar sight outside the window of my writing room: blurred by heavy rainfall, beyond the rooftops of red brick houses, trees are blowing in a blustery wind. While searching for inspiration for tomorrow evening’s open mic, I thought of May’s challenging weather, and came up with my reading: The Story of the North Wind. It’s actually an extract from my novel, The Warder (Blood Gift Chronicles 2). In the book, Suni is a storyteller, among other things, and The Story of the North Wind is a story she tells. It is a fable from the land of Shendi, the setting for my books, and with nature being the theme for tomorrow evening’s open mic, the fable fits in well.

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Transformation

I’ve been busy with edits for The Warder, honing in on the detail, polishing, steadily working towards publication. There’s a theme running throughout this novel: Transformation.

Prior to publication of Return of the Mantra, brainstorming book cover ideas with the publishers, I came across Adinkra symbols from West Africa. It’s not an idea we went with, but I surprised myself, managing to reduce a story to one word. I have three stories so far in the series, Blood Gift Chronicles:

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Staying Connected

I’ve always felt like a citizen of the world, now more than ever with the growing threat of coronavirus. In these strange times it’s not quite business as usual.

During lockdown, I am grateful that the weather is being kind, and feel lucky that we live where we do, just a stone’s throw away from the river Exe. Remembering all the things I am grateful for, a walk to the river is a regular feature of each day.

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