Writer’s Block

Tags

writer's block, writing.

Do you ever get stuck for ideas?  Look no further. Here we have some excellent suggestions!

Writer’s block.

Authors offer some tips on how to beat writer’s block.

 

 

Lou Treleaven

 

• Look at everyday objects and try to see them in a new way.  I wrote my latest book after looking at a chair!
• Write down your dreams and use them for inspiration.
• Go back to fairy tales, myths and legends.  See if you can retell them in a a new way, such as setting them in the present or even the future.
• Look back to the classics.  Pick a minor character and see if you can retell their story.
• Write something out of your comfort zone, eg poetry if you write prose, SF if you write romance.
• Write with the idea of doing something no one else has done before, no matter how outlandish!

• Here they are:
• https://www.amazon.co.uk/Professor-McQuark-Oojamaflip-Lou-Treleaven/dp/1848861885/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1476956769&sr=8-1&keywords=lou+treleaven
•  
• https://www.amazon.co.uk/Snowflake-Mistake-Lou-Treleaven/dp/1848862180/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1476958674&sr=8-1&keywords=snowflake+mistake
•  
• https://www.amazon.co.uk/Letter-Pluto-Lou-Treleaven/dp/1848862318/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1476958704&sr=8-1&keywords=treleaven+letter+to+pluto
  

 

 

 

Patsy Collins

‘Write ten words every day. Any words at all will do, but if they’re in some way connected with the piece you’d like to be working on that’s even better.’

Quite often when people pick up a pen or tap away at a keyboard they discover they’re not quite as blocked as they’d thought.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B004O08LRQ

 

Steven Chapman

Write something you’re not supposed to be writing. Works on the same principle that when you need to do a chore, you’d rather do ALL other chores than that.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Steven-Chapman/e/B004800HT2

 

 

 

Shirley Anne Cook

Attend a writing school for a week, like Swanwick at The Hayes Derbyshire. I always come away with so many ideas for stories or poems  It doesn’t have to cost money if you enter one of their writing competitions and win a week there like I did!

 

Ana Salote

Don’t try to write sequentially. Skip to the next scene that excites you; you can fill in the gaps later. Write some back story for one of your characters. If you know more about them they may move the story on for you.

 

 

 

 

Pauline Suett Barbieri

 

1. Put a mirror on your desk and look at your reflection for about three minutes. Then turn the mirror over and try to describe yourself as somebody else might see you. Say an old school friend  and bring in the old and the new….

 

2. Write a story that begins at two minutes past in the morning…..

 

3. Write about a wedding where the bride realizes she is in love with the best man….give all her thoughts as she stand taking the vows with another…..

 

4. Write about a childhood fear and bring it up into adulthood…..

 

5. Try to remember the most difficult phone call you have ever had to make and write as if you are receiving it.

 

6. Write as if you are a gambler with an obsession with the number 4…….

 

7. Imagine you have coloured your hair green and it’s awful…and you have to go out on a date.

 

8. Write about a work of art that you hate and why……

 

9. Write about an argument you had with a friend and reverse the role.

 

10. Write about a writer who has a writer’s block and has to come up with a synopsis for a novel so she decides to steal some blurb that appeals to her.

 

 

 

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Shirley-Valentine-Syndrome-Pauline-Barbieri/dp/1907313605/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1477037960&sr=8-4&keywords=pauline+Suett+Barbieri

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Bringing-Bacon-Pauline-Suett-Barbieri/dp/1906742456/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1477037960&sr=8-5&keywords=pauline+Suett+Barbieri

 

 

 

 

Maggie Cobbett

 

Whenever I feel the dreaded block, I turn to people watching (and eavesdropping, if I can do it discreetly). My favourite places are the bench by the Moon Pond in Studley Royal, which is part of the Fountains Abbey estate and just down the road from us, or the upstairs lounge of Starbucks in Harrogate. I’ll explain why.

 

Depending on the season, the footfall past my bench can be quite regular or spasmodic, but visitors from all over the country and indeed the world appear. Some are absorbed in their own affairs and just ignore me or give a brief nod to my existence. Others sit down to chat and tell me all kinds of stories about their reasons for being there, their travels and their lives in general. As soon as they’ve moved on, out comes the notebook and… Well, you can imagine the rest. On a quiet day, there’s nowhere better than the Moon Pond for contemplation. I can gaze at the water or just close my eyes and listen to the birds. Knotty problems of plot and character, even verse on occasion, untangle themselves in those surroundings, and I never return home without fresh inspiration.

 

Starbucks, of course, is quite different. The tables by the window look out onto one of Harrogate’s busiest shopping streets and I weave stories in my head about passers by who attract my attention. I note their physical appearance, clothing, what they’re carrying, whether they appear to be in a good mood or bad, their interactions with other people and so on.

 

http://maggiecobbett.co.uk/

 

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Nativity

Tags

Christmas. poem, Jesus, Nativity

 

 

 

Nativity

 

If there’d been room at the inn

nativity scenes would look quite thin.

 

It would’ve been a much quieter affair,

the Magis’ camels wouldn’t have been there.

 

No lowing cows or a donkey’s ‘eeyore’,

no fleecy lambs bleating by the door.

 

And other guests might not like the sight

of halo-ed angels harping on all night.

 

Jesus would have had a softer bed

on which to lay his ‘sweet’ little head.

 

No word ‘manger’ in Christmas verse.

School plays might be easier to rehearse

 

because no-one need wear animal gear –

the same costumes brought out every year.

 

But it matters not whether stable or inn,

for Jesus was sent to cleanse man’s sin.

 

So wherever He was born that night,

the Star would lead to his eternal light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Watching the whirling dervish

Tags

poem, whirlling dervish

Watching the whirling dervish

 

Dazzling white swathes of cloth

swirl before my eyes, gathering

speed like an express train.

Faster and faster he dances

in fierce frenzied spin

his body is the sun,

his breath the wind.

He defies gravity and floats free

from earthly ties.

I watch entranced,

wishing I could share

his shrouded

paradise.

 

 

 

Christmas Past

Tags

Christmas, Crawley, party, Tressy

Christmas Past

I have many happy memories of Christmas as a child.

Preparations for it started in November, when my mum made the Christmas puddings. There were no freezers back then and not many supermarkets so most Christmas food was home-baked.

We always stirred the Christmas pudding mixture and made a wish.

Next Mum made the Christmas cake. This was stored in a tin and now and then Mum used to take it out and pour a little bit of sherry on it to keep it moist until Christmas Day.

We never had much drink in the house, apart from at Christmas time when Dad bought a bottle of sherry, Babychams, Dubonnet and eggnog. There was Tizer and ginger pop for us.

My sisters and I sometimes made gifts for people,  usually items we had seen Valerie Singleton making on Blue Peter. One year I gave my father a pen holder – a tin covered in sticky baked plastic. And there were bath crystals for Mum made from soda crystals and cochineal colouring!

 

 

We always had a real Christmas tree from our woods, and we used the same decorations every year.

I remember coloured candles on metal clips (we didn’t light them!) and the same fairy was placed on the top. I loved the sweet scent of the pine needles that filled the air over the Christmas period.

Pieces of cotton wool were scattered over the tree to resemble snow. The tree stood in a pot covered in crepe paper bought from Woolworths.

Room decorations, such as paper lanterns, were also re-used, but there was always a new packet of paper chains to make (strips of coloured paper which you glued and threaded) These were strewn across the room.

Christmas cards were hung over strands of wool pinned across and down the side of doorways.

We always had balloons, which were hung in corners of rooms.

Wrapping paper from the previous year was re-used. Sometimes the labels were still intact and I found it exciting to try and remember what had been inside!

Christmas party circa 1960

We used to go to the annual Christmas party held by the Crawley Development Corporation.  That’s me second from left, age about six. On my left is my ‘big’ sister Jean and next to her my brother David.

 

Presents

We wrote lists for Father Christmas and usually posted them up the chimney as we had open fires (we had no central heating until I was about twelve years of age)

On Christmas Eve we placed a white cotton pillow case and one of Gran’s old thick stockings at the end of our beds

It took me ages to get to sleep as I was so excited. I woke early to the rustling sound of the presents pressing on my feet.

For Christmas we received one large item worth about £2/£3 and a few smaller items such as an annual, a pen, crayons, a game, a tin of toffees or a sweet variety pack.

There was always an apple and orange in the stocking

One of my most favourite presents that I received as a child was my Tressy doll. I still have her and clothes, some of which were knitted by my dear Granny Cook.

 

 

 

 

The Abbey

Tags

poem, the abbey

 

 

The Abbey

 

Every summer I climb the hill

to the abbey ruins.

With each passing year

the flint rubble stones

crumble a little more.

 

The north transept tower,

adorned in rosaries of lichen

and moss, slowly sinks

like a melting ice-berg

 

Families now picnic above

the sacred bones of holy men,

and children clamber over

fallen walls that once cloistered

a brotherhood of silence.

 

 

 

 

 

Aftermath

Tags

poem

 

Aftermath

 

Where is the lush green grass?

Where are the blossoming trees?

Where are the fragrant hedgerows?

What have they done to our land?

It is riddled with pot holes and craters.

Everything is black, black, black.

 

Our homes now entomb

bones of the unknown.

The moon rabbit weeps.

 

 

We will remember them

Tags

cook, Lee, poem, somme, war, Ypres

I have been doing research on my great uncles who fought and died in The First World War. Last year I went on a tour of the battle fields in the Somme and Ypres, an experience I will never forget.

Great Uncle William (Bill) Cook  (1886-1917)

P.W. 6119.

William was born in 1886 in Worth Sussex to William and Emily, my great grandparents. William and Emily had moved down from Suffolk to Crawley, Sussex in 1885.

They had twelve children, William was their ninth and the first to be born in Sussex.

In 1911 William, age 25, was a boarder living with a family in Milford Haven, Hampshire.  He was single and working as a gamekeeper.

In 1915 he married Ellen Meads in Ampthill Bedfordshire and they had two children Emily and William.

He enlisted in Bedford as a private in the Duke of Cambridge’s own Middlesex, second battalion. Residence at the time was given as St Albans.

I have not been able to find out a lot about his service, but it seems he was at some point also in the East Kent regiment (10149)

According to the Commonwealth War graves William was killed in action, age 30, on July 31^st 1917 in the battle of Passchendaele officially known as the third battle of Ypres (31^st July -10^th November)

This was one of the most brutal battles of the First World war, up to 700,000 casualties among allies and German troops were killed or wounded in the heaviest rainfall in the region for thirty days. It resulted in a gain of just five miles of allied land.

His body if recovered was never identified and he is commemorated on the Menin Gate Memorial in Ypres (ref panel 49 and 51).

I took this photo last year.

 

 

The Menin gate bears the names of more than 54,000 soldiers who died before the 16^th August 1917.

Hundreds of thousands of servicemen marched through the main gate of Ypres on their way to the battlefields, most to their death.

It was very moving listening to the last post there last year.

 

 

Great Uncle Charles Albert Cook (1891-1916)

G8886

Charles was born in Worth in 1891.

In 1911 age 19 he was working as a gamekeeper.

He enlisted in Horsham on the 18th November 1915 when he was age 23 years and one month. On the attestation papers Charles is recorded as single, a farm labourer living at Bellevue Tilgate. His father, William, is listed as next of kin.

The medical form states: Height five feet nine inches, chest 36ins.  Weight 136pounds. Distinctive marks- patchy rash on trunk. Fit subject to dental treatment on molars.

He joined the 9^th battalion of the Royal Sussex regiment and was mobilised on Feb 8^th1916.

In 1916 his battalion was involved in fighting at Hooge –  Ypres Salient (14^th Feb) Wulverghem – German gas attack. (30^th April) Battle for Deville wood and Guillemont (August, September)

He was killed in action during the attacks on Guillemont August 18^th / 19^th 1916.

Guillemont held out for some time during the Somme battles and was finally taken on September 3^rd.

 

Guillemont Cemetery

Charles was only 25 years of age when he died. His body, if recovered, was never identified and he is commemorated on the Thiepval memorial,

Guillemont Cemetery is not far from where Charles would have been fighting. There are some 2,263 burials in the cemetery, over two thirds are of unidentified soldiers. It is quite likely Charles was actually buried there. I placed a cross in his memory ( see photo)  on one of the many graves marked, ‘known only to God’

Charles received the British war and Victory Medal signed for by his father.

 

 

The Thiepval memorial commemorates more than 72,000 men of British and South African forces who died in the Somme sector before 20^th March 1918 and have no known grave. Most died during the Somme offensive of 1916.

The memorial overlooks the Somme River in France, where there was some of the heaviest fighting. It is 45 metres in height and the largest commonwealth memorial to the missing in the world.

Great Great Uncle Alfred Lee 1896-1917 G/1781

My great uncle, Alfred Lee, was born in Staplefield, Sussex in 1896 to my great grandparents Henry Lee and Mary Harber.

In 1911 he was age 15 living with his family in Worth and had a job as a garden boy.

He enlisted in Horsham on July 24th 1915 and was in the 8th battalion of the Royal Sussex regiment. He was killed in action in the third battle of Ypres ( 31July to Nov ) on October 29th 1917.

He is buried in Minty Farm Cemetery south of Langemarck village.

Minty Farm was once used as a German blockhouse and in 1917 as a company HQ for Commonwealth forces. There are 192 First World War burials.

I placed a wooden cross with poppy on Alfred’s grave. It was a very special moment.

He was killed in action on October 29th 1917 and I was there a hundred years later on that day.

 

 

 

 

 

A debt by Shirley Anne Cook

 

So much depended

on those men: husbands,

fathers, sons, exchanging

pickaxe, plough

and pen for gun.

 

So much depended

on those men, red-eyed,

voiceless, from gas and cold,

shell-shocked

sleepless nights:

slaughtered,

not grown old.

 

So much depended

on those men

advancing in rapid rifle rain,

the final whistle,

a final push:

those who returned

never the same.

 

So much depends –

on us remembering.

 

 

By Shirley Anne Cook November 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem. Thumbing it.

Tags

thumb

 

Thumbing it

 

My right thumb is twice

the size of the left one.

Such bliss, legs in knee socks,

forefinger crooked over my nose.

It was sweeter than a lollipop.

 

My mother tried to entice

the tooth twister from its den

with gifts and sharp mustard tang,

but me and my thumb

would not be parted.

 

‘Goofy!’ cries at school finally prized it out.

Far too late, the damage was done:

a braced smile and an ugly thumb.

 

So I whorled it in gold,

red-varnished the misshapen nail

then set off ‘thumbing it’ around

the world.

 

And it came to rest

on a marriage deed –

two peacock eyes nestling

side by side.

‘I love every part of you,’ he said.

Such bliss, feeling the tip of his tongue

tracing the curve of my thumb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swanwick 2018

Tags

Paul Dodgson, swanwick

Just back from a lovely week at the Swanwick Writers’ Summer School in Derbyshire.

I met up with friends and made new ones.

The days were filled with course, talks and lots of writing chatter, oh and wine.

My favourite course was ‘Write your life’  led by Paul Dodgson who has written books and plays.  I also enjoyed the ‘Writing Fairy Tales,’ session with Elizabeth Hopkinson.

Guest speakers included author Amit Dhand ( Harry Virdee Novels) and Simon Nelson ( BBC drama).

 

 

( Amit Dhand)

As it was the 70th anniversary of Swanwick a special photo was taken.

 

 

Can you see me sitting on the grass in the middle, next to a woman in a purple hat?

 

 

There was a 40’s disco. I was a WAAF officer.

 

 

It was a great week and I sold a few books too in the book room.

 

On my return I found a letter to say I had been highly commended in the Yeovil Poetry Comp which was a lovely surprise.

 

Tags

Alfred Lee, First World War, Minty cemetery

 

Uncle Alfred Lee

KiA October 29th 1917

 

Once I searched for your final

resting place, without success.

Thought perhaps you were one

of those soldiers who died unknown

or with shattered bones lost.

But you were never forgotten.

Each year on Armistice Day

you had a special mention

in my prayers for the fallen.

 

Years passed, I looked for you again,

a task now internet easy.

I found a photo of your grave

in a Flander’s field.

A white headstone, one of many

in an ocean of lush grass

and fragrant flower bloom.

 

It comforts me to find you at last,

Private Alfred Lee, and to know

you do not sleep alone.