Mum and Sandra wear wide-brimmed, white hats, sun-blessed swirls; floppy folds like just-set meringues. Their long, summer dresses feature small floral print designs; leaves and flowers cascade, stall, twist upon tension points and light bodily sweat, pinch into something new, origami, fabric-style.
Ian and I walk across the car park with Mum and Sandra, who both giggle conspiratorially behind us. Occasionally they speak in drawn-breath voices; rub-squeaked balloons, or amp up North-Western accents, drag vowels out; musical words on heavy chains tied to a rock. The tarmac reveals tiny oily pools, which bleed brown-black, erupt randomly upon the surface with lightning-strike cracks and filigree fissures; an over-baked cake. Steam rises in genie-lamp coils and question marks; school kids in back of bike shed tradition, exhaling from hesitant drags, laughter-gasping on Mum and Dad’s missing cigarettes.
Minutes ago, James and I peered inside the glass domes of an ice cream parlour, as though the contents were precious jewels in a museum case; new, to us, a range of potential ice cream flavours to stimulate our senses. An accumulation of sweet scents combined in strip-light, hazy atmosphere; an opened, rust-rimmed honey jar; finger-squashed overripe raspberries; traces of cheap chocolate, tanged by silver paper wrapper; cardboard-y vanilla.
Wall`s Vanilla Ice Cream was rare luxury for us at home; ice cream, much harder then, in both consistency and availability. Occasionally, I recall chocolate ice cream with a questionable cocoa content; Neopolitan, tricolour flavours suggested, rather than submitted authentic tastes. But now, right in front of us, Tutti Frutti – really? Rum and Raisin – what? Toffee Fudge, chunks embedded in marbled dessert, gold nuggets ready to chisel out with tiny teeth, teased by tantalised tongue, new for trial taste, lick delicately, rapidly, as though prompted by drought-dry mouth.
As well as a helter-skelter, ice cream run escaping from his castellated cone, Ian is entranced by cars. ‘Red TR7, Matt. Seen it?’ He points a Mr Men plaster-wrapped forefinger (always with the Mr Bump, my brother) towards the sharp wedge sports car. ‘Look, there’s a Capri over there. Bit like the one in The Professionals.’ Images: criminals, arms twisted behind backs, garage-greasy hair, stubble chins greeting bonnet, mouths of chip fork tine teeth, tar-stained tongues, post-watershed retort; traffic cones, dustbins, cardboard boxes, bags filled with mystery (air) struck by car-skid arcs, gravel spraying out like residual shotgun blast towards the stand-back camera crew member. Most of James’s excitement, however, was reserved for the quotidian: ‘Matt? Matt? Look! Blue Ford Escort…white Cortina…brown Vauxhall Chevette…orange Allegro!’ His relentless flicker eyes behind NHS spectacle-glazed daze; two electric blue damselflies sparkle, each trapped in their own oval of lapis lazuli.
I carefully lick at the ice cream, nibble initial taste of nothingness from chocolate nibs, crunch melt fragments on my tongue to produce a taste just shy of cacao gone vague, just a sugary representative. It doesn’t matter; it feels so good. My eyes blink, trap light, fuel fantasy to bliss, as I tease out a deep embedded chocolate chip; jutted, a loose brick from the remaining igloo shape of decadent dessert. The extra weight in my hand almost disappears. I open my eyes. The ice cream has fallen away from its soggy-edged host, leaving only a mint-green ring as a reminder of our brief, beautiful marriage.
Loud laughter emanates from Mum, Auntie Sandra and James; explosions from popped paper bags. I stare at plop dome-melt on road. My eyebrows arrowhead down, shoulders, hunch, fold; a rain-soaked Rook. I walk away; kick at the stick with scuffed-toe trainers, embarrassment and disappointment.
Auntie Sandra unclips click-y, gold metal twins to search in her handbag. She picks out a credit card with her lightly freckled fingers, holds it up to us briefly, emphasises intention with a makeshift tool. Sandra kneels on the ground; I see thin, white lines radiate, send signals across her tanned ankles; imagine melted tar and hot gravel touch her knees; unwanted sticky kisses. Sandra carefully scrapes, lifts the mini-mound of dark chocolate chip-dotted, pale green ice cream, a melting sugary transfer left behind. I watch Sandra place the ice cream back on my cone, which, unaware, I still hold entrenched within my suntanned fist. Still angered with shock, cherry-pied with embarrassment, I freeze in sympathy with the remaining scoop of marble-melt flavours. Eventually with incredulity at Sandra’s action (is this grown-up behaviour? It’s not hygienic, is it?), reluctance relinquishes to acknowledge the gesture; I submit. Result: a broad, mint-choc-chip moustache, cold-lipped smile. My laughter like the last nestling, coaxed by an adult to fledge, soon joins them; a chorus of mirth.
The first voice of rain, whisper-filled balloons appear, polka dot-pattern our path, shiny drops of satin, which sing quietly, evaporate, sigh; disappear.
On the 10th August 2017 you will be performing at The Edinburgh Fringe with Rosie Garland, Hannah Raymond Cox, Andromada Mystic, Rachel Plummer, Angie Strachan, Carla Woodburn, Rebecca Monks and Taylor Swift 666 in a show called Poetry Bordello: Where Spoken Word Meets Physical Theatre. Fascinating! Tell us more…
As a visual artist, as well as a poet, I’m interested in producing and promoting poetry and spoken word shows which are more about theatre than just voice, and in the past I’ve experimented with using projections and animation in sync with live performers:
but, in this particular show, I’m combining performance artists with spoken word artists to bombard the audience with both a visual and verbal assault, plus hopefully recreate the atmosphere of the 1920s Berlin cabaret scene in a performance poetry setting. We’ve been planning this Bordello for months now and I’m really excited as we have a fantastic line-up of performers, from established performance poets like Rosie Garland, Hannah Raymond Cox and Rachel Plummer to newcomers like the amazing Rebecca Monks and Carla Woodburn, plus stunning physical artistes like the versatile and challenging Andromada Mystic, so it’s going to be a fantastic night all round…and we’re only doing one performance, so get there early!
As well as a performance poet, you are a freelance illustrator. Your client list includes Harper Collins, The Guardian, The Wall Street Journal, Manchester University Press, Bloodaxe Books and Naxos Audio Books. Can you walk us through your journey as an illustrator? Have you any advice for any budding illustrators?
I’ve been illustrating for nearly forty years now and I’ve been very fortunate in my career to have had a lot of clients who have been more interested in good and challenging art rather than bland happy-smiley images, so I have had the opportunity to create a lot of stunning visuals over the years. I always loved art and drawing as a child, and was obsessed with making toy theatres, so when I went to university in Glasgow in the mid 1970s and I discovered the Citizens’ Theatre and, in particular, the work of director/designer Phillip Prowse and the graphic design and illustration of the fantastic Adrian George, the rest was history and I was hooked! I decided then and there that that was what I was going to do with my life and I’ve had a fantastic time doing things like illustrating book covers for the work of people like John Ford, John Webster, Thomas Middleton etc. I also take my illustration work into the poetry shows I produce and I design all my own poster work and all the slides and graphics for our shows, plus the animations where I subject my performers to endless photo sessions so that I can transform them in mermaids and other exotic creatures on screen.
For someone starting out in illustration in today’s market I would say only do this as a career if you love it because it’s a hard life and it’s getting increasingly harder. If you’re a “painterly” artist like me you’ll get a lot of work from theatres and small literary presses, which is great fun, but doesn’t pay well. However, if you can produce glossy images of happy families eating cornflakes, advertising will embrace you and pay you well.
What is it you love about poetry?
Ah, poetry! Poetry is my passion and my life. As a teenager it was a vocalisation of all my adolescent anguish and anger (or so I thought!) and then in mid-life it became an oral photo album, recording multitudes of scenes and moments, a personal grimoire of tiny fragments of my life all carefully preserved in well-chosen words like flies in amber. Now I use it mainly to communicate with readers and audiences, mainly to make them laugh since I’m not young and angry any more, but overall to convey emotions and feelings and, dare I say it, messages.
What’s your secret to a good performance poem?
A good performance poem should be a monologue or a tiny one-act-play. It needs to be clear and preferably impassioned – the stage is not the place for tricksy metaphors and clever similes – and it needs to have either a strong message or narrative to engage the audience straight away. I’d say the more theatrical the better, but I hate poets who just jump around on stage for the sake of it. If your poem is real and genuine, that will come through in your performance, and there’s no need for histrionics.
Can you share with us a couple of your poems and the inspiration behind them?
Here are two. The first, Eulogy, is a performance poem about my Dad who I miss dreadfully; and the second is a ‘page’ poem that was inspired by a beautiful but exceptionally sad woman I once saw, who appeared to be enslaved by her husband.
Eulogy
They wouldn’t let me speak
At my father’s funeral,
Because, listen,
We know you that you’re a poet and all that,
But we need someone proper,
Like a minister,
To do this job,
And, anyway, you’d probably just get nervous
And make inappropriate jokes
At all the wrong moments.
And all this would have been fine
If
The minister who had known him all his life
Hadn’t died the previous year
And the new man,
Who’d met him, I think,
Twice
Wasn’t on holiday
And they’d brought in a locum
Who didn’t know him from Adam.
So I had to sit on my hands and listen
To my Dad’s life condensed to a paragraph,
No mention of all those good years in India,
Forty years dominating huge mills,
Gaining the respect of his workforce
As he strode down the riverside
In his pristine whites
at half-past five each morning,
Dawn mist still damp on his hair
As he rolled his sleeves up
To face each new day.
Or the hours he spent
Teaching me how to swim,
Elegant in the water for such a portly man,
And at nights
Letting me watch him in the billiard room,
The soft click-clack of snooker balls
My lullaby
And a gentle descant to the soft
Evensong of crickets outside…
And, of course, no mention at all of all the shit years,
Bouncing from crap job to crap job,
Finally dumped in that
So-called care home,
So riddled with cancer
that I thought they’d swapped him
for some starving street waif,
His signature red jumper
Hanging on him
Like a kid playing dress-up.
And, when they had the cheek to say
That he had gone to a better place
It was all I could do not to shout out
That anyone who knew him
Knew
That his place was at the stand
At Dens Park,
And to this day I do not like to think
Of some season-ticket-holding
Stranger
Sitting in his seat,
Where, surely,
The groove eroded by his
Sensible shoes
is still worn into the soft wood floor
Of the patron’s area.
And I wish that I could have spent
More time with him
In the bleak years.
And I wish
That I could have been more like
The son that he’d imagined having,
Though he never,
Ever,
Held that against me,
But,
Most of all,
I wish on that steel-grey January day
I had just stood up in that church
And given him the eulogy that he deserved.
Because he wasn’t the Hero of His Own Time,
Or the Definitive Family Man
Or a Pillar of his Community,
But he was my Dad,
And surely that was enough.
****
The Lepidopterist’s Wife
He keeps her in the dark lest the light mar the brightness of her wings,
Her beauty pinned fluttering to a hard piece of
Beetle-black scarab board
In the heat of her killing-bottle night.
She is a plaintive melody
In scarlet and mood indigo,
Violet and burnt orange,
Viridian and sour cherry,
Her beauty the gossamer caress
Of invisible wings in the darkest night,
A silver trail of floating web
In a blossom-scented sunset,
Heady with the scents of Meadow Sweet.
But in her cellar prison she languishes in chains,
Every tear,
Every sigh of desire,
Meticulously catalogued and labelled
In row upon endless row of glass cases in the Lepidopterist’s museum,
Her life laid out in carefully recorded wants and indiscretions,
Misshapen specimens floating threateningly in formaldehyde,
Each wild occasion neatly annotated in his own precise hand.
Come, come, why the tears, we are not monsters,
Butterfly woman,
He says as he stabs her through the heart,
Again and again and again.
Come, give us this flesh,
This lock of hair,
This bit of blood,
Her life a living autopsy
On the Lepidopterist’s vivisection table,
Pulling out her entrails in bright red ribbons
That glitter in the early dawn’s grey light
As he bandages her still-bleeding body
And closes the cellar door,
Locking her in the dark once more
Lest the light dull the brilliance of her wings.
What themes keep cropping up in your writing? What do you care about?
I write a lot of poems about my own childhood, my parents and my relationships with them, funny poems about ageing and adapting to modern life and its idiocies and frustrations, angry poems about inequality and sexism, sad poems about people I have lost, whimsical poems about things like dog shit and crying babies and annoying phone lines and computers that set out to defy me and incomprehensible governments and illogical laws and procedures, and and and…..
If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?
Can I say get rid of racism, sexism and Donald Trump? OK, just get rid of racism and sexism, that should take care of Trump anyway!
Who inspires you and why?
People who mean it. I like evocative writers who can paint word pictures like Aimee Bender and Rosie Garland. Writers who speak with true clear voice like Arelene Heyman and Edith Perlman. Magical realists like Angela Carter and Salman Rushdie. I don’t like fakes. Writers who write for the sake of it, or because they read a good book once and want to rewrite it – you can usually spot them in the first paragraph! I’m inspired by genuine authors who write with passion and conviction. People who have stories inside them so pressing that they have to get them onto the page as a matter of urgency.
What are you reading at the moment?
The Stories of Eva Luna by Isabel Allende. Breathtaking even in translation and I’m seriously contemplating learning Spanish so I can read the rest of her books in their original tongue.
What is next for you? What plans have you got?
I have a one-man-show at the Fringe this year, which is on the week after the Poetry Bordello, a collection of stories and video about my own childhood in the last days of British India – it’s called The Last Burrah Sahibs and corresponds with my autobiographical book of the same name. Full details here.
I’m also experimenting with more film work, both making my own and performing in other people’s epics, plus I’ve been doing some modelling, for god’s sake. Oh, and I’m still open to offers to fulfil my cherished dream of designing an opera sometime before I finally retire!
Can you tell us about your journey as a poet? Where did it all start for you?
It came out of the blue, and bit me on the bum nearly 7 years ago. Life hasn’t been the same since. At the age of 54 I wrote my first poem (a comedic one about Wigan pies) and performed it at a one-off event at the Museum of Wigan Life. It was a terrifying experience and I vowed never to do anything like it again. Seriously, I couldn’t ever have imagined what was to come next.
At the event, I’d met some lovely poets who told me about a regular Write Out Loud poetry open mic night at the Tudor pub in Wigan. For a few months, I lurked quietly at the back until one evening, some other “newbies” sat at my table and we made the sudden decision to perform. I read my one and only poem for a second time. It was still a terrifying experience but something had changed. I couldn’t say that I’d enjoyed it because again it had been terrifying, but I had to admit it was thrilling and I had the urge to push myself further – to see what I could achieve.
From that moment, there was no looking back. Whenever I performed, I challenged myself to conquer my nerves. I deliberately set out to scare myself a little more each time (trying to memorise my work, incorporating audience participation etc).
As my confidence grew, I started to go further afield to other poetry monthly nights across the North West. Although they were lovely and welcoming, I was surprised to find that the atmosphere at many felt flat in comparison to Wigan. Inadvertently I’d “cut my poetic teeth” at a full-on, raucous, fun filled, unruly, love it/hate it, quite unique night. The Tudor had a proper stage, lighting, a guy in a sound booth and a packed room drunkenly cheering and heckling with earthy yet clever wit. It was always unpredictable, unpretentious and welcomed the weird and wonderful. I fitted right in!
There was one aspect of those nights that turned out to be a major influence on my future creative path. Many people who had come to the pub for just for a drink got drawn in and discovered a love for poetry. Some of them even started writing and performing. I saw so many, like myself, transform and grow through the sharing their words.
Later on I found out that the Tudor was nicknamed “The Bear Pit” and I’m sure that if my first experiences there had been less anarchic and more sedate, then I would never have become a poet. The pub has sadly closed but the night continues in true WOL Wigan style, now based at the nearby Old Courts.
Nowadays I enjoy live poetry in all its various incarnations, but I avoid predictable or pretentious nights (there are a few around!). I get energized by those with energy and passion, where poets are encouraged to take risks and audiences are enthused.
Before I knew it, I was travelling all over the country headlining events, winning awards, slams, etc, and I’m still pinching myself. Family and friends are amazed at what I do. Once I’d stopped worrying about making mistakes and looking like a fool, endless possibilities opened up. For example, one highlight from last year was the Isle of Wight festival. As well as performing two sets on the Cirque De La Quirk stage with Verbal Remedies, I organised a flash mob and did pop-up creative activities with the crowds.
Truth is, the spoken word community is like an adopted family – totally wonky bonkers the lot of them, but they have embraced me and encouraged me to find my own voice and take risks. I am so happy that I’m now doing the same for hundreds of other people.
I can best summarize my poetry journey as being like Alice falling down the most surreal rabbit hole ever.
What inspires you to write and perform?
People. Life. Anything. Everything. From the tiniest thought or observation to massive things that seriously matter. I only share a small fraction of what I write because, well, I mainly write for myself.
For over 50 years I really believed that I had no creative talent whatsoever. All attempts at music, art, crafts etc ended in frustration and a sense of failure. I did appreciate and admire others’ creative talents in all its forms, but I just couldn’t imagine myself having any aptitude.
I worked as a teacher and for many years I ran a Pupil Referral Unit for excluded pupils. I brought in a range of creatives because I could see how the pupils engaged easily with the arts. I knew that when learning is fun, it can powerful – a path to empowerment and long term lasting change.
It took me a long time before I could describe myself as being a poet instead of saying that I dabbled and messed about with words. Coming late to this poetry world, it feels like now that I’ve opened the floodgates, I couldn’t stop writing and performing even if I tried.
Now I love that every day I help people discover their creative ability. Connecting with people in a meaningful way is essentially why I write and perform.
Do you have a set writing routine?
Routine? What’s routine? Seriously. Since giving up work a couple of years ago, life has been chock full of wonders, with no two days ever being remotely the same. I do “routinely” (as in every single day) enjoy the spark of spontaneity. People are always commenting on how many projects I have on the go at once but I’m loving it, so I say “Why not?”
I write whenever and wherever. Of course my muse is mischievous as I usually get my best ideas or words when I don’t have a pen or any technology to hand.
You’ve recently recorded some poems for TV adverts. How did you get involved with this? What’s it been like to see yourself on screen?
Like most creative things I have done, it came to me. Earlier this year four of my micro poems were regularly shown as ident adverts for ITV Documentaries sponsored by Nationwide Building Society. Currently two of my poems are heading their latest campaign on ITV, Sky, commercial radio etc.
The opportunity came via The Poetry Takeaway who are managing and casting for the Voices Nationwide campaign, they are representing the poets involved and are passionate that they are treated properly. The Creative Agency responsible were also fantastic – utterly professional yet grounded and fun to work with. I learned a lot. Throughout the process I had full creative freedom and they helped me raise my poetic / performance bar.
I believe strongly that poets should be treated the same as other artists, musicians etc. Unfortunately, many organisations still believe that poets should get little or no payment for their work. I’ve turned down work on the basis of ethics or personal principle and will continue to do so.
Seeing myself on TV is a bit weird but fine – though I genuinely get flummoxed when strangers stop me to talk to me because they’ve seen me on TV. I’ve still not figured out what to say.
Essentially getting poetry out to a wider audience is fantastic. I don’t mind if people don’t like my work. Nobody likes every kind of music, and poetry is the same. There’s something out there for everyone if they look. Lots of companies are using poetry to promote their products. This advertising campaign is getting real poets doing their own poetry to a wider audience. If families are sat at home discussing why they love or hate a particular poem, then that’s surely got to be a good thing? If someone sees one of mine and says “I could do better than that” – well that’s great. If they then have a go at writing … BINGO!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28eR4ii04vc
I love watching poetry slams. What’s it like to perform at one?
Terrifying. Exhilarating. Perplexing. Of course I understand why the issue of judging poetry divides people. If slams are viewed as serious competitions where the scores matter, I agree that they are a ridiculous concept, but that viewpoint misses, well, the point. In reality slams range from the sublime to the dire. They are a fun entertainment vehicle that provides a chance for poets to raise their bar in front of an unpredictable audience and panel of judges who’s scoring generally baffles everyone.
A badly organised slam is without doubt something to be avoided but luckily for me I’ve experienced some real corkers. Oh, and if anyone gets the chance to go to an Anti-Slam (where the worst, lowest scoring poem wins) then please do – they are simply inventive irreverent and hilarious.
There are a number of you tube clips showing you performing your work. I think ‘Mam’ is beautifully written. It’s incredibly moving and loving. Is it easy to share childhood memories like these?
Yes, I find it easy because whilst the poem calls on my own personal childhood memories, it’s also about the here and now. It’s about love. My mam is in her 90s and is an amazing inspiration for me and many others. It’s my most performed poem and I never tire of sharing it. It’s my most watched video online too and I think people connect strongly with it because it reminds them of their own much loved mams, nans, sisters, aunties, etc. Often people are moved to tears saying “I’m crying, but in a good way.”
One often cited quote seems appropriate here:
“Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable”
I also saw your poem (think it was called) ‘Trump, Trump, Trump’. Do you think your writing has become more political since Trump’s election? Do you think it’s important for artists to challenge what is happening in the world?
I can only speak for myself. I don’t think that poets / artists HAVE to respond to issues but in these most challenging of times it’s very heartening to see how many are. I personally have no choice. I am compelled to speak out. Whether it’s about fracking or miscarriages of justice, or whatever, I’ve now found my voice and I’m not afraid to use it.
“My words can comfort or amuse,
dig deep or brutally bruise…
I refuse to keep my words in.”
A link to my poem that contains these lines appears later in this interview. It’s my story. Take a look and you’ll hopefully understand why I’m passionate about what I do.
Oh – and there is a post-election rewrite of my Trump parody that I now regularly perform.
Can you share any details of projects you’re currently involved in?
My current post as the first ever Creative-in-Residence at Afflecks (Palace) has been my main focus for the last 20 months. Afflecks is an iconic emporium of independent sole traders. It’s been at the heart of Manchester’s culture (& counter culture) scene since 1982. I have set up a Creative Space there. It’s free to use and always open. It has transformed 100s of people’s lives, including my own. Take a look at Afflecks Creatives on Facebook to get a glimpse or better still visit – it’s a short walk away from Piccadilly Gardens.
A recent quote from a visitor: Afflecks is a place of wonder, but the Creative Space curated by Joy France is something beautifully unique. Frankly it is a bit of magic for everyone to experience. A hidden gem that 1000s of people (local and worldwide) will be recalling fondly and telling their grandkids about how special it was.
I’ve just counted up and I’m currently actively involved in well over 30 big projects. Here are a few:
I’m writing my fourth One Woman Show. It’s about my 4 month adventure trying to do 60 new things (low cost and through real people) before I turned 60. It’s actually about age, taking risks, stereotyping and attitude to life.
I’ll be expanding my own quirky take on engaging people with words creatively via a new series of ventures. Essentially I’ll be building and strengthening communities through creativity.
I hope to have a massive an exhibition about Manchester & specifically my residency at Afflecks
I have a documentary film team currently following me (eek) capturing me as a baby boomer who is living life beyond the normal.
I’m performing at festivals and taking poetry to places where it’s not normally found. I’m carrying on engaging with poetry haters.
Even though writing and performing poetry, running workshops etc will always be at the heart of what I do, nowadays I’m enjoying exploring new art forms. Mixing things up. Collaborating. Oh – and definitely carrying on stepping out of my comfort zone to scare myself a little or a lot.
Many of my plans are still hush but I promise they will be interesting. There are over 50 of them so I’m looking forward to involving many other people but again I’m likely only to share a few of them online.
What are you reading at the moment?
You won’t be surprised to hear that I always have several books on the go at once. In the Creative Space there are lots of books with advice or words of wisdom to young writers, penned by the authors and poets. I often do a “lucky dip” grab and indulge thing. Recent additions include several new collections from Flapjack Press. It’s fascinating seeing how poems I’ve only seen performed are transformed when on the page. I’ve never been interested in having my poems published as a collection. I’m still not sure but I’m reconsidering. Maybe a book of my thoughts / memories / ideas / prompts with a sprinkling of my poems might one day be “a thing.”
Would you share one of your poems with us?
This is a recently recorded version of the poem I mentioned earlier, about finding my voice.
Have you got anything else you’d like to add?
I’ve deliberately avoided mentioning anyone by name because there are way too many to mention and I would inevitably leave out key people. I want to say a massive thank you to all who support and inspire me. I’m so lucky to be part of the Spoken Word scene at this exciting time.
Also – thanks for asking me to do this interview as it’s given me a rare chance to take a pause from my hectic schedule and reflect. I’m now even more curious and excited, wondering where this creative journey might take me next.
So finally … I had so much fun doing my “60 new things before I turn 60” challenge that I’m carrying on my adventure by doing “61 new things in the year I turn 61” – Time’s running out.
Thank you for agreeing to take part in an interview for Ink Pantry.
Hello and thank you for having me. It’s a pleasure to chat with you.
Can you tell us how it all started for you? When did you become a writer?
I can’t put an exact time on when I started to write. I tried for many years to write a novel but I never produced anything I was really happy with. There were more pages in the bin than in my notebook and I struggled to put together tales that had a conclusion. I don’t think my writer’s voice was strong enough. Then about four years ago I started writing again and a story just flowed out through my pen onto paper and The Community was born. I loved the whole process and from there I was hooked. A while later I decided to publish my book as a gift to myself, as I had one of those milestone birthdays looming. From there I have never looked back, and now I find writing is one of the greatest pleasures in my life.
Without spoiling the story, how would you describe your first novel The Community?
The Community is a mystery and a love story that spans fifty years. It starts with a body being discovered in a local park, no one knows who she is or how she got there. Alexandra Price, a newbie journalist, picks up the story and is sure there is more to the story than just a woman dead in the park. She follows leads, symbols and tales from the older members of the town to uncover the story.
Meanwhile we meet Jack. He was born and raised in Charmsbury, but as a young man he had a hard time getting along with his family, and when he found the love of his life, his family refused to accept her. He was so heartbroken that he ran away from home and started a whole new life for himself with the help of his best friend Peter. He didn’t run too far and the community he founded was born. We follow his life through fifty years and bring his story up to date as he discovers he may finally be discovered.
No one could have ever guessed how life and love could become so intermingled as Alex and Jack work their way towards their destiny.
Do you plan to write any more in this series?
Yes, the second book Pictures of Deceit has already been published, and takes Alex on a trip across the globe as she tries to find answers to the disappearance of a famous art dealer.
The third book is being written now, although as yet it hasn’t given up it’s title to me, but I am hoping to have it for release in Sept/Oct 2017.
Do you have a set writing routine?
Unfortunately not. I would love to be that organised, but with a business to run, time can sometimes be short. I grab a little time here and there and always carry a notebook with me just incase I find a spare moment. Not ideal, but it seems to work.
What inspires you to write?
I write because I love to, and what drives me to write more is the reaction I get from people who contact me and tell me how much they have enjoyed my work. I write for me, but publish for them. The whole process is an inspiration, there is no part of it that seems like work. If I can offer relaxation and some escapism to my readers, then that’s all the inspiration I need to put pen to paper again.
You have also published an E-book of short stories. Do you prefer writing short stories or novels?
The easiest question so far, my preference is novels. I like to tell a story and let you get to know the characters. The depth of a novel is far more engaging to me.
As a writer, do you approach these formats differently?
Yes, very differently. A short story is something I sit down at the computer and write, no structure or intent, I just write, but there is no plan, generally they have started out as a warm up technique before I go back to the novel. I was lucky that I wrote a few that I thought worth sharing, but they are not my forte.
With a novel I write the first chapter with the same sort of approach, but once I have a starting point then I can start to structure it, and if I’m lucky I get to lock myself away for an hour or two in the evenings to just write. Another major difference is that my first draft of a novel is never put on the computer. I always hand write the first draft, it feels more personal.
What do you enjoy reading?
Mystery, suspense and a little horror. Stephen King, Carlos Ruiz Zafon and Agatha Christie are amongst my favourite authors. Before I started writing, these were my go-to authors, but since I have published my work I have discovered many really good new authors, but I still like the same genres.
What are you working on at the moment?
I am currently editing book three of the Alex Price series. It still doesn’t have a title yet but this story is a more personal one for Alex. It is also a much darker tale. I have enjoyed writing it every bit as much as I did the other two. I can only hope it will be as well received.
Where can we find out more about your work?
I’d love it if you’d like to stop by my website where all the information about my work is. There is also an experimental free story available there which is a collaboration with another writer, which will build chapter by chapter. Come over and take a look.
Yes, if you want to write, then write, don’t worry about any of the other stuff. It’s really not going to be as difficult as you think, but first you must learn to believe that you can do it. Forget the rules and don’t try to be perfect, let your voice shine out of your work. There’s a million reasons (excuses) for giving up, but don’t fall for any of them, there are people out there just waiting to discover you.
