Words, stories & stuff
I rediscovered the joy of writing when studying for a degree with the Open University. Briefly tempted away from Art History, I opted for a couple of creative writing modules. This opened up a whole new world of writing options which I had never considered or, as the case of poetry, I had deliberately avoided.
Words, whether life-writing or fiction or a mixture of both, in the form of prose or verse, stream-of-consciousness or strict villanelle, I have found to be a balm for internal angst. Unscrambling and confronting life’s lingering detritus, writing it all out, picking over the nastiness, examining the idiocy, is excellent and much-needed therapy.
Here’s a very small selection of some of my words. Semi-autobiographical snippets of very unreliable memoir.
Ancestor worship
A brief examination of the origins of the family name, uncovering some surprisedly unlikely coincidences.
In the bleak mid-fifties
A childhood in the middle of the twentieth century; a brave new world of hope growing out of the rubble.
The yellow grass of Arcadia
A short story tells of one man's method of coping during a future pandemic.
The phallus by the fire
The poem of the Christmas gift that exceeded all expectation then overreached itself.
The little outsider
A search for the Englishness within or life as 'the German' in post-war, rubble-strewn Merseyside.
Stepping out
The gay abandon of naivety and innocence. Learning to be guilty and how to be free of materialism.