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Showing posts from May, 2023

When I grow up, I want to be a writer...

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  Mary Wesley who published her first book for adults aged 71. But here I am, aged sixty-seven, with numerous short stories and flash published, also articles and book reviews, yet still no book.   I thought it would never happen.  I don’t believe that God promised me, Rosemary Johnson, a book deal.  He promised eternal salvation to all those who loved Him, which is more important.  Of course, I was frustrated.  Every time I passed the members’ bookstall at ACW writers’ events, I felt myself to be a failure. Nevertheless I made myself understand that there many other ways in which my writing skills can be used for His glory, preaching and writing intercessions in church, in supporting my local Foodbank and in managing the ACW website.        Then just last September a hybrid publisher, who I will call Fred, accepted my novel,  Wodka or Tea with Milk,  for publication.  At last, oh at last.  Almost sixty years after that little girl me made getting published her ambition.  However, it h

Pen y Fan

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  Sometimes you find yourself doing things that you’ve always claimed you’re hopeless at. Like editing, or in this case walking up Pen y Fan, in the Brecon Beacons. I’m not a keen walker, and my children only walk because they don’t have many other options. Which is why we now have a dog. Goldie loves walking, the kids love Goldie, so we all end up walking. A few weeks ago, I had a child-free weekend, the first one in ten years, so on Saturday, I decided to take Goldie on a proper hike. She is young, and therefore limited in how far she should/could walk, but Pen y Fan was something I had heard about a lot. I looked into it, and as the weather up high was expected to be great, Goldie and I set off Saturday morning towards the Brecon Beacons. Welsh hills always remind me of Rosemary Sutcliffe's books, especially when covered in mist. That Saturday, the sky was blue as can be, but still, there is something about hills without roads, looking still and mysterious. Pen y Fan is a wo

Planning by Allison Symes

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Image Credit:  Images created in Book Brush using Pixabay photos. Where there are writers, they will fall either side of The Great Debate.  To Plan or Not to Plan, that is the question - whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to work out a outline or to accept sometimes you’re going to box yourself in because you didn’t (otherwise known as a sea of troubles).   With apologies to W. Shakespeare, late of the Parish of Stratford-upon-Avon. I wonder how many drafts he did but suspect the fact he had deadlines helped him focus. I plan. I don’t plan everything. I need enough to get me started, whether it’s a blog, a flash fiction tale, or my columns elsewhere.  I knew from the start of this I would misquote Shakespeare for what I hope is humorous effect. Am not sorry. Am sure he would be delighted to know he still inspires writers - that’s my excuse. I have only abandoned two short stories. I’ve been writing for over 25 years. That isn’t a bad return rate but why did this happen at all? I hadn’t t
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  Regret, Resentment, Pride or Nostalgia?             BY OLUSOLA SOPHIA ANYANWU It is interesting what kind of bizarre thoughts come in to one’s mind. As I watched the coronation of King Charles 111, such filtered through my mind, reeling through scores of years ago, the way a random kite is sometimes seen in the sky. Thoughts about what other countries who had deposed of their own monarchies might feel or think. Regret?     Resentment?     Or nostalgia. Whatever!   The ceremony birthed a fable told in black communities about the dog and his mother. This is my embellished version from my creative pot. A long time ago, there was a very severe famine in the land of the animals. They decided to have a meeting to find a solution to the food scarcity. Leaving their mothers to look after their families, they gathered in a big open space pondering for hours without a solution. Then the tortoise came up with the solution… All the animals hastened back home to carry out the tortoise’s ‘br

Who do you write for? by Tracy Williamson

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I was feeling a little stumped as I came to write this blog.  The MTW posts I'd read recently had been so good, I didn't know what on earth I could add?  I decided to do a rather silly thing - I picked up my bible and dropped it on the desk telling myself that wherever it fell open, I would use something on that page to inspire me. It opened on Luke Chapter 1 and I thought, O dear!  But as I read the first few verses something did jump out at me.  Luke's words about why he chose to write his account of the life of Jesus:    'it seemed good also to me to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the certainty of the things you have been taught.'  Luke started writing because he could, in his mind's eye, see the face of someone he loved and wanted to communicate to.  Theophilus, whom he described as most excellent.  He wasn't writing just for the sake of adding another written work to his portfolio.  He was writing to he

Will you push the domino? by Brendan Conboy

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I am always fascinated to watch a Domino topple challenge.  It can take many days to set up intricate patterns in order to watch a few minutes of breath-taking cascade.  Each domino piece is carefully placed in order to hit the next one and make it fall.  What would happen if the first domino fell too far away, nobody bothered to topple it, or it toppled in the wrong direction?  There would be a great anti-climax and disappointment. The same anti-climax can happen in our writing when we face rejection from publishers, magazines, competitions, critiques, etc.  Like the Domino Masters, you have painstakingly laboured over your creation.  Some of you may not have even started writing your manuscript, you just keep putting it off. We all have a domino to push of some kind or another.  This week, I pushed a new kind of domino, as I took part in a local arts festival.  I have made several attempts in the past to be accepted as part of the Nailsworth Festival but was always turned down (I

Historical or Hysterical? by Joy Margetts

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 Ever felt like you were verging on the edge of hysterical? And not the good, laugh until your belly hurts hysterical, more the ‘just about keeping it together’ hysterical? In a mere 3 weeks time I will be co-leading a Christian Writer’s Retreat, something that I have never done before, and that I am both very excited and understandably nervous about. The pressure is definitely mounting as we prepare our workshops, and get all the details of the event sorted, ready to welcome our brave guests. Worrying about all the things that could go wrong. But actually, we have been praying as we plan, and whilst it feels like a huge thing we are doing, we are absolutely convinced that God is going to be with us in it all. When I feel myself getting stressed about it, I know I can keep giving it back to God. When my  heart   is   overwhelmed ; Lead me to the rock that  is  higher than I .     Psalm 61:2 No, the reason for the elevated stress levels is actually a historical one. To clear m

Martin and Kingsley

  It is always sad to hear of the death of a famous writer, especially if he or she is one’s own age! The novelist Martin Amis died on 19 May. He was born almost exactly a year before me, and we must have graduated from Oxford at the same time, though of course neither of us knew the other. I haven’t read any of Martin Amis’s works, apart from the short extracts that occur quite often as quotations in the Oxford English Dictionary (there are over 250). I am quite sure that I would find them repugnant. Unlike most of us, his entrance into the literary scene was easy, being the son of the famous Kingsley (who died in 1995 at exactly the same age as his son, 73). He said ‘ nothing is more ordinary to you than what your dad does all day’, and of course his dad’s name would have given him an entre to his first job on the TLS.  Of Kingsley’s works I have only read his first novel, Lucky Jim , which propelled him to instant fame as the spokesperson of a generation. I’m pretty certain that I w

Writing within Limits by Rebecca Seaton

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  Writing within Limits by Rebecca Seaton                                                                                                                     Magazine articles: deadlines and word limits! I’ve recently been thinking about limitations on our writing. I believe the greater the limit, the more creative it forces us to be:   Word limits are an obvious example. I’ve recently begun experimenting with flash fiction, which is a real change from writing novels. Going from 136,000 to 200 words is a significant jump! Even in writing this blog, there’s a word limit which I initially found quite difficult but now usually write to quite easily. Culling words has helped me see which elements of my writing are most important.   Time is a limitation for all of us. The jokes and memes around the procrastination of writers are almost an entertainment form in themselves. It isn’t hard to see why we struggle. The creative arts involve process and exploration and it feels odd t

More Than Everything by Emily Owen

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Back in February, my MTW blog ( here ) fell at the start of Lent, 22 nd , and I rejoiced that for once I had a pre-chosen topic. Fast forward to May, and I’m asking myself, how could I have forgotten May 22 nd ? You see, May 22 nd carries a pre-chosen topic for me. NF2 is the name of a medical condition I have and live with, and today – May 22 nd -   is NF2 day. For the past few May 22nds, I have written (not for MTW) articles about NF2, I have written as NF2 – writing from an unusual perspective is great fun; do give it a go – I have written rhyme, and haiku about NF2. This year, I have written Limericks about NF2. So why did I rejoice, back in February, that for once I had a pre-chosen topic? I have one every year! The only thing I can think is that it’s not a generic reason. Lent is generic. Lots of people mark Lent. NF2 Day is specific. I hazard a guess that few – if any – other ACW-ers would claim NF2 Day personally. Specific was eclipsed by generic. Per

One Song to the Tune of Another Mother

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A lad from the tribe of Sheeran was recently brought before the city elders. The sons of Marvin claimed he had stolen parts of a psalm attributed to their forefather. Believing that he had earned much gold, the sons of Marvin were angered and wanted retribution. The Sheeranite – a ruddy lad with a particular gifting in stringed instruments and a probable descendant of Jubal 1 made his case with all the townsfolk watching and listening closely. Much music sounds like other music. There are only a certain number of ways things can be done. The sons of Marvin, however, maintained that he knew what he was doing, and was therefore a liar. Some in the crowd needed fine details explaining, such as the difference between a lyre and a liar. Truth be told, it would not be clever to harp on about it. The elders considered the facts and decided in favour of the Sheeranite. You could not subtract the facts. He composed his own psalms, even when they occasionally sounded similar to other p

Ghosting

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“Likewise, the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark.” James 3: 5 (NIV) You are probably very aware of the power of negative words – an insult, accusation, a bad review, a lie or a criticism may have left you with emotional scars. I imagine you do your best not to inflict similar wounds on others. Those who use their words online to spark fires and wreak havoc (usually anonymously) we call them trolls. Many of us live in fear of trolls but at least we get to call them ‘trolls’ which makes us feel a bit better. When I was 16, I had a job in KwikSave and I remember another kid causing total mayhem on his last day of work because he didn’t care about the repercussions- why would he? He was leaving. Two weeks later, a very shame-faced teenager came crawling back to ask for his old job again and do you think they gave it to him? He’d very effectively sparked a fire and burned a bridge behind him, thinking

Lightbulb Experience - thanks to Mario Mario

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picture shows my husband in the now updated centre (2022), which housed the cinema my son and I used to go to in the 80's.   An unexpected last-minute invitation to join my son and grandsons to the cinema to see “The Super Mario Bros Movie” provided me with a new opportunity to review my writing. The opportunity prompted my 10-year-old grandson to remark, “Isn’t it great that you used to take dad to see a movie every week and now he can take you to see a movie. I wonder if when I have my children, I will take my mum to watch a movie with us!” A clear perception of how the generations perpetuate our habits. But I digress. My sons used to play the original Mario Bros game on Nintendo in the 1980’s (the original game came out in 1985), and my son said he had been waiting since then to see the movie. When the live-action version came out in 1993 he was deeply disappointed that it wasn’t an animated version. I had been totally unaware of this because quite frankly my interest in video

What do fishing and writing have in common? By Georgie Tennant

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Last time I blogged (two months ago), I wrote about my rising anxiety and impending departure from my comfort zone (a trip to Zimbabwe to visit family). I’m pleased to report I survived the experience and have been back to reality for well over a month now.  It was certainly an adventure! I started by having 24 hours of travel, whilst recovering from a slightly-too-close-for-comfort dose of Covid.  A week in, I braved the “Flying Fox,” – a zip wire over the gorge just along from Victoria Falls. Back in Harare, I took a spin in my brother-in-law’s light aircraft, which he uses in his role in wildlife conservation in Zimbabwe.  The same week, I succeeded in continuing to breathe while said brother-in-law allowed my 12-year-old to drive a truck around on a private road in a game reserve. A zebra crossing, in this context, was quite literal. Later in the trip, I slept in a tent on the banks of the Zambezi river where we were told (on night one) that a hippo had been seen wandering through