Words, Words, Words

I've always been an avid reader. That I've got two floor to ceiling bookshelves downstairs crammed with books and another three behind me now in my study, double stacked, suggests nothing's changed as far as that's concerned. I have Amazon on speed dial. Having a Kindle just makes things worse. I love books.

In case, you're late to the party on this blog, I am, what you might call, over-educated. I have two degrees. The first was a BA in Development Studies. I was going to save the world. Well, thankfully that didn't happen. Then I got a BA in Creative Writing.

Doing that degree, poorly financially resourced, poorly supported at home (to start with), nearly damn-well crucified me. That degree saved me. I ditched the bloke, wrote my little heart out and had a fantastic relationship, that was because I started blogging. I started with the intention that I would write a novel, I didn't like writing poetry and as for this modern art lark... I finished my degree with better marks for my poetry, loving my Creative Practice and with several ideas for a novel.

For me, writing a novel is a bit like my relationships with men. Seem like a good idea at the time, but I am completely unable to commit myself to the process. I learnt some mad skills doing the degree. I am an editor par excellence. I am also not a bad creative mentor. I get a real kick out of supporting a person through the creative experience. Any piece of writing can be made better. It may never be outstanding, but it can be made better.

My paid employment consists of copywriting for front facing customer literature and website copy. It's great. I get to plug myself into my iPod, get my head down and write. It's not heart-feeding stuff I write, but its still great to do. It amazes me that doing the Creative Writing degree has more than paid for itself. Even all of the grief.

My BA in Development Studies, although not a waste of time, it's function was to get me into Norwich, to kick start my life off as a single parent; rather than save the world. Looking at it from a distance, I can see why I can never do that. People make very simple situations, complicated. With many, many silly reasons why things cannot/should not change. And most of those reasons are either about fear or self-interest. Money, doesn't come into this. It really doesn't. My personality is such that I suffer badly from frustration in these situations. Often to the extent when it becomes very, very bad for my health. But, that's the good thing about growing up, I've learnt what I can and cannot do. I can't work within large, status-quo structures that say they are going to do something and then do everything not to. It's bad for everyone involved.

Recently, I've been working with an ex-colleague on his manuscript. He keeps telling me how much he's appreciated my input. Truthfully, he's doing me a favour. Being able to use my mad skills for pleasure, it really is my pleasure.

I blog, because I'm a communicator and I'm sociable. I copywrite because I need to earn a living. In the last couple of months, I realise that maybe it's about time I write something for me. Perhaps this is the right time.

Oh, and by the way, a small plug. Writing poetry is a skill. There is no space on a line of verse to waste. Every word must be precise and must pull it's weight. Writing poetry about heart stuff, is the hardest skill of all. It's a chasm the poet must negotiate walking an elasticated tightrope. Because, let's be honest about this, all the angst-ridden poetry you wrote when you were 15 lying in a darkened bedroom, is really a whole load of crap. Authentic in it's anger and sorrow and rebellion. But from a poetic point of view, crap.

Read this. Savannah, the awesome Marsh Mamma, recommended this to me. Personally, I think Mr Moose, was in my head when he wrote that. Observe a Master at work.