"And I'm going to write this much!"
Next week I go on the May writing retreat which is becoming something of an annual pilgrimage; the fabled ‘me time’.
It is, of course, a chance to be selfish - which is something of a preoccupation at the moment, as in my recent post ‘Is this what guilt feels like?’
So what’s on the retreat agenda?
Well a pile of editing for a start.
Bound will be a collection of poetic monologues, the final draft of which is now likely to include Crash, the piece I performed at the Ripon Theatre Festival last year, and which I will be reprising at Market Rasen’s ‘WordFest’ on 6th July this year (my slot is at 10:45):
I am performing the collection’s title piece, Bound, on retreat next week. It’s a safe environment in which to try things out!
I’ll also be editing some of the stories in a new collection Dust, dancing. And probably drafting at least one more story. A little like Bound, this one is nearing completion, I think; I’ll see how I feel about it when I get back from the retreat.
And then there’s poetry. I am pulling together a collection currently titled Less, and am just about at critical mass. However this project is much more complication as I’m in something of a crisis, not only with my poetry but poetry in general. I seem to be reading so much that is thin or impenetrable or gimmicky or pointless or just not very good. And I wonder where poetry is right now - and whether I actually ‘get it’ - and thus, whether mine has any merit at all… (Though I do think Grimsby Docks is a work of merit.) I need to honestly apply the standards by which I judge others’ published work to my own, and then make a call. Less may end up more a pamphlet, if anything at all…
So that’s a busy few days, don’t you think? Add to that some reading, some walking on the edge of the Pennines, eating too much food…
Then there’s the stuff that I can’t predict - which is essentially the unseen I hadn’t planned on writing but end up producing. When I went on retreat in 2017 I started a short story which eventually turned into the collection Degrees of Separation!
The Waiting Room
The Waiting Room (January 2017) It was a cursory glance; the kind of sweeping, superficial look designed to absorb as much as possible in one movement, as if the most critical thing was to use one’s eyes efficiently. He established the approximate size and scale of the room, its tone, an overall sense of feeling. The walls were part-panelled and painted a…
And of course, so much will depend on the other people on the retreat; old friends perhaps, or new ones. Who knows what might be inspired by them? Maybe even something collaborative or experimental!
Ideally I’d like to return home with at least one project pretty much finished - and something new started. Watch this space!
Oh, and the image for this post?
This is George Bailey when he’s young and idealistic, before he is forced to face the rigours and challenges of life, before he becomes suicidal, before he sees the light. In many respects, Writing until the light goes out is partly my journey to find an earlier version of me: the carefree person whose writing was their lifeblood. I’m sure he’s still in me somewhere…
Lovely meanderings in search for your beautiful soul.
Not that I'm an expert or anything (I was a biologist), but I judge poetry by what it's meant to be...entertaining? Beautiful? Amusing? I think a lot of poetry tries to be deep or meaningful when it really should just capture something...a moment, emotion, or just tell a story that's fun...maybe that's just me; my idea of great poetry is "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats"!😂