Today I’m pleased to welcome fellow writer and blogger, Poppy Peacock, to the blog.
I have a confession. Well, two actually… I didn’t spend my, ok arguably misspent, youth with my nose in a book. I did read, from rib-tickling escapism to rousing expeditions but sporadically rather than emphatically.
I haven’t yearned to write since being knee-high either, as many writers often profess; I was more of a talker. Writing was mostly formal and confined to official documentation & business reports; any creativity only leaked into odd letters & emails to far flung friends and relatives in a voice very different to my work one. When writing about my news & happenings I tended to write the way I spoke – strong regional accent laced with local dialect & idiolect of the North East of England – and definitely NOT always grammatically correct.
Then sudden, severe illness all but silenced me in 2004. For cognitive rehabilitation – and to keep the gibbering-n-twitching at bay– I began studying with the Open University. Initially I stayed in my medical-background comfort zone; then I ventured into Literature & Creative Writing… Reader, I was hooked!
During my first three years with the OU I did 3 Creative Writing modules: A174 Start Writing Fiction, A215 Creative Writing and A363 Advanced Creative Writing and thoroughly enjoyed every minute.
My creative voice was very much being formed from extending my correspondent, not professional, habits. I certainly got the best feedback – and marks – when I used my native tongue, rather than a strained RP narrative, and characters with familiar social backgrounds.
Here’s an example of one of the first pieces of life writing I fictionalised for an activity:
Chapter 1 : I am born
‘Dimples to die for’ Nana S sighs wistfully.
‘Fat as butter, just like her mother’ spits Nana P; Dad’s mam obviously.
‘Missed nowt’ chuckles me Dad.
‘Humph, I wouldn’t know’ huffs me Mam.
It is with these comments, rung out religiously with the habitual presentation of the one – and only – faded Polaroid, I can deduce how I appeared on my big outing; and according to old Mrs Edna next door – neighbour and fiercesome midwife – did them all out of a good Co-op Ham Tea. Her prediction of my demise was premature.
By all accounts I certainly wasn’t; I kept them waiting just short of three weeks. After days of Mam writhing and kneading that starchy bed, my best effort produced a solitary foot; as if dipping in a toe and deciding against any further venture. The painful recollection never dims with time. She still describes the inhumane suffering, heels and palms rubbed raw, the howling, until they finally conceded to a quick abdominal exit. Rudely levered and yanked from my cocoon the forceps bruised a nerve so for the first few days I slept with one eye open.
‘A flock of hair, rich like any coal face’ crows me Dad.
‘Like the wether of a prize ewe’ simpers Nana S.
‘Aye, but a black sheep, nevertheless’ prickles Nana P.
But like Mam said – she never saw that. Wrung through and spent, she was left limp in that bed whilst I was whisked off to another bubble four floors up.
‘That’s why we never bonded,’ Mam’s favourite retort; aired at every disagreeance.
I got a great response and encouragement to continue in my own everyday voice, although it wasn’t always grammatically correct and I used certain colloquial words, odd sentence structure and even made-up words: ‘disagreeance’ caused a mini-storm! Many agreed it sounded natural but some couldn’t get past it should technically be disagreement.
At the end of Year 2 I adapted and grew this piece into a complete short story (Frontline, which you can read over on Poppy’s blog: http://poppypeacockpens.com/) keeping the narrative very much in my natural regional tongue. After receiving a distinction, I was encouraged to submit it to a competition – I chose The Yellow Room: a women’s literary magazine edited by Jo Derrick – and was chuffed to bits to get 3rd place and see it published!
I also submitted two other short stories and got one win and a highly commended… the first published online.
During the Advanced Course in Year Three, my strengths were again nurturing my natural voice while learning about various other media forms too – such as short films & radio plays – I knew then I really wanted to persevere with my own writing.
Now came the crunch bit… although I only joined the OU for cognitive physio I was loving the learning environment and passing assignments & modules was a great boost to my morale and self-esteem; being stuck at home due to ill health is very isolating and through studying I was meeting like-minded folk online who have become great friends (though I’ve still yet to actually meet most of them).
At 17, I dropped out of school during ‘A’ levels to nurse where there was very minimal classroom time; at the very least 80% of the time was spent working 45hr weeks in placement. With the OU the new world of academia was appealing and I succumbed to further literature modules – to attain a degree – but mainly believing it would enhance my appreciation & aptitude for writing.
And I have no doubt it has helped; through these modules I’ve learned so much about different authors through the ages for many genres, styles of writing and narrative techniques. But my creative writing dwindled due to the demands of studying and writing critical essays; by the time I finished Uni in 2013, I hadn’t written any fresh stories for quite a while.
By the end of that summer I missed the routine of study – having M.E. I have to try and do some kind of cognitive activity every day to battle brain fog. Interested in possibly pursuing a career in writing/editing etc I wanted to explore the industry and a friend suggested Twitter… WOW! What a fantastic find!
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed these last 18 months; Twitter is a brilliant resource for meeting so many good folk and being introduced to so many good books I never really appreciated existed, but it can be very time consuming, not to mention expensive! My book buying habit has excelled!
As for my own writing, I keep starting new pieces and rehashing old pieces but really struggle to get anything I’m truly happy with. I’m finding it hard not to be influenced by all this reading and question what my own voice is actually like now. It’s definitely a case of my academic voice – sitting on my shoulder like some stuffy old crow – nagging and pecking at my creative voice; the latter being far more laid back and colloquial but definitely muffled. Spookily, as Kendra and I talked about this, there was an excellent post from Tara Guha on the very subject:
I certainly don’t want to stop reading but I do want to find the right balance so I can write again, comfortably! So, I set up my blog poppypeacockpens.com to record and review what I’m reading, document what I’m writing and best of all liaise with like-minded folk for companionship; it feels like the perfect way to strike the right balance between developing academic skills but most importantly, nurture the return of my natural storytelling voice.
Thank you, Poppy, for a fascinating post. And I have to admit I found it very interesting that you don’t come from a writing background–I would never have guessed it from reading your work.
You can find out more about Poppy by reading/following her blog: http://poppypeacockpens.com/