I remember when my mother asked me what I wanted from Father Christmas, I said I wanted a really big poetry book. Christmas morning it arrived on the end of my bed. It was quite big, considering I was only about four or five at the time. It’s a little worse for wear now and some what coffee stained, but it still has a pride of place on my book shelf.
Poetry and prose, ramblings and stories flowed and children were born and mothering took over and then one rainy day I stopped awhile…… and began to write my own autobiography.
The poetry of course had to weave its way between the pages and it all fitted so well, finding its own wings then into the world of novels, non-fiction, people’s lives and the story books of life. Seeing my first book, Ms’Guided Angel, on a shelf in Waterstones was a very proud moment for me.
‘Reclaimed Innocence‘ followed and the book I had always wanted to write since childhood, my very own poetry book took its place next to The Golden Treasury, my own golden treasure, ‘SHE has a Voice’ that I had carried for 50 odd years.
Reclaiming our Soul, really is reclaiming our innocence and being who we truly are in the world, without judgement or criticism and any thought of having to do some one else’s way!
My mother’s song for me was a Frank Sinatra version of ‘I did it my way’ Where she used to sing to me ‘She did it her way’. She used to laugh about it even though she still tried to get me to do things the way the school wanted!
I do now love auto correct on my iPad that Ben bought me for my birthday. I could never spell very well and grammar, at least grammar as is ‘meant’ to be as in the Queens English kind of grammar, was not my fortay. I much prefered my own tapestry of grammar and wordsmith kind of ways, as it fitted so much better with the way I spoke and the way I thought and saw life in general.
Now I am muddling my way through the fourth book, editing out what it really does not need and trying very hard to spot the spelling and grammar mistakes, because if I don’t the publishers wont be too happy and the books may never get the wings I would like them to have. I want them to fly, into the world, to touch hearts and to encourage others to find their own voices, to tell their stories and above all find the potential they were born with to simply be themselves!
In my occasional writing groups, I so love to hear the voices of others, find their own territory and learning to leave behind the schooled ways of society, even if just for a moment, to play with their words. To invite those sentences to dance on pages and find their own merry way of forming into a paragraph, poetically or otherwise.
Our own real voices can often remain a mystery to us, until we take the courage to step out, or sing out, with own uniqueness and wonderment at the soul who exists beneath the covers of the heavy duvet, made from the materials of conforming to another persons standards.
Trying to hang onto my own way, yet allow my to work to be understood as best as is possible, I continue to write, to observe the words and play with the possibilities of letting ‘my’ voice out, in what ever way it wants to flow.