Happy Christmas

At this festive time of year, what better than to share a wonderful piece of 'snowy' writing from one of our Year 6 students? This comes from Evie (Skelton Primary School, York).

The Mystical Night

I tiptoe across the crunching snow.
The chilly wind sweeps across my freezing face.
Glimmering stars shine above, giving me a warm welcome.
In the dancing night an owl floats stealthily over me.
Dazzling white snow spirals down like a ballroom dancer turning.
The glittering midnight sky gives an eerie silence.
I think I can hear twinkling bells across the sky.
All around me trees slump, sunk in the white snow.
Crystal snowflakes delicately whirl to the layered ground.

We love the assonance and sibilance in 'slump, sunk', and the 'dancing night' - thanks, Evie.

Oh, and while we're blogging... can't help picking up on the Sony 'lets kill the North Korean leader' film fiasco. How about that, I hear you cry - how 'bout all that nasty hacking and threatening?

Well how about the crass insensitivity of the film in the first place? Would it have crossed the American mind that it might, it just might, be better to leave North Korea alone?

Nah. That's Americans for ya.

Happy Christmas, y'all!

Second Workshop a Success!

We're delighted to announce that our second writers' workshop, on the Natural Environment, was a resounding success and we had some great feedback!

This time we were getting our heads around the natural environment. We unpacked some of Susan Hill's skills in evoking the bleak marsh landscape of the Woman in Black, then had a go ourselves at working with environment, colour and mood. Some fantastic responses.

Then we dug a little deeper, exploring how we can use landscape and weather to evoke a sense of character and emotion. Finally, we managed to pack in a quick exploration of 'man as creature' - focusing on good ole Of Mice and Men (Lennie, naturally) and a taste of Helen Dunmore.

And all that in our two and a half hour workshop! Gotta say, totally action packed.

Look out for the next one! Coming in January our 'Writers' Roadshow' - Memoir writing. Can't wait!

Gothic Monsters - Among Us!

Oof! Gap in blogging due to workload - apologies bloggers! However we are back and delighted to announce that we have a workshop coming up on December 4th at South Cave Castle. This time we are workshopping in the evening, and our theme is 'The Natural Environment'. If you're local and would like to join us, do get in touch!

And while we're here... been to the hairdressers lately? Been handed a magazine to read while you're waiting? 'Tis an extraordinary thing - the lengths some ladies will go to, to get themselves noticed. We saw images of huge, grotesquely inflated backsides, boobs and rubber 'trout pout' lips. Is this supposed to be attractive? Actually, our verdict is that it's inhuman. Ladies, you are bears gnawing at your own feet here.

Gothic monsters, it seems, are among us!

The poppies - bland sentimentality or evocative art?

Jonathan Jones (Guardian, 1st Nov) believes the 'ugly reality' of the First World War would be better represented by Otto Dix's worm-infested skull. But how many of today's younger generation, desensitised by the gore of 18+ gaming, would give it a second thought? As a teacher, sadly, I've seen too many students unmoved by the shocking imagery of Wilfred Owen's Dulce Et to believe in any enduring power, there.
The poppies at the Tower of London are beautiful; but back up a little - step away, and the impression is increasingly that of spilt, spilling, gushing, blood.Why does no one else seem to talk about the poppies in this way, when I found this overpowering?

We can no longer shock ourselves into remembering that the Great War was 'real'. And Jones' assertion that history is 'worth far more than the illusion of memory' fails to take into account the subjective nature of history - for what is it, if not delusional memory? All too often history will, it seems, inevitable move into nostalgia. The poppies don't 'muffle the truth', Jonathan, because the truth is no longer available to us - if it ever was.

Our first Gloriously Gothic taster workshop - success!

We're delighted to report that our first 'Gloriously Gothic' taster workshop went down a treat! Thanks to all those who came along; your input was much appreciated. Here's a taste of what we got up to...

Our morning workshop was all about writing ghost stories; we shared spooky tales... we were in character, writing letters from a ghost... we explored writing technique, such as using dynamic verbs; slowing the pace with listing; powerful simile and personification, in a great collection of extracts from writers, both classic and contemporary... and we experimented with 'telling it slant'.

We're proud to share our feedback:

'Really enjoyed the morning. It was valuable to go through the published texts.'

'Really enjoyed the workshop and would love to do more... it was great to pick apart other authors' work. Nice to connect with other writers face to face.'

'I enjoyed the pace of the course and felt very relaxed and inspired.'

'Positive, creative, engaging and enjoyable -  more please.'

Thanks also to #Cavecastle for suitably gothic surroundings! Find us on www.thoughttree.co.uk #writingresidentialcourses #thoughttree - do get in touch if you'd like to join in the next one - needless to say, plans are already in place!

Taster Gothic Writing Workshop

Morning all! At Thoughttree we are delighted to announce the first of our Taster Gothic Writing Workshops.

We have a couple of places left... why not join us for a morning of fun and ghostly frolics... and all that with just pen and paper!

Where? Cave Castle
When? Thursday, October 23rd 10 am - 1
How do I join in? Contact us by email on the thoughttree website: www.thoughttree.co.uk or phone Ali on 01759 305392

#thoughttreeresidentialwritingcourses

And now for some fog!

Wonderful stuff, fog. Turns any setting into something atmospheric... Susan Hill, in the Woman in Black, uses it very well - the fog in which she immerses her streets is positively Dickensian.  So how about a touch of the real thing: here's Dickens' own fog, from Bleak House, of course:

'Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards, and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little 'prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon, and hanging in the misty clouds.'

Love all those verbs: rolls; creeping; hovering; drooping; pinching. Dickens was ever the master of repetition and listing, wasn't he? Love also the way he moves from long range to close up here, starting with the wider, river landscape and finishing with fog 'in the stem and bowl' of a pipe. And adding, for emotive effect with a touch of pathos, the 'shivering little 'prentice boy'.

Conan Doyle does a neat job with fog too in the Hound of the Baskervilles... but that's for another blog!

The Weather AGAIN!

Then yesterday, the rain appeared to ease. Just as I let my dog out of the car (at the top of a particularly lonely and exposed hill I might add), there was an almighty flash and crack of thunder. Dog shot back in the car. As did I. Tempted to climb in cage with her for extra protection. Resisted - got in drivers seat, with quivery legs.

It struck me (no pun intended!) how quickly a gentle, sweeping hill can change to menacing, brooding darkened landscape within a few moments - and how, therefore, pathetic fallacy continues to be a great tool at the fingertips of the Gothic writer!

Here then, is my 'weather change' moment, classic Gothic style:

'That evening, coming as I did to the summit of that gentle, sweeping hill, I saw that the landscape before me was touched with hues of red and gold as the sun threw out her last heavenly rays. How did I not observe, then, the bank of cloud building, dark, ever darker upon the far horizon? For soon - all too soon! - the sky was a black menace that turned all to night; it pressed heavily upon me until I feared I could no longer draw breath! I fell back before it, but it came relentlessly on until field and lane were in deepest shadow; the hairs upon my neck rose; fear clutched at my very soul as I sought shelter - but there was none.

Then the storm hit, and suddenly, all around me was a blaze of white light; a sharp crack of thunder sent me stumbling, crouching beneath its abhorrent blast! I looked, aghast, towards the heavens, fearing for my very life - my shivering soul cried out for mercy! Dear reader, I cannot begin to describe the sinister nature of the change that had swept over those dear hills. I am sure that, if at that moment, I had chosen to let my eye fall upon the woodpile, I should have seen something extremely nasty!'

Quick quiz then: can you spot... Jane Eyre? Frankenstein? Cold Comfort Farm!

For the Rain it Raineth...

Yes it's that time of year again and, satirical wisdoms of Shakespeare's fool aside, it is just jolly well tipping down. The sight of all that wet stuff has brought to mind that splendidly climactic chapter of Shelley's Frankenstein, where the unhappy Victor discovers the body of his dear wife, 'the murdeous mark of the fiend's grasp' still on her neck.

Not only that, but the grim discovery is followed by a classic Gothic tableau: Victor explains how...

'I felt a kind of panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber. The shutters had been thrown back; and, with a sensation of horror not to be described, I saw at the open window a figure the most hideous and abhorred. A grin was on the face of the monster; he seemed to jeer, as with his fiendish finger he pointed toward the corpse of my wife.'

Such melodrama in his narrative! A semantic field of death and horror: 'hideous; abhorred; monster; fiendish; corpse'. The moon echoes the notes of decay and death in its sickly 'pale yellow light'. And the creature is depicted in the most horrid, leering demoniacal terms:' grin, jeer, fiendish'.

So what about the rain then? Oh yes... he goes on to say that 'the wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents.' Knew it was in there somewhere!

Writing with Colour

Here's something utterly different - our writing group has been working with emotion and colour. Here's how:

1) We chose an 'emotion word starter' - the example I've used here is 'self-protection'.
2) We matched our word to Chakra colours - in this case, black.
3) We wrote a descriptive piece using that colour, trying to evoke the relevant emotion.

Not easy! Mine evolved into a poem...

In the room,

velvet curtains sweep the walls with heavy shadow;

their black drapes block out the blast of winter.

In the centre of the floor a grand piano displays

its ebony splendour.

The glossy curve curls like a cat’s back.

A candelabra rises like an ice-jagged tree from the

polished plain of piano-top.

The fixed drip of candle wax hangs from

 its slender, silvered branches. Outside,

church bells clash on the hour

But in the room -

the air barely quivers.

We had fun with this! Want to have a go? Try working with joy - orange; fearlessness - red; or healing - green.

More on Matters of the Female

...and if you'd like an updated, exquisite rendering of female vampire, then look no further than Angela Carter's The Lady of the House of Love (from that wonderful collection of short stories where fairy tale is Gothic is adult is gripping in its sensuous use of language!) The Bloody Chamber.

'On  moonless nights... the Countess will sniff the air and howl. She drops, now, on all fours. Crouching, quivering, she catches the scent of her prey. Delicious crunch of the fragile bones of rabbits and small, furry things she pursues with fleet, four-footed speed; she will creep home, whimpering, with blood smeared on her cheeks. She pours water from the ewer in her bedroom into the bowl, she washes her face with the wincing, fastidious gestures of a cat.'

Got to say... great alliteration ('crouching, quivering'; 'fleet, four-footed). Present tense for the power of immediacy. Onomatopoeia - 'crunch', 'whimpering'. Dynamic verbs, great adjectives (particularly fond of the assonance in 'wincing, fastidious'). The weave of fairy tale into the Gothic spaces of 'moonless nights' - a touch of fee, fie, fo fum, Little Red Riding Hood, all rolled into this one.

What's not to like?

On Matters of Female Seduction...

...and by that I don't mean seduction of the female, but rather by the female. If you'd like an example of Gothic literature operating on the boundaries of what is acceptable, and perhaps exploring the taboo, then look no further than Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla. Written in 1872, it touches on preoccupations of the time such as the female exhibiting 'unregulated' behaviour.

Carmilla is a female vampire - a Gothic monster who seduces her victim - in this case, the daughter of a wealthy family. Listen to this:

'...she would press me more closely in her trembling embrace, and  her lips in soft kisses gently glow upon my cheek.'

In Le Fanu's text, Carmilla is 'languid'; she is, typically for Gothic writing at this time, erratic, unstable - these were considered feminine qualities. Even while we can consider her a Gothic monster, she remains feminine, and uses the (feminine) language of seduction.

Carmilla was pre Stoker's Dracula, by the way. And we thought he was original!

Thoughttree Courses

Lovely feature article on Thoughttree Courses in the #YorkshireTimesArts Section. With thanks to Jan at Yorkshire Times. Read and enjoy! http://www.yorkshiretimes.co.uk/arts

A huge welcome to all our new followers on Twitter too - thanks for this!

PS Scotland, we love you - please stay!

The Looking Glass

We have just moved an antique mirror into our bedroom; it is a thing of beauty - carved, dark wood with a tilting oval looking glass. Several nights ago I dreamed that a face was looking from it - staring out of the mirror. It was not my own face.

Mirrors hold a fascination for us Gothic Tradition fans. To gaze at the Self in a looking glass is, in a sense, to capture a moment of time passing; just as, when we utter words, we have moved those words from the present moment of 'about to say' into the historic moment of 'said', so it is with our reflection. We capture our Self, held in the moment - the seeing. And yet in that same moment we have already turned, moved into the 'seen'.

How much history stares from a mirror?
How many faces have been held,
Transfixed in the gaze
as we turn from
young child
to the fast
ageing
Self?

Lucky us.

Happy Monday everyone - had a great time at a party on Saturday night; I think it is fair to say, we danced like no one was watching. I distinctly remember running on the spot to @pinkcadillac's excellent rendition of Pharrell Williams' 'Happy'. The shoes were off, the tights were ruined - always a good sign!

Then I remembered that earlier this year, dancers in Iran were jailed for doing the same thing: dancing to 'Happy'. A sobering thought, that so many freedoms we take for granted are denied others. We can dance; we can speak; we can write.

We have the freedom to express ourselves; our world is a lucky one.

The genre of diary: revealing a little more?

Hearing that Michael Palin is publishing diaries from his earlier life made me think: diary writing is an interesting genre to consider. Writing a memoir is surely different, because here the writer draws on 'truths' from memory. But those 'truths' are tempered by the implied relationship of writer and reader. Diary writing is a genre where the author is unaware of the reader's presence - in this respect, it is 'unconscious'. It will be unpolished, first draft - but ultimately perhaps more truthful.

This sent me searching in diaries for writing from my own, earlier days...

'Yesterday I walked with the dog across the stubble field then down the lane, just as the sun was setting: a pale yellow orb, still radiant, still strong. It felt - spiritual; a moment of connection, resonance between soul and landscape; between the turning Earth and being... a tiny part of it.'

Lofty stuff! Scary, sharing a private, unconscious moment of writing - yet it reveals the struggle to find expression and is perhaps all the more honest for that.

Diary writing as a genre is interesting, because rather than being presented with a finished, polished product, as reader we potentially share in the search for words... although I rather suspect that Michael Palin's work will be polished and ready for the market!

Perpetuating the Child Within

Here's a thought for today: to what extent do we still yearn for our childhood innocence? Our adult world is perhaps not such a disconnect from childhood as we might think; we're still fans of our comic book Superheroes such as Batman and Superman (even while their world, portrayed in film, is darker and more sinister than we may remember, as anyone who has seen Heath Ledger's portrayal of the Joker in Batman's The Dark Knight will agree).

The jokes in films for children are often adult-orientated - think of those erstwhile family favourites such as Shrek, or Toy Story; it's an interesting thought that within the framework of film for children there exists a secret society of jokes for adults -  a club that kids can't join - yet it reveals that yearning we may have for the 'innocent' days when toys were plastic soldiers and Mr Potato Head. Nice thought: the paradox of a kids club that kids can't join.

We  constantly reach for the world of the child, reading every one of the Harry Potter series; Philip Pullman's The Northern Lights trilogy; searching out the fantastic; perpetuating the fairy tale in our lives. Maybe we do so, because we want the sense of childhood magic to return to our increasingly desperate- to-consume society (have you just bought a high-powered vacuum cleaner? What on earth for?); we yearn for the freedom of laughter - the joy of finding something simply funny. Or magic; just out of this world.

Or perhaps we are yearning for innocence, a return to childhood, in a world that is becoming too difficult to turn our adult frightened eyes upon.

The Magic Toyshop - contemporary domestic Gothic at its best

It's easy to think Frankenstein or Dracula when we consider the Gothic Tradition - but what about something more contemporary? Angela Carter's The Magic Toyshop is perhaps British domestic Gothic at its best, where elements of fairy tale and the fanstastic are reworked in a narrative where relations are warped, dysfunctional.

In this Gothic space, the normally 'safe' domestic is invaded, disturbed by the Strange; by violence. It is a place where Nature itself has turned from the safe - expressed as middle class, suburban garden - to the sinister, so that whereas at first a 'fresh, little grass-scented wind' blew and the flowers gave out 'unguessable sweetness', later 'the branches, menacing, tore her hair and thrashed her face'.

It is a fine piece of Gothic terror (not horror!). A must-have for our writing workshops this autumn!

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Disconnected...

This morning, while our brain cells were still in that pleasant, slow spell of pre-caffeine Sunday morning, (so we were spending time thinking rather than getting on with blogging!) the laptop, naturally, went to sleep. We 'woke it up' again to get to work. Here is food for thought - the way we personify the inanimates of our world: the computer that hibernates, sleeps, is woken. The way we apply the natural to what is unnatural: the 'mouse' we use for the laptop; the 'blackberry' phone; 'raspberry' pie; 'apple'; and now 'crumble'.

This week Kate Bush asked her audience not to record her live performance on phones - not to erect a wall of technology between artist and that audience - in other words, not to interrupt the aesthetic relationship of art; the connection between the Self and potential beauty. Did those people listen?

This is our world, then: we dress it up in the vocabulary of the natural, while all the time we gaze ever more inwards, towards the unnatural and inanimate. We prefer the isolated thrill of online gaming to the shared lift of the spirit in the natural environment. And we can no longer experience the moment free-falling in time - we have to capture it as history even as the experience drifts past, unnoticed.

We are, then, in the process of disconnecting ourselves from the natural world; ignoring its time long rhythms such as the pull of tide and seasonal change. When did you last gaze at the moon, or the blaze of stars in a dark sky? When did you last smell clean earth and dew-soaked grass? We can call those inanimates what we like, they are nothing compared with real experience, captured in memory alone.

So we're putting the laptop to sleep now - off now to smell that dew-soaked grass and feel that late summer sun on our shoulders (which means walking the dog!) Hope your Sunday is one where you can re-connect with the Earth!

Just round the corner... the Gothic writing season!

Good afternoon bloggers, tweeters and facebookers all; it's good to be back! Holidays are done, the new term beckons and figuratively speaking, we have been shining our shoes and packing our new satchels!

Thoughttree Writing Course news... we are currently taking bookings for our November residential courses and yes, there are courses available for teachers too! Our storyteller is waiting in the wings and what's more, the Gothic season for writers is just around the corner! We love autumn and its mellow mists and all that fruitfulness stuff, but really - bring on the darkness!

Teachers: find us in the Good CPD Guide. Writers: find us at www.thoughttree.co.uk Everyone else - just find us; we are out there...

The Luminaries, by Eleanor Catton

Last year's Man Booker Prize winner, Eleanor Catton's #The Luminaries, is a massive read. Set in New Zealand gold mining territory in the 1800s, it has all the ingredients of a Victorian Sensationalist feast: it is all at once a whodunnit and the tale of a mysterious woman, with gloom, and rain, and a seance; with plotting, theft and murder, and with rain - oh and more rain. It's a book to spend time with. Or well, maybe...

For it's curiously opaque; characters go out in the rain, and come in from the rain. It makes a promising start with Walter Moody (who most definitely comes in from the rain)... but somehow as the novel progresses, it all becomes... well, a little damp. It's as if we're reading sitting in the damned New Zealand rain; the more we attempt to become engaged with the novel, the more the ink runs and it blurs.

Don't misunderstand; it's an intricate novel, very carefully constructed, and the language and detail feels beautifully authentic. And what goes around comes around in the most Victorian, Dickensian way. But one can't help feel that when all is done and (gold) dusted, it has rather escaped, somehow. Dickens fans (we love him!) may find Catton's characters curiously difficult to pin down. It is as if we view them all from behind the most carefully placed and delicately, cleverly woven, muslin hanging. Most authentically Victorian, of course; but damned hard to see through.

Defined by gender still... after all these years.

BBC news coverage defined #Eilidh Child (silver, 400m, Commonwealth Games) as 'Scotland's pin-up girl'. The Daily Mail reported on the new female members of the Cabinet in terms of the outfits they were wearing as they took on their new roles. And this morning's Daily Mail describes #Baroness Warsi's resignation in terms of 'flounces out'.

How sad it is, that after all these years, major discourses in our society still insist on defining women by their gender rather than by their skills, or achievements. And still use cheap tricks to attempt to undermine, such as a verb like 'flounces' to denigrate; and a reductive description such as  'pin-up girl', to shrink an outstanding achievement to the level of how 'pretty' a world-class athlete is.

We say this not to become embroiled in the petty political sniping that the pseudo-tabloid Mail indulges in (well ok a tiny weeny bit!) but to call on our major discourses to strive to weed out this kind of poor representation that persists. For what kind of example is this to set for our children? As teachers, surely we have a duty to demonstrate in our classrooms and in our Selves, a society where our children have freedom of choice; where those choices, and our children's achievements, are not defined or reduced by denigration of the female.

So yes, its a return to firefighters, not firemen. And humankind, not mankind. And not dinner ladies. And not postmen...

...and if you're not happy with that, you can flounce out.

A Hundred years in History.

One hundred years ago, the First World War began. People will say all sorts of things today, to commemorate what we now see as a momentous shift in our history and to try and express what it means to them. Here's our take on it:

At the end of it all, in November 1918, David Lloyd George said: 'At eleven o'clock this morning came to an end the cruellest and most terrible War that has ever scourged mankind. I hope we may say that thus, this fateful morning, came to an end all wars.'

But wasn't it Bertrand Russell who said 'we suffer because we are fools; yet taking mankind in mass, that is the truth.'?

ISRAEL-PALESTINE

LIBYA

UKRAINE

SYRIA

SOMALI

IRAQ

AFGHANISTAN

SOUTH SUDAN

and more.

Fools, all of us.

Fifty Shades of Bleh.

It's in the news again. First the book. Then a second. Finally a trilogy (kerching, naturally). And now... the film. The Guardian asks 'why women love Fifty Shades of Grey.' Erm... we don't - well not all of us. Not those of us who can string a decent sentence together.

The sex? Dress it up how you like (and boy, how its dressed up) - its kinda rape-like, isn't it? Doesn't that reduce women?

Please, lets get back to some worthwhile novels! Or nice, happy films! Disney! Unless Mickey Mouse is getting into S & M with Cinderella... now there's a thought. Your next blockbuster, Ms James?

Dylan Thomas country perhaps...

We have been sunning ourselves in, of all places, North Wales! Our previous experience of camping in the Welsh mountains was one of driving rain and heaving, beating, relentless wind - hence our surprise at the warmth; the sunshine...

    'Stand on this hill. This is Bethesda, old as the hills, high, cool, and green, and from this small circle of stones you can see all the world below you sleeping in the first of the dawn.
    You can hear the love-sick woodpigeons mooning in bed. A dog barks in his sleep, farmyards away. The hills ripple like a lake in the waking haze...
    The morning lightens now, over our green hill, into summer morning larked and crowed and belling.'

Heavily adapted of course - grateful thanks, Mr Thomas, for your welshsome words that help us capture the heady space and breathing, soft fox-padded summer hills of Wales (I reckon we heard that dog...)

Comments...

Here's a funny little thing... this morning on the radio a discussion was taking place concerning comets; they are, apparently, made of 'ice and muck'. We misheard this - and thought the subject was 'comments' instead. But thinking about it... so true. Negative comments are hurtful and unnecessary. And they are nothing more than that: ice, and muck. Just saying!

David Mitchell: Cloud Atlas

Hearing that David Mitchell is to serialise his latest work through Twitter, brought to mind his novel Cloud Atlas; it is a clever construction with multiple narrators - six of them actually - linked through time, so the reader is transported both into the past and the future. It works, too - though we found the device of the birth mark a little clunky.

Reading it (or seeing the film, come to that) leaves you pondering the fact that one small act, in one small place in a corner of our world can, in time, connect humans in a way that is both disturbing and uplifting.

One to dwell on...

More Storms Forecast...

In view of this weekend's stormy forecast, it seems only right to share a little more 'storm writing' by our younger writers. So here goes...

'The skies darken as clouds pile up like layers of earth crushing a dinosaur's skeleton.
There is a low rumble of thunder that rattles the ground like a sudden tremor.
A pitter-patter of rain settles into tiny snickets in the grass.

A blast of lightning, then more thunder.
The atmosphere crashes.
Tiny raindrops have turned into the size of grenades that explode and make a huge splash of water when they hit the earth.
An earthquake has passed.

The clouds start to spread out and the sun finds a gap to shine its sunshine through.
It pushes away the clouds; dries up the tears that the clouds have been crying.'

Courtesy of Charlotte, Year 5.

There are some lovely moments in this - our favourite line: 'The atmosphere crashes'. If you've been caught in some the storms we've been having recently, you'll know that it does!

Here's a great little snippet from one of our regular writers - a piece of classic Gothic and a new take on The Raven (enjoy, Mr Poe!). This extract occurs just as the bird attacks...

'It is only now that I realise there is another sound, filled with awful meaning: it is the sound of wings - beating wings! It is in!  The raven is inside!

How could it be? I checked, but with timely horror I realise - I had forgotten the fireplace – the study has a fireplace. It has come in through the fireplace! I struggle at the doorway but cannot close the door and the dreadful beating and flapping is all around me, at me. Sharp claws rake in my flesh; on my head, in my hair.  I try to run but all windows, all doors are firmly barred - not keeping the raving creature out but dear God locking me in! I become aware that I am screaming in the rip and gouge and smothering feathered murder of it tearing at me, in me until I am wet with it, caught in it and its beak is a vicious kiss until the dear darkness comes.'

Blimey! We love this. Vicious kiss - splendid! Enjoy, all!

One of the Best

A more contemporary Gothic Great to share: Angela Carter's  The Magic Toyshop is a heady mix of subverted fairy tale (this one is a 'from riches to rags' tale) with a hefty sprinkling of the Gothic. Uncle Philip's toy shop is a classic  'dark cavern' of a Gothic space, 'dimly lit' and full of 'murk', and its 'stiff-limbed puppets' dangle in the sinister darkness. Uncle Philip is a Gothic monster in the making: he is huge - he overfills the space with his menacing presence. The grotesque 'immense, overwhelming figure' of him roars and bellows like a beanstalk giant.

There is Bluebeard, and Leda and the Swan, and stirring sexuality. There is menace, and terror, and yet love of all kinds in this dark tale.

Read and enjoy!

Our current ‘Gothic Great’ – Edgar Allan Poe.

We love the arrival of Poe’s narrator at the House of Usher, where he ‘looked upon the scene… upon the bleak walls – upon the vacant eye-like windows… with an utter depression of soul…’ with ‘an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart’.

So much in here that is wonderfully, gloomily Gothic: those pre-modifiers ‘bleak’; ‘vacant, eye-like’; the intensifier ‘utter’. The triplets ‘iciness’, ‘sinking’ ‘sickening of the heart’ that emphasise and anticipate the diseased mind and bodily death that is to come; the sibilance that settles around us, wraps our own hearts in ice.

 American Gothic at its best, perhaps, where we are into a more psychologically complex rendering of the genre. What is different about this crumbling old house from those earlier Gothic spaces of, say, Ann Radcliffe’s? Well here, we are treated to a house with a malevolence of its own. ‘Not so much haunted, as haunting its own inhabitants’ (Sue Chaplin). 

Read and be thrilled!

(Edgar Allan Poe: The Fall of the House of Usher, 1839)

Catching a Glimpse of the Secret Self

My twenty year old daughter - touching base with home between gap year and University place - had her hair cut short recently,which meant that the back of her neck - and those ears which are shaped just like her father's - were exposed for the first time in many years.

I couldn't help but stare, for suddenly I could see not the grown woman who stood before me, but my baby; there she was, each contour of brow, neck and head revealed in their exactitude so that, just for a moment, I recalled in heart-stopping detail the warmth of her small form held in my arms; her smell and soft fuzz of hair; her yawn, smile, baby-babble of just-forming words.

It was just a moment, of course. I blink and I am back with the young woman before me, in all her poise and beauty. As a mother, I have been privileged to know a just-born secret self of hers. I'm filled with pride... and the inevitable sense of loss.

When creativity is compromised by the needs of SPaG

We salute one Primary Headteacher for her valiant effort in setting up a creative writing group for Year 5 and 6, led by a published author, with the aim of encouraging young students to become more experimental and exploratory in their writing.

How sad then that the so-called 'creative' sessions became compromised by the demands of the tests in SPaG; the Creative Writing group became the Writing Booster Group, linked to the school plan for raising levels of achievement in writing. Nobody's fault - only thing you can do when the SATs are approaching.

Exciting sessions exploring, for example, different ways of using the senses through synaesthesia ('the green smell of hospital' - thanks Ross, Year 5) 'morphed' into lessons in sentence variety, banging on the drum of complex, compound, simple combinations.

How easily the word 'SPaG' now rolls off the children's tongues. Like swallowing a huge mouthful of Alphabetti Spaghetti.

It slips down so easily.

Sharing Good Writing

We love sharing snippets of great writing, and here's another, by one of our younger writers, Lucy.

The Battle of the Storm

'Clouds slowly build in the darkening sky.
The rumble of thunder screeches into pelting rain drops.
The first bullet snipes - all the others follow, opening fire, streaking to the shield of the dry earth.'

Great use of verbs in this piece: 'screeches' to convey the sudden onset of rain after that first rumble; 'snipe's; 'streaking'! The assonance in 'streaking to the field'; we can almost hear Lucy's 'pelting' rain in the sibilance. Great battle metaphor, too.

We love you, Lucy! She's already a writer - at YEAR SIX!

thoughttree Writing Courses - now available for teachers

thoughttree are delighted to announce that we are now featured on The Good CPD Guide (goodcpdguide.com). We are listed under 'Teaching Creative Writing at A level' - herewith link:

http://goodcpdguide.com/courses?utf8=%E2%9C%93&searchtext=teaching+creative+writing+t+a+level&postcode=&sortby=score+DESC+NULLS+LAST%2C+updated_at+DESC&per=10&page=

Take a look and let us know what you think!

'Exploring what is difficult to express...'

So said Kelly Hunter this morning, referring to her production of Shakespeare's The Tempest, for those with autism, showing at the RSC. Apparently it works like this: a small audience of fifteen or so shares in the 'relaxed' acting experience. Participants do not see the written word but 'play' their way into the performance, becoming a physicality and embodying the heartbeat that is the rhythm at the heart of Shakespeare's work.

As a child I took part in a wordless production of The Tempest. I remember being rather in love with a cape I wore as Prospero; I was all sweeping gestures and fierce glares as I conjured my storm. It was Shakespeare in a different dimension and I have never forgotten it. Years of study have perhaps sharpened and defined my love for his work: I can explore him now in terms of iambic pentameter, fragmentation and disruption and all that (and a Gothic element or two!). But that wordless effort of mine from so long ago moved me and remains powerful in a way that I find hard to express.

But that, of course, is what Shakespeare is all about: exploring and expressing what it is to be human.

Ms Hunter, we thoroughly approve!

Back... with a beautifully atmospheric snippet of descriptive writing to share.

It's true to say that our thoughttree blog has been quiet for a week or so... that's because we have been up to our writerly necks in examining for one of the major Examining Boards. However all that is in the past: deadlines have been met, the desk cleared to make way for us to share a wonderful sample of descriptive writing from one of our writers, Suzie. A sample from her latest offering, 'Ocean of Ashes':

'The weather relaxed, the sunlight finally reaching the edge of the beach bathing them in a glorious warmth; the chalk cliffs, which were chattering with a multitude of discordant sea birds, cocooned them from the nipping breeze.
The amber heat moved slowly across the sky. The tideline, scattered with shells and algae tossing gently onshore, would soon be swallowed by the flooding waters, which were making their way in to fill the beach before the day's end.'

We love this. Amber heat. Yes. Nipping breeze. Beautiful touch with the adjectives. Complex sentences which slow us to the rhythm of the tides and the mood of an early shoreline evening. Nothing Gothic about it but who cares?

Copyright Suzie!

Storytelling at its best...

We're delighted to announce that we are blessed... a professional storyteller will be leading some of our 'fireside storytelling' sessions! A fascinating area to explore: the way in which the art of word on page morphs into something utterly different when it becomes the spoken word. With grateful thanks to our storyteller, Ingrid. We can't wait!

An Element of Gothic

An A level student recently commented: 'Why is Macbeth being taught with the other Gothic novels at A level, when it isn't really a Gothic novel because he wrote it before they existed?'

Ahem! Clearly, it wasn't explained to said student that there are what we understand as Gothic novels, and there are other novels where we can explore Gothic elements within them. So, just as we can explore a novel through the 'lens' of, say, feminism, we can explore writing through the lens of the Gothic.

So a Gothic reading of Macbeth, then, becomes so much more fascinating! We gain a whole new understanding of what the Great Shake was about ie terrorising and thrilling his audiences because the intention of Gothic writing, after all, is to instill a kind of 'pleasing terror' in the reader.

Not to mention the weird sisters! A Gothic reading of these dear ladies can explore the way their dialogue encircles Macbeth into entrapment -  literally, on the page... but if you want to know more about that, you'll need to join us on a thoughttree writing course!

PS student: we think your course was actually entitled 'Gothic Elements'... maybe you weren't listening?

Thoughttree Courses for Teachers... coming soon

At thoughttree we have our thinking caps on! We're in the process of putting in place a structure for a creative writing workshop that will suit teachers - the course will be appropriate for those teaching, or preparing to teach, the new #AQACreativeWritingAlevel, and #AlevelEnglishLanguageand/Literature.

Naturally we'll be thinking Gothic... but we'll also be thinking education - and a whole lot of other stuff besides! A thoughttree course for teachers will help you develop your own confidence as a writer and teacher of creative writing. You may find it particularly helpful if you're one of those teachers who moderate in isolation. We know how that feels. Teachers, we're here for you!

So watch this space... we'll let you know when its up and running. In the meantime, if you'd like us to focus our creative attention on anything particular on our teachers courses, why not get in touch and let us know?

Find us at www.thoughttree.co.uk. We're out there on Twitter and Facebook too.

Of Mice and Men... leave us nought but Pain and Joy.

So Of Mice and Men is to be wiped from the school curriculum... at thoughttree we'd hate to poke the ants nest but being honest, we've seen it taught  in a pretty mundane way. Sure, its a great novella, but (squirm, gurn) can we suggest it is a touch difficult to stretch the most able students with good ole George and Lennie? It's beautifully accessible. But so easy to work its way into the year plan so it becomes set in stone.

But To Kill a Mocking Bird? Such sensitive handling of what is a rather topical theme, wethinks! Such admirable writing technique in the duality of child Scout/adult Scout narrative voice! For starters! Gasp shock horror!  Keep it in, Mr Gove, keep it in.

Thoughttree Residential Writing Courses are Expanding!

Here at Thoughttree Residential Writing Courses we are delighted to announce that we are expanding... due to demand, we are developing our courses to be appropriate for teachers of A Level Creative Writing and English Language and/or Literature.

Teachers: if you join us at #Gisborough Hall Hotel for one of our 3 day courses, you can be confident that a Thoughttree Course will:

- develop your confidence in yourself as a writer and teacher of Creative Writing
- provide you with ideas for supporting your students with A level coursework
- enhance your skills of literary analysis
- focus on style modelling as a pathway to higher marks for your students - and give you the chance to try it for yourself.

And that's just for starters!

We'll keep you updated with developments - or you can visit us at www.thoughttree.co.uk

Writing Gothic!

Writers in groups that work with Deb and Ali from Thoughttree are hitching a ride on the Gothic wagon... here's a sample from one worthy writer, Sarah:

'I awoke with a start. I lay in cold, silent darkness. Every fibre of my body ached. I turned my head and closed my eyes against the spinning, stabbing pain. And then I heard it. Shuffle, drag. Shuffle, drag. Getting closer.
I tried to move, to sit up, to see, to run. Shuffle, drag. Shuffle, drag. With an inhuman effort I clawed myself into a sitting position. Shuffle, drag. I tried to scream but my lungs were full of a thick fear that swamped my voice and numbed my reason. Shuffle... I raised my arms in a futile attempt to protect myself from whatever was about to assault me... drag.'

Go Sarah! Suspense and Gothic terror wonderfully done. Lovely use of the verb 'clawed'. More, please!

We do hope that Sarah joins us on one of our Gothic courses!

American Psycho AGAIN!

I'm delighted to say I had a tremendous welcome from Wyke College A level students last week, who were participating in taster sessions of #Thoughttree writing workshops.

And, of course, #American Psycho came around again... workshop participants were delighted (in a kind of wincing, nay shocked, nay OMG sort of way) with the casual, nay clinical, detailed treatment of extreme violence juxtaposed with the disconnected, zero-emotion narrative voice of psycho-character Patrick Bateman. It was very interesting to explore Gothic elements in the novel. Eh? I hear you say. Gothic? Yes, certainly. Let me explain:

Lone, isolated character in exotic landscape; straying into the realms of the forbidden; the pleasure/pain dichotomy for the reader who is caught up in the thrill of anticipation; terror. Overflow into horror. Yep, definitely Gothic - will be using this in our forthcoming Thoughttree writing courses!

No but yeah but! American Psycho!Still!

So much that is powerful in this. What hits you - with a real smack in the face - is the way the narrative moves seamlessly from dispassionate, detailed, obsessive account of meaningless nothings - the price of a shirt, a designer label, the design of a new business card, for heavens sake - to dispassionate, detailed account of horrific torture and murder beyond what you and I can probably imagine. At one point I actually had to look away from the text. Like I said; it is total disconnect. EmotionLESS.

This is a novel that stays with you. Believe me.

Have been working with kiddies today - also writing Gothic!  A small sample from a Year 6 student:

'The crow, which flew at my son's head, clawed his face; ripped his hair out. I hurled the rock. The crow hovered away then it hit my son on the forehead. I rushed over. No pulse. He was dead.'

We have been focusing on sentence variety and dynamic verbs - I reckon this young man has it cracked.
And as for the crow - evil! 'Black Cat' inspired? Probably!

And now. American Psycho - whoa!

Have been utterly gripped by Brett Easton-Ellis' American Psycho - by the way the protagonist, Patrick Bateman's narrative is utterly disconnected. I hadn't realised how many years ago this was published - 1991 - and apparently was slated by critics at that time as writing 'disgustingly about the disgusting'. Yeah, well, it is - but it is also beautifully crafted and controlled and, at times, rather funny! (Its the story of a serial killer on Wall Street). It was also slammed as 'so pointless, so themeless'... er NO. What it is, actually, is a clever and ironic portrayal of the prostration of one's Self at the altar of All Things Material in a consumer driven society. Topical theme, methinks.

Interested in more? Find me at www.thoughttree.co.uk or on facebook.

Spent my spare minutes over the Easter weekend grappling with the Guardian's Easter Cryptic crossword - an evil affair involving a literary theme and  quote, possibly obscure...  After much wrestling with the brain cells, worked out the theme was Dylan Thomas' Under Milk Wood. Nine characters from his work were answers to clues - wonderful folk such as Nogood Boyo, Willy Nilly and Lily Smalls were hiding in there. No sign of such gems as Organ Morgan, Ocky Milkman or Evans the Death though.

Or Captain Cat, come to that.

And the quote? (Very softly): 'To begin at the beginning: It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black'...

Bible-black. Love it.

The Black Cat revisited...

Hi - this is my discussion  page for all things literary... lets wade in with my current obsession: all things gothic. I was recently re-working Edgar Allen Poe's The Black Cat so that I could use it for younger writers (I work at a local primary school, supporting children with developing writing skills). So I came to the moment where Poe writes: 'I took from my waist-coat pocket a penknife, opened it, grasped the poor beast [the cat] by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket.' I pulled a face, and thought... there is no way I can use this with children. I will have a dozen or so parents banging on my door to complain at animal cruelty!

It struck me then, the inherent cruelty, savagery even, of Poe's writing. Not the thrill of anticipation found in gothic writing perhaps, but rather a sickening sense of horror. The wince, you could say, rather than the thrill!

This aside, what he achieves is a reworking of domestic pet into twisted, gothic grotesque character. Listen to this - Poe describing cat again: 'Wherever I sat, it would crouch beneath my chair, or spring upon my knees, covering me with its loathsome caresses. If I arose to walk it would get between my feet and thus nearly throw me down, or, fastening its long and sharp claws in my dress, clamber, in this manner, to my breast... I started hourly from dreams of unutterable fear to find the hot breath of the thing upon my face.'

Lovely. Affectionate pussycat reduced to grotesque thing. For mine, I eventually decided upon the following, for my younger writers: 'I grasped the poor thing and, holding it in front of me, squeezed my hands around its neck until it became limp.' My watered down version has inevitably lost some of that Poe-esque power - but hopefully parents have coped with this - no complaints so far, anyway!

Interested in more? Find me at www.thoughttree.co.uk and on LinkedIn or Facebook.