And so to print...

This week I met with my client who is brain injured, Mick (not real name) and the publisher. I''ve been ghost writing for Mick since early March and he has now taken the decision to go ahead and print his memoir. We discussed a dedication, front cover, how many photographs etc. I'm proud of him - he is seeing this project through to completion and so, in due course, he'll hold in his hands his life story, written down.

I'm so glad, now, that I didn't tamper with the narrative voice too much. The voice is Mick's and the story is his. It will be a slim book - his damaged brain simply ran out of things it could remember, in the end. But I'm so glad I didn't add unnecessary padding - it is real and moving and, as we approach the last stages, I've come to realise that I am as emotionally involved in this as he is.

So, in due course, I'll hold in my hands Mick's life story, written down - and what a moment it will be.

Ali x

Writing Memoir with Mick

This week, I drive Mick (not his real name) out to the site where the car in which he was a passenger slammed into a tree - and his brain injuries changed his life forever. He has been here once before, about 10 years ago he tells me. As we approach the area, he becomes quiet and I know it is because he is searching for that tree.

We leave the car, and walk up and down the road, looking. I don't know what I was expecting - some monster growth of tree trunk, perhaps, reaching with malicious intent out into the road? Scratches and gouges, all these years later? I hadn't realised that it is a popular area for walkers: a trail leads away from the road into woodland. The trees are green spindlesticks, surrounded by summer growth of fern. It is a warm day. The road is a fast one, though, and the thought of that awful moment of impact chills me.

Mick cannot find the tree. It is a while before he looks up and admits that things might have changed, here. New growth has obscured what he thought would still clearly be visible. After a while, I hesitate, then suggest that - maybe - it is a sign that things move on.

He thinks, then says, 'Do you think that God is saying to me that I should let go; move on too?'

What can I say? 'Yes, I do Mick. Everything moves on in this world, doesn't it?' I think back to our earlier sessions; he was so angry. So caught up in his past. I look at him, and he is smiling.

I'm not suggesting that this is the happy ending he deserves - that would be trite. But at least there is a chance - a small one perhaps - that he will one day begin his process of letting go.

I guess there is a chance that this memoir will become part of that.

Ali x

Lion

Harvey is Year 6 and finds writing extremely challenging. For me, this is when free verse poetry can be great. Here's Harvey's splendid effort. It gave us the chance to use some dynamic verbs (and remind ourselves to use commas in lists).

LION

They have muscles to grab.
Lions are very vicious because they don't know how to
play!
Lions can hear elephants stomp from 100 metres
because they are a BIG species.
Lions eat very savagely,
snorting, panting, growling, grinding!

by Harvey

Gold Star, Harvey!

Fitness Mantra!

Not connected at all with things literary - but simply have to share this: am reading Fast After 50 (Joe Friel) and this is now my mantra: whether you think you are over the hill or not, you are right.

Love this! It's all about the attitude, folks. Those of us who have clocked up slightly more years can now decide - we are young! Yes!

Could mention the forthcoming Carrotsmash writing workshops and courses... running through the Autumn term in York and @Pocklington Arts Centre  - www.carrotsmash for more details.

And apparently, we can have young muscles - just by using them. So no excuses then!

Ali x

A Present... from his Mother

This week's session with my client (Mick - not his real name) who has brain injuries and his mother comes along - she wants to fill in the facts of her son's recovery after the accident. It's difficult hearing how, in those first days and weeks following the crash, health professionals thought he would remain 'a cabbage' (the consultant's words, apparently - not mine). Yet here he is, sitting with me each week and telling his story. Some miracles are possible, then.

The talk moves to Mick's father. I already know that Mick felt unable to be with his father as he died, at home, from asbestosis and cancer, approximately  2 years ago. His mother begins the telling of her husband's death; Mick is transfixed, and I realise that this is a story he doesn't know; he hasn't heard this before.

Mick can remember nothing of those early weeks after the accident and he has struggled with feelings of guilt following his father's death. Working with the material later, I make the decision to put these sections into second person - both stories told in this week's session are gifts to Mick from his mother.

They help fill in at least a few of the blanks that Mick's injured brain has written into his life.

Night Garden Part 2

Working with year 7 Charlotte on descriptive writing and, following her excellent evocation of a dream-like garden, next session we focused on controlling description and turning the mood from positive to negative. We attempted an Angela Carteresque switch from the present moment to flashback before returning to the action. I've added the final few sentences of Charlotte's Night Garden Part 1 for continuity:

Snow drops swayed in the humid breeze, catching moonbeams in their wake. Early honeysuckle climbed the aged brick wall, filling the air with its sweet nectar scent. I drifted, moon-dazed.

When I was in primary school, I learnt the moon controls the gravitational pull of the waves; their dip, dive and reverse. I realised how small I must seem to it. Visions of it enveloping me into its vast white circumference haunted me, swallowing my tiny, insignificant body.

                Which the garden seemed to now. The darkness was engulfing me, trapping me in its murky depths. Trees closed in. A vengeful moon slipped beneath the clouds. A single moonbeam shone down, illuminating my pathway. Instead of being magical, it was the complete opposite. A strangulated cry escaped my lips and I started to run. My heart was pounding in my chest as the once delicate grass turned and snagged my feet. Leaves plummeted, creating a trap for my sore feet. If that didn’t work, holly leaves littered the path I had once carelessly skipped on, the prickle that usually irritated now a white hot, stabbing pain in my feet. Crying now I encountered the next horror of the night.

Charlotte, May 2017

1) Sadly my horticultural knowledge isn't sufficient to be able to comment on the legitimacy of snowdrops and early honeysuckle being in bloom at the same time, but who cares? Great writing, Charlotte!

Pocklington Arts Centre - Great Venue!

The first Carrotsmash @carrotSMASH2 Writing Workshop took place on Saturday at Pocklington Arts Centre @PocklingtonArts - great venue and great group to work with. Look out for more Carrotsmash workshops this autumn - full details will be in Pocklington Arts Centre brochure, or visit www.carrotsmash.co.uk. In the meantime, what did workshoppers think of Saturday's session?

'Good venue. Good group. Enthusiastic and supportive.'
'A thoroughly enjoyable morning. I have learned a huge amount in 3 hours and feel confident that I could continue on my own. I will definitely be attending future workshops.'
'The venue used was 'cosy' and clean and quiet. Ali was a great presenter who was very supportive and knows what she is doing.'
'I feel inspired to write!'