This year I have plunged into writing more than ever before – the April A to Z Challenge led to a world of poetry, I recently wrote a deep essay on changing our relationship with the motor car, I am re-working the first draft of a novel and of course, a great deal of my day job, two and a half days a week is spent writing. Also in the course of the year, I encountered through other writers, the Insecure Writers Support Group and then yesterday, the group post announced their twelfth anniversary!
Recently I have been reading Margaret Atwood “on”On Writers and Writing” and in an early chapter, she writes about the duality of writers – how there exists “the one who writes and the one who lives” and she explores the inevitable tensions that having such a split induces – the Jekyll and Hyde nature of the beast. I write because I am driven internally to do so, but externally, my partner is going through a difficult time which means that staying close to her, there is a lot of time which I fill with writing.
I have no illusions about publishing work – I once heard the statistic that 4000 novels are written for each one published. That may have changed in a digital age when self-publishing is ever easier – even if it is only on your blog. Still, whilst I am now polishing a second draft of a speculative novel, the act of passing through the stages of the journey towards publishing has a zen of its own. I am not saying that there is no anxiety about whether a piece of writing is “good enough”, or whether people will like my latest poem but for me, travelling hopefully is as important as arriving…
I left Ireland to return to the UK in 2005 but not before my late sister Carol, had rekindled my joy in writing by taking me to an in-person writing group in Sligo. A first novel was started (and is still in progress) and a second more straightforward one is that which I am revising, and so I thank Carol for that gift and I dedicate the following poem – the product of an online and ongoing writing group and I offer it towards the Insecure Writers Support Group and its anniversary since it is appropriately entitled “Worry Beads”. Back in July, it was also the 12th anniversary of dVerse Poets Pub so 2011 must have been an inspired year for poets – anyway, I posted a poem for their celebration here.
Worry beads…
The state of the nation
is held in abeyance
holding it’s breath till the next election
the polls show a twenty point
Labour lead – but I worry
they still might lose
and if they win I worry too
they may not be different enough
having posed in the centre
to avoid alienating anyone.
I worry that my grandchildren
All young adults flown the nest
may not be able to buy a
house of their own, their own nest.
The doctor and his bright partner
will earn enough but will the rapper
find his way high enough
to have financial success
or will he fall like a spent rocket
to a job supporting other’s dreams
I believe he too worries
although it doesn’t slow him down.
The oldest by some years
has already built several businesses
and not anchored by children
only cats and cake-making
he and his girlfriend will
go to America again and again
and one day they won’t come back.
I worry that despite all help
my spouse will not
find her way out
of the deep, dark past
where she is lost in the labyrinth
and no breadcrumb trail
to lead her back to the light.
As I keep her shell company
in front of the TV
I do not take enough exercise
already impeded by a lame leg
I know it cannot be wise
and I will shorten my natural span
which after all
is only two years short
of three-score years and ten.
I write to keep a space for me
And to reach out to new friends
across the digital ether
but pushing a pen is not the same
as pushing through the wall and
I do not want to be found
one day slumped across a keyboard
mid-virtual conversation.
Still, on a scale of one to ten
my worries rate quite low
I have made marks both
in the world, in certain hearts
and in minds too
the legacy of things
is not as vital as a lot of love.
And so I write for love
not glory, the oldest profession
is surely to tell a good story
and whilst I love to get good feedback
if I don’t get published,
will I really worry?
© Andrew Wilson, 2023
Andrew, this is fantastic. I love it!
Would you mind if I share it as a reblog at some point in the future?
Much love,
David
Thank you David – that would be great! Hope you are well…
yep – I’m doing great – thanks! and I just reread this piece and still love it! 😀
So well written Andrew!
Thank you Sadje!
A great analogy those worry beads, Andrew. I worry too, about the same kinds of things. These lines resonated with me in particular:
‘I write to keep a space for me
And to reach out to new friends
across the digital ether’
and
‘…so I write for love
not glory, the oldest profession
is surely to tell a good story’.
Thanks Kim, I sometimes dream of winning the lottery and travelling the world converting digital friends into real…
Those worry beads can be heavy at times. I think you speak for many writers when you say you write for love. Writing is a passion and should be enjoyable.
Where does it come from, where does it go? The heart – always the heart…
Thanks for visiting Truedessa!
I share many of your worries, and having tried my hands at writing for many years now (I was not there when dVerse started) and wrote much more in the past. I hope that some of what I write will change something for the better, but I also know that poetry is a kind of bubble. I think and hope that you will keep doing it, and I love what you share, and your activity at the pub.
Thank you so much for that Bjorn – making a difference, even if it is only a drop in the ocean for what is an ocean but a lot of drops…
You are right about the bubble but nonetheless it has to be done!
Björn, that is so kind of you to say, I still feel like a newbie but the warmth of the community is amazing and welcoming…
Such a lot in this poem, the worries and the sadnesses, common to us all in varying degrees. All we can do is what we can do. We can’t live other people’s lives for them, can’t even advise because who ever listens?
But we have to try nevertheless Jane or what is the point of living…
I think there is so much here that many of us can relate to–the world, our children/grandchildren, and our writing, too.
I don’t know about your novel(s), but now I’ve read some of your poems that certainly could be published. (I still think of that Jurassic coast poem!). Then again, writing has to be for the desire to write, and if you can share it with people all over the world in this format, that is wonderful, too. 💙
This community is so warm and your encouragement means a lot to me Merril, thank you…
Andrew, I don’t really know where to start. Your poem is so poignant, so honest and heart-wrenching at times, it made my eyes water. This is filled with life… not the artificial “smile-for-the-camera-life”, but real life… raw, painful, beautiful and crazy all at the same time. This is a truly excellent poem. I hope this does not sound weird, but it touched me deeply – it was truly an honor reading such an exquisite piece. Thank you so much for sharing!
Miriam that is such a meaningful comment, thank you so much – I could not ask for more…
Well done, Andrew. You are exactly right we worry about things that won’t matter down the road. As the Beetles said, Love is All We Need! But we all still worry about the little things as well.
They say that 80% 0f our big brains evolved to work out what the “other” might do next which seems to give us story-telling as a byproduct on the upside but worrying on the downside…
I think there comes a point where we can worry but things are beyond are control. So I just worry about stuff that I can do, rather than the world news which we can be depressing. Hope things will turn okay. Just write and read with love. Cheers!
Thank you Grace, that’s all anyone can do…
My heart started aching with this one. I worry, too, about what state the world will be in when my children are adults.
“As I keep her shell company
in front of the TV”💔
I think that is one of the loneliest places. Being physically in the presence of someone we are so far away from. Though it is commendable for continuing to make that decision daily not to abandon the person you love.
Ultimately,
“the legacy of things
is not as vital as a lot of love.”
You’ve summed it up right there. Nothing else really matters, my friend. Thoughts and prayers.❤️🙏🏼
Dear Mellisa, your comments which always go straight to the heart of the matter, are much appreciated…
Andrew ❤️🙏🏼