Write Therapy
Nell Peters
Copyright by Nell Peters 2011
Smashwords Edition
INTRODUCTION
You ARE a poet - you just don’t know it yet…
A while ago, Dr Robin Philipp and his team at the Bristol Royal Infirmary in the UK confirmed what poets have known for centuries – penning verse makes you feel better.
Poetic panacea. Nice alliteration, if you’re that way inclined.
Those who scribble will recognise the therapeutic effects of the experience. Writing poetry, a means of expressing emotion, makes us feel good - in much the same way that we get a lift after eating chocolate. Forget all that stuff about endorphins released in the brain, the feeling good bit is what matters. Mmm… chocolate…No guilt, spots or tight waistbands as a side effect of writing poetry, though.
Take, for example, a hypothetical situation that probably most of us can relate to:
You are absolutely hopping mad with someone, for whatever reason and cannot let it go without telling them exactly how you feel. You don’t trust yourself to confront them personally, or let rip during a ‘phone call, so you write them a letter or email. There are all sorts of psychological theories about safely releasing destructive energy through playing sport (the sweaty kind, not tiddlywinks) or other harmless activities to prevent a build up of aggression, but we don’t need to bother our heads with them...anyway, in my experience, an awful lot of psychologists are at least slightly barking.
Back to your missive - it vents your feelings using all the bad language, poisonous prose and personal insults you can muster/spell, whilst pointing out the sheer injustice of the situation. Sparks shoot from your pen as you write or fingers as you type, but when you sit back and survey your finished masterpiece, don’t you feel so much better? And 99.99% of us will never send that letter or email – we have no need to, because we have conducted our own anger management and therapy. Simples.
Writing poetry is a more sedate and creative way of expressing our feelings than metaphorically kicking the cat (joke, for any easily-incensed Animal Rights Campaigners) and I hope you will discover that it is ultimately far more satisfying.
You do not have to be a literary genius to write – start small and develop your style, learning by your mistakes just as you would whilst acquiring any other skill. If your first pieces are only two lines long, who cares? In all probability you are not going to oust Carol Ann Duffy to become the next Poet Laureate (join the club), but you will have unburdened your thoughts, taking the first steps to banishing whatever demon ails you. As long as you are pleased with what you have written, then it is good poetry. No-one else’s opinion counts. Use your writing either as a crutch or stepping stone, as you will – you are making the decisions here; total control.
If you are still reading, chances are an aspect of your life is giving you cause for concern, or making you unhappy in some way - perhaps you are depressed, or reeling from the pain of bereavement. The list of possibilities is infinite and only you know why you are thumbing through this book, looking for help.
This is neither a scientific manual, nor a textbook on how to write. I suppose it might be categorised as self-help, as you are going to do all the work - but why do we have to slot in anywhere? I merely hope to point you toward a way of coping successfully, with a few hints gained through my personal experience thrown in. Feel free to ignore the latter.
It worked for me.
Okay, I appreciate you’d like to know a little more about me and why I feel at liberty to address you in this manner. Fair enough. I really did just sit down one day and start to write poetry. Of course, it wasn’t quite as simple as that – I had written, mostly children’s stories, for many years without a hope in hell of publication. It was just something I did.
Then we lost a child at birth.
The only thing that kept me going and clinging to the right side of sanity was the fact that my other children all depended upon me for the basics in life. But I cared for them on autopilot – it was only when I discovered the therapeutic qualities and sheer pleasure and sense of achievement associated with writing poetry that I found a way to move forward and live in harmony with my grief. I really hope that doesn’t sound too double glazing salesman’s codswallop or evangelical.
It was almost Easter and I’d really had enough of my children’s procrastinations about writing their thank you notes for Christmas presents received, so I sat down and wrote a family thank you in rhyme. I have no idea why – it just came into my head, as many pieces have done since. Although it did go down surprisingly well amongst the relatives concerned, I am not sure whether that really mattered – I had the bug.
Throughout my schooling I had, if remotely possible, avoided all things poetic. I loathed Shakespeare (still do, with one or two exceptions) and when The Nun’s Priest’s Tale by Chaucer was set as part of my English Literature ‘O’ level syllabus (as it was then), my mind shifted to AWOL and I didn’t even open the book. I relied totally on picking up enough to wing it from class discussion with teachers and peers, most of whom had done their homework. By the way, thanks girls – I passed! Incidentally, one of those gals who suffered through regulation indoor shoes, regulation outdoor shoes, battered boaters and stringent school rules that would have today’s youngsters grabbing for their expensive mobiles to contact ChildLine, is well- known author Judy Astley – maybe I should have tried a bit harder?
I still don’t read a great deal of poetry – trashy detective novels are my preferred bedtime reading matter. I have been told that if you aren’t constantly immersed in the stuff, you cannot possibly hope to write it. Whilst I strongly dispute that, you must judge for yourself. Maybe in this case, ignorance really is bliss – if you are not knowledgeable in the strictures of poetic form or au fait with all the technical jargon, they can’t hold you back, now can they? Just a thought…I do not subscribe to the ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’ syndrome of what is good in a literary sense and what isn’t – it hasn’t done an awful lot for the art world, now has it?
There is quite enough piffle written about poetry – just take a gander at any of the weekend broadsheets and their supplements. To write well, you do not have to be saturated in angst, perform verbal acrobatics with words of seventeen syllables, or even grow a beard and wear sandals with socks. If a novel is described as ‘simply written’, it transpires that it is easy to read – quite a compliment I think. ‘Simply written’ is by no means synonymous with rubbish.
We are aiming for a ‘simply written’ style of poetry; no torturing of mind or body required and no starving in a garret – but it will be worthwhile, to its author more than anyone. That’s you, by the way.
Look at your average song lyric – pretty straightforward, of necessity, but (in most cases) not bad clobber. Think about the words of your favourite song. Okay, you can sing if you must – not too loud, please. So, what do you think? I rest my case.
Of course, most of the verse I wrote initially was incredibly basic, but I enjoyed the whole process of the composition from thread of idea to finished piece and I had achieved something for my own satisfaction. It felt good. How bad can that be?
I didn’t keep the thank you note, but this is one of my first poems:
I’d like to win the Lottery - lots of money, just for me
I’d leave the kids with my old man and hit the beach to get a tan
Each week I watch those little balls, fingers crossed my numbers fall
I’d rush upstairs to pack my case and jet off to a hotter place.
Profound, isn’t it? I’m sure you can do better – give it a go! Meanwhile, I promise, no psychobabble: I started a psychology course years ago, but the lecturer turned out to be nuttier than a Marks and Spencer Christmas cake and I, along with the majority of my fellow students, concluded that we would learn more about human behaviour in the local pub. I didn’t fully give up on the idea though and I’m now the proud owner of an honours degree in psychology and sociology, taken as a mature (okay, seriously ancient) student. Oh, and if lovely Carl Jones is reading this, I didn’t include you in the basket case analogy thing (Carl was my main psych lecturer). I digress – I do that.
No magic formula – just you and me and the desire to succeed.
No problem!
FIRST STEPS
As you meander through this book, the only equipment you will need is a pen and paper. If you have a PC upon which to record your writing, that’s great, but I would recommend that you always have p&p reasonably close to hand so that you are able to jot down any idea or phrase that pops into your mind. As it surely will. Nothing is more frustrating than getting inspired whilst you have your head down the toilet (cleaning it, obviously), only to lose the thread by the time you emerge, well- sanitized, from the bathroom. Now, are you sitting comfortably?
The first and only rule is that there are no rules. You have just gained a poetic licence and can do with it what you wish. For example, what you write doesn’t have to be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth - probity is good, but so are flights of fancy. Neither does your work need to make sense, as longs as it’s a good read. Likewise, the format is entirely your choice, although you may find life simpler if you stick to something straightforward (like first and third lines rhyming) just until you find your feet. There will be plenty of time for experimentation with free verse.
Remember, you are in charge and if it pleases you, it is excellent work and has achieved it’s purpose.
We are not going to confront the serious stuff yet. For now, I want you to think of a situation, any situation where you have had time to make observations. Anything will do - for example, standing at the school gates, sitting in the dentist’s /doctor’s waiting room or on a train, even laying in bed unable to sleep, listening to the old man/woman snoring next to you. How about a party where you didn’t quite feel one of the in-crowd, or shopping for clothes?
You get my drift? Cool bananas.
Now make a few quick notes about what you remember. Key words should be enough, just to stimulate the memory bank. Think about why you were there, the people around you, how you felt and so on. Expand into finer detail if you can, but don’t panic if you draw a blank. We are here to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we? You are not back at school.
Try and get a few details into some semblance of poetic order, keeping it simple. A bit like:
I took the train from Waterloo
En route for Basingstoke
And on the seat right next to me
Sat a very hairy bloke
Or
Sam, my son, was really late –
only me at the school gate
The other children had gone home
and I was frozen to the bone
We should, by now, be having tea
where on earth could my boy be?
Then he ran up and squeezed my hand
isn’t parenthood just grand?
Mmm…Even:
I tossed and turned, counting sheep
No matter what, I couldn’t sleep
However, lying next to me
My husband snored olympically