The Day The Earth Turned Series Is Complete!

This feels so good!

Today is publication day for The Day The Earth Turned Book 4: Spring, the fourth, and final installment in my YA post-apocalyptic/climate horror series.

It’s twice as exciting, because it’s not just the publication day for a book, it’s the completion of a series. I can now let it go (aside from marketing it) and believe me, that frees up so much space and energy in my head for other books.

I will kiss it a fond goodbye and move on, and there is so much screaming for my attention right now!

The Day The Earth Turned series started as an idea when I was very, very angry. It was about five years ago when we found out the land directly behind us was earmarked to be developed. Our landlord owns that land and a lot of land in this area, and for many years, it had been quarried. The diggers moved around from field to field, digging it up for sand, then letting it all go wild again.

When we first moved in, fourteen years ago, the land behind us was a field used for horses. There is a strip of woodland down the middle, and on the other side, more fields which were used for growing corn or wheat. Not long after we moved in, they quarried the fields right behind us. It was sad at the time to see the grass torn up, but grass does grow back quickly, and once the job was done, that’s exactly what happened. Now, years later, it’s a beautiful field surrounded by hedges and trees, and the best spot to watch the sun go down.

We often watch deer out there and when the centre floods in the winter, we get ducks and geese on the water and the sunsets are even more spectacular.

Needless to say, we were horrified by the thought of them building on it. They have now reached the last plot to be quarried and after that, the whole area is up for grabs. The landowner has made millions out of allowing it to be quarried for so long, but he obviously wants to keep milking it for more money. Rich people are just never rich enough, right?

The first idea put forward by various developers who started circling like sharks, was a fake water lagoon. It would involve digging up all the fields, pouring concrete over them and constructing a huge water park tourist attraction. Goodbye deer, badgers, rabbits, hares, voles, shrews, weasels, stoats and all the other wildlife we have spotted there over the years…

There were instant objections – the roads around here are not built to cope with that many visitors and during a local parish meeting, the council admitted that our lanes (narrow hedge-lined country lanes that loop around this land) would have to be widened to allow more vehicles and prevent the main road becoming even more congested.

I wept. I really did. Our lanes are lined with mature hedges and beautiful ancient oak trees. Like the fields behind them, they provide homes and food for so much wildlife.

I’d walk the lanes with my dogs, my eyes filling with tears as I imagined the pointless destruction. We live less than ten minutes from the beach, for Christ’s sake. Why does anyone need a fake lagoon?

The answer is, we don’t.

But people have to make money out of land, right? It can’t possibly be rewilded, left to nature, left to provide vital habitats for one of the most nature-depleted countries in the world!

Ugh. It sickened me and it still does. The good news is, another water park with a very similar design has just been approved not far from here, so there is no way now this one will go through. That just means they’ll decide to build something else on it though.

For now, it’s safe. The deer can roam through the copse and the badgers can frolic in the moonlight. For now, it’s left alone.

When we heard about the development plans, I started thinking, if only nature could fight back! If only the wildlife could develop a higher state of consciousness, thought even. They would be full of rage. They would hate us. If Mother Nature was a conscious entity, she would want revenge. She would want to cull us.

And that’s where the idea came from.

I imagined the world, the earth itself, turning on us. It would start with the adults as they’ve got the most blood on their hands. It would wipe them out with multiple pandemics, and along with that, animals and plants would start attacking us and killing us to save themselves.

I wanted to write a post-apocalyptic story and I thought it would be far more interesting if all the adults were killed and only the children were left.

How would they survive without the adults? Without food and resources, without transport, without school, without law, without medicine? Would they turn on each other or pull together? Would they be able to figure out a better way to live on this earth?

I knew early on that I wanted the animals to have their say and that’s why there are often chapters from the point of view of an animal or bird.

It wasn’t easy to write. It never is when I get the concept and plot before the characters. Notes, ideas and character bios started being added to a notebook about five years ago, and eventually that became a bigger notebook once I started writing it. It was in past tense at one point and then I switched it to present. That was tedious!

But overall, I am incredibly proud of this series. The reviews are so positive. It really seems to strike a chord with people. I hope readers enjoy the ending!

And as for seeing these characters again in the future, I’ll just say, never say never! There is a part of me that is very curious about what happened next….

But right now, there are three more books waiting to be polished up and published!

Thank you to everyone who has supported this series. From my wonderful beta readers, arc readers, fellow authors and bloggers, and to my wonderful editor/proofreader who is an absolute star. I am so grateful to you all. The indie community is a wonderfully welcoming and supportive one. Thank you also to my son, Dylan for designing the front covers for me! They’re perfect!

Here’s the series link if you’re curious about diving in and finding out what happens to young people without adults when the very land beneath their feet is turning on them: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CBW3D8VL?binding=kindle_edition&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_pc_tkin

Found Poetry For Reluctant Poets – Why It’s The Go-To Activity For Myself and the Kids I Work With

This piece was originally published on Medium!

Image by ShonEjai from Pixabay

Found poetry is one of my favourite activities to do with the young people I work with. It never fails to inspire even the most reluctant writers and it will usually lure in the children who are adamant that they hate poetry. Because I’ve spent a lot of time researching it, experimenting with it and preparing classes with it, it has quickly become my favourite type of poetry too.

There are a lot of reasons for this and there are many different types of found poetry. I will get to both these points in just a minute.

But for now, let’s quickly dive into what it is about poetry that puts people off in the first place. I can only approach this analysis from a personal point of view and from the things poetry-wary children and teenagers have told me over the years.

For me, and often for the youngsters I work with, poetry is something that is forced on them. I work with school children and home-educated children, most of whom also study poetry for English Literature and Language classes. It differs a lot — overall, the home-ed kids have a lot more say in their curriculum but often still have an aversion to poetry, whereas the school children have no choice in what they are taught. For this reason, poetry is forced upon them. They might grow to like it or even love it, but they don’t have a choice in studying it.

This in itself is often enough to put them off. I often encounter children in my sessions who just want to write what they want to write and don’t appreciate being dragged from their amazing story idea to focus on poetry they don’t care about. They are defensive already; their backs are up.

Also, some of the poetry inflicted on school children in particular is, lets be honest, hard to swallow. It’s been a long time since I was at school but I clearly recall studying poems that meant nothing to me and had no impact on me. In short, I could not relate to them. I often found them too long, too boring, too flowery and wordy. I was put off. If the words themselves had to be translated for me to understand, I was put off even more.

This isn’t the case for everyone and of course, there are some beautiful, in fact stunning, poems out there that deserve to be studied for centuries to come.

And this leads us to the second problem. Poetry can be intimidating.

We read things like Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas, The Waste Land by T.S Eliot and She Walks In Beauty by Lord Byron, and we are in awe, instantly feeling we can’t compete, nor should we ever try. Poetry can be beautiful, engaging and life-affirming. Like all writing, poetry can change the world. It can certainly change your life.

When I ask young people why they don’t like poetry they usually give the same reasons I used to for not liking poetry:

It’s boring.

It’s inaccessible.

It’s intimidating.

It’s not relatable.

It’s hard. (This is the complaint I hear the most from poetry-averse kids!)

It’s too complicated/wordy/long…

The first time I really fell in love with poetry and felt like I could actually write it too was when I discovered Charles Bukowski. I had already read and loved some of his books so it seemed a natural step to check out his poetry and I was blown away. So much so that I have lines from two of his poems tattooed on my arms.

Reading Bukowski made me want to write poems — finally! Reading Bukowski made me feel like I could. Like poetry was for me too.

It was so freeing. Why? Because he didn’t care what anyone thought, he didn’t try to impress anyone, he didn’t even try to impress himself. He didn’t follow rules, he just wrote from the heart. That is my favourite kind of poetry and I’m always ecstatic when I discover pieces like that.

But let’s get back to found poetry and why it works so well for reluctant poets like me and the kids I work with.

Here are a few of the forms and briefly how to do them:

Blackout poetry — you find some old newspapers, magazines, unwanted books, posters, leaflets — anything you can get your hands on. You get a big fat marker pen and start eliminating words. You look for words lost and stranded between the chunks of black you are creating.

Magnetic poetry — a really fun form of found poetry. There are various themed sets you can buy online. I currently have a nature themed one and a horror/gothic themed one. They come in cute little boxes and kids can spread them out and see what words draw their eye. They can make list poems, haikus, anything they like, and it’s always lovely to see their faces light up when the magnets create something beautiful for them.

Haicubes — I have a set of these but we don’t just use them to create haiku poems, we use them for any type of poetry and sometimes even as writing prompts or story starters. It’s basically a huge set of dice with random words on and a few with themes. Kids can pile them up, line them up or pick random ones to inspire longer sentences.

Found poetry from the environment — there are two ways I approach this in my writing clubs. One, I bring in a bag full of words and phrases I have cut out of magazines, posters, leaflets and newspapers. I cut out anything that catches my eye and it is quite addictive. I like to have as many as possible. Some will be single words. Some will be whole sentences. Some are more like headlines or sub-titles. I spread them out on the desks and let the kids rifle through them. The idea is to pick any words that call out to them and see what that inspires. We have had some fantastic poems made this way.

The other way is to use the environment itself. This is fairly easy in the school building as there are posters and notice boards everywhere! They can wander around with a clipboard and pen, picking up words and phrases and writing them down. They then sit down and try to reorder them into a poem.

Cut-up/fold-up poetry — this is currently my favourite form of found poetry as you will see if you look through my poems on Medium! I discovered fold-up poetry about two years ago when researching ideas for my clubs. The one I came across asks writers to divide a piece of paper into four boxes. You write a list of everything you can see in one box, everything you can hear in another, followed by everything you can smell in the third and then in the last box, everything you can taste. You then try to pick at least two lines from each box, add to them, rework them if you like, and try to arrange the eight lines into a poem. It helps to try and pick out themes; for example, I was recently on a road trip and the weather was atrocious, so lots of my senses boxes had lines about the rain, how it sounded and so on. The poem ended up with a definite theme and I called it Driving Conditions. However, I have to admit that the fold-up technique using the senses can be quite tricky in a classroom or Zoom setting. So, since then, we have been making up our own boxes and breaking the rules.

We choose as many lines as we like, for example. Perhaps you get lines from each box or perhaps one box gets ignored completely; it doesn’t matter. The idea is to pick a strong first line and then see where it takes you.

You can title the boxes with anything you like.

Try writing things you love in box one, in box two write things you hate, in box three write things you fear, and in box four write things you dream of. You can change it up anyway you like!

Personally I always like to have a box with things I can hear in it and love writing these poems on long road trips. Probably because I can see and hear different things than normal on a road trip. The ‘hear’ one is a favourite of mine as we always have music on, and random lines will leap out at me and get written into a box. I try to pick the lines that could be said by anyone, as obviously you have to be aware of plagiarsm or copyright infringement. One of my lines in a recent poem was ‘I’d rather die’ which came from a Lana del Rey song we were playing. I added ‘love hurts’ in front of it and made a new line with a different meaning.

There are so many ways of playing around with found poetry and I think it’s incredibly freeing. You can approach the page with a blank mind and no ideas, because eventually you will find the words and the ideas floating around you.

For young writers who dislike poetry, this is a fantastic mode of persausion. They don’t actually have to come up with the words themselves; they just have to find them. Most of the time, I see this lead to a real increase in confidence with poetry, which is wonderful.

Check out a few of my found poems below and why not give it a try?

Wanderlust – a cut-up poem

excluded from running wild
never our land
check your barriers
and thank you for driving carefully
the road gets tough
mixing petrol fumes with coffee and cream
follow the white lines
across a patchwork land
praying the car won’t die
lights coming towards us
ignite our wanderlust
the sea, behind green hills
mist rolling down the valleys
love hurts, I’d rather die
so I carved out a quiet
little
life
for
myself

The Future Is Coming – a cut-up poem

Why do people ruin everything?
wildfires — no water
rusted, barbed wire coiled like snakes
sharp stones underfoot
but we cleared up the broken glass
falling over, getting splashed
this place is hungry
the current trickles under the fallen log
let’s trespass, let’s explore
what’s that noise?
The future — it’s coming
run

The World Is Mostly Full of Good People – and the Medium Comments Section Proves It

Image by Maximilian Neumeier from Pixabay

This was originally posted on Medium!

Us humans we are so good at focusing on the negative and downplaying the positive. We do it all the time and I’m not sure why. During a week, for example, most things will go smoothly, perhaps even positively, but it’s that one ‘bad day’ we focus on. That one bad day will make it a bad week.

It’s the same when dealing with other humans. If I look back through my life I can rationally see that most of the humans I have dealt with have been overwhelmingly kind, well-meaning and good for me. So, why is it those few bad ones stick in our heads?

We shy away from compliments, sometimes don’t even notice them, yet one word of criticism and our day is in tatters. That one piece of negativity will become the focus for the entire week. I can still clearly remember horrible things other children said to me as a child — they haunt me, yet there are only a handful — do I remember all the kind things other children said? No, not so much.

As a writer we are especially sensitive to this. We can get reams of positive reviews but it will be that one negative one that flattens our soul. The words will come back to us at night, needling and hurting.

When I look around me, I can plainly see that most people are good. Most people do their best. The majority of people on this planet are not evil, not even close. But we focus on the bad ones, don’t we? We hear a bad news story, we read about unspeakable cruelty and wonder what on earth has happened to the human race. We damn them all because of the actions and inhumanity of a few.

It’s hard to remember that most people are good, but they are. It’s hard to believe that most people are on your side, rooting for you and cheering you on, but they are.

I joined Medium in April and instantly found it to be an overwhelmingly positive place. When you compare it to the trolls and keyboard warriors causing misery on other platforms, it really does feel refreshing. I was nervous when I published my first pieces and even more so when I got into the partner programme. I wondered what sort of comments I might get.

What I noticed right away is that most people are not commenting to critique your work or offer feedback and, for me personally, that’s a good thing. I’m not there for writing advice, not that there is anything wrong with that, but I feel I have done my time and paid my dues. I don’t mind critical feedback, as long as its apparent the person commenting has actually read and understood the article.

Generally though, what I found was very positive. People reading the piece because the title or subject drew them in, then enjoying it and letting me know. Perfect. Wonderful. It spurred me on.

Obviously, at some point I was going to get a nasty comment and recently it happened. I wouldn’t have minded if the comment had made sense or had been articulated kindly… However, the piece was a sensitive one, a piece I wrote about women’s obsession with weight and my recovery from eating disorders.

The piece got boosted and the comments poured in. I was nervous. I am sensitive about this topic and I was wary of opposing viewpoints. All the comments, bar two, were supportive, kind, understanding and mentioned that they had experienced the same issues. I breathed out in relief.

It was an article about women, for women, posted in a women’s publication — it might be wise to point that out before I get to the negative comments.

The first one wasn’t too bad. The person meant well, I think, and had, (I think,) read the article. Their advice was to join a gym. It wasn’t a great comment to read from a man on an article about weight sensitivity and eating disorders and I responded by telling him so. The article, for example, was not one about how to get fit. I was not asking for advice. I was writing about my experiences. Sometimes people struggle to tell the difference. It did annoy me. I probably should have ignored it. I just felt like he had missed the point.

The second comment was worse and yes, it ruined my day. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days actually. It upset me and angered me for many reasons.

I won’t go into it too much but it was something along the lines of, ‘just admit you are lazy and have no discipline’. He had also commented on another man’s supportive comment, by laughing at his support.

I felt uneasy. I felt misunderstood. I was very pissed off too. Considering the article was about women and aimed at women, considering the article mentioned my past struggles with eating, I felt this comment was nasty and uncalled for. He had obviously not read the article. He had seen the title and responded with cruelty that probably felt funny to him.

A few days later I commented back. I told him the article wasn’t aimed at him and that he did not know me and had no right to assume I was lazy. There were a lot of other things I wanted to say to him but I held back. I prepared to block him but all he responded with was a clap.

Weird.

Anyway, this brings me to my point. That small comment from someone who had blatantly not read the article spun in my mind for days. It made me tearful, it made me angry. It made me think for a few seconds about quitting Medium. It made me second guess the articles I had lined up.

How ridiculous is that?

Now, I know writers are sensitive — we need to be, we should be. And I also know that once you start publishing you need to grow a thick skin. I am fine with that. I have been publishing since 2013 and I do not expect every reader to love or understand my writing. You cannot expect to escape criticism and you cannot expect everyone to agree with you.

What bothered me about this was it felt needless and it felt personal and it felt extremely insensitive given the topic of the article.

I gave myself a week off Medium. I needed a breather and it did me the world of good. I got the idea for this article while walking my dogs and seething about that one negative comment. So, I suppose I should thank the person for that!

Everything is writable, after all. Every experience, good or bad, provides us with a story.

But I had to give myself a shake. I had to remind myself of the boosts I have received, of the payments I’ve had and more than that, I had to remind myself of the predominantly positive and supportive messages and comments I’ve had there.

Medium is a wonderful place. I know that to be true. The world is full of good people and you only have to look at the comment section on Medium to see the proof. Where there is one unkind, unhelpful comment, it sits drowned and lonely among the mass of supportive, understanding ones who are glad you shared your story.

Road To Nowhere: a poem

This poem was previously published on The Poetry Pub, on Medium. This poem was written using the cut-up technique during a road-trip. Cut-up or fold-up poetry is a form of found poetry that involves making four boxes and giving them titles, such as: things I can hear; things I am afraid of; things I can see etc. You then pick a potential first line and build the poem from the contents of the boxes, changing and reorganising as you go.

Image by tookapic from Pixabay

rain dots the windscreen
and I can’t take my eyes off
your careless handling of the wheel
steering us to disaster
or something brighter
we’re rolling along, racing faster
on a road to nowhere
it’s all pointless, all alone
death is coming for us all
the signs are faded
we can’t see where we’re going
it’s turning us into monsters
something new
but you can still free my mind
i can’t stop thinking about
how I’ll die
and what will be
the last song I hear
and as low black clouds
crawl in like greasy sweat
we await rescue