Word of the Year 2023

Greetings from the desk of The Drum and Page. At the beginning of each year, I choose a word to help give me focus to the coming year.

In 2021, it was Limitless/Breakthrough.

For a COVID year, there was little breakthrough and a lot of limitations, yet it was a year to keep thinking what it means to be a writer and an artist.

Last year, 2022, the word was Relentless.

For many reasons, 2022 was relentless, particularly on a personal front, yet my focus was on moving in a direction where my writing was developing. This resulted in three publications: The School Magazine for The Diving Tower (November), winning the WestWords Living Stories Prize in July for We Three Kings, and winning the Blacktown Mayoral Creative Writing Prize in December for Cutting Through.

I was also a member of the WestWords Academy which was a fantastic time to network and gain further understanding into the writing and publishing world.

What does this next year hold?
In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps. Proverbs 16:9

I had this verse running through my head over the last few days and while I can plan and prepare, no one knows where the wind comes from or where it is going to so you make sure you adjust the beach towel wrapped around your neck, pretending it is a cape, and stand facing the wind so the cape billows out behind you, and you strike an appropriate superhero pose.

I know I want to maintain, and build on, the momentum I gained from last year. Therefore, my word/s for 2023 is:

To determine what this will look like for me, I have to examine my practices and my focus on where I want to expend my creative energy. Hence, for me, my words mean clearing the decks of older projects by either removing them from my work lists, or leaving them for another time. It also means dropping those things that look shiny and interesting but don’t advance where I want to go. For example, I’d been thinking for some time about a Red Bubble/Etsy store to sell my art, but that’s a whole business side of things that I don’t have time for. My art is personal expression and peace. If someone offers to buy a piece or wants a commission, that’s fantastic. My business focus is on writing and the craft of writing.

This year, a year of pursuing, and a year of pursuit, means finding the ‘thing’ – whether that is a story, art, reading, that fills me up and allows me to develop. I am hoping time spent with the projects that give me a sense of fullness will replenish me. There is always something to write, an idea to let compost, a paragraph to edit, a character to let loose in the lolly aisle at the supermarket with $100 to spend and see what they return with.

Long pieces of work have long gestation periods and long blocks of time for writing and editing. This may mean a less visible year, yet I will still be pursuing my writing goals and aims.

I have a couple of new desk buddies/guardians/motivators courtesy of Christmas to help me along the way.

Success is fleeting and unpredictable. Last year’s wins and publications were succour in a time of distress and stress. Success this year will look very different, and I am willing to change the criteria of ‘success’ to allow me to pursue my writing goals.

Think I need to invest a good pair of running shoes to make it through this year.

What Do You Do When You Get to the End of the Toilet Roll?

What do you do when you get to the end of the toilet roll?

A year is a toilet roll, and as this calendar year comes to an end, we tend to reflect on success, failures, the times that fell through as easy as a loose stool; the events we bit down hard on and pushed; the thoughts we had amounting to nothing more than sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

This laboured metaphor for the end of the year is fitting as this time of year is awash with Best Of lists, retrospective summaries, highlight reels and statistics. The interim period of December 1 until Christmas Eve is like looking at the roll of toilet paper on the holder and wondering how much is left and how long it will last, and if you’ll get through.

We mark our seasons and cycles in different ways. I am not one to successfully mark transitions and the ascension of seasons and new beginnings. I try to. I set out projects and works I’d like to complete but I am useless at developing plans and goals. Creating positive habits is hard.

I do know what I have, and have not, achieved this year. In the wash up of this year I can point to many reasons why I have not succeeded, some personal, some professional, some within my control and some out of my control. And all of these have had their impact in my growth as a writer and a creative.

What Am I Pleased With This Year?

• I released my chapbook, Mount Pleasant, in January of this year.
• Won a section of a local writing competition West Words: Living Stories
• assisted in the production of the newest JAR Writers’ Collective work: Prisms

These make me feel quite chuffed and are impetus for future growth next year. I have ideas, thoughts, hastily scribbled plans, fluid deadlines that need to be made fixed, unfinished projects to either abandon or complete.

And yet, there is fear.

Fear I can’t finish the projects I want to. Fear of what will happen outside of my control that can derail my progress. Fear of being average and beige and wasting my time. Fear is the largest obstacle I need to overcome.

Creativity is a discipline: spiritual, emotional, mental, physical. You train yourself like an athlete or musician to overcome fear. And when one cycle ends, you think about the incremental progress you have made, and how you have changed, developed, adapted, improved throughout the cycle.

So, what do you do when you get to the end of the toilet roll? You dispose of the waste, put a new roll on, and start anew.

What I Will Leave Behind… and is it worth it?

A story, attributed to Kurt Vonnegut, recounts his time working alongside an archaeologist who began to ask Kurt questions about his life and his interests. Kurt commented on his activities such as choir, literature, learning an instrument. Yet Kurt felt … Continue reading →

Three Words for the New Year

In the light of celebrating the changing of the Gregorian calendar into 2018, let’s acknowledge Greg’s dating nomenclature: Happy Greg’s Day!

But, another three words to define this changing of the calendar on the wall, the diary on the desk, the scraps of paper used as notes and the back of my hand useful for the writing of lists, is to refocus the directions, habits and purposes of what you wish to achieve.

These are my three words for 2018: Patience, Fortitude, Tenacity. 

They are defined by my theological outlook and perspective, and have connections to events and situations that have impacted, are impacting, and will impact me. The changing of a calendar date doesn’t mean that all the craptacular events that happened last year haven’t continued on this year; I still have to deal with them. They impact myself, my family, my creativity. 

To be honest, 2017 was a year of continuation of years of crapness that feels like someone having handed me a never-ending roll of toilet paper. It helps clean up the mess but the mess keeps on coming. I didn’t, and haven’t, dealt with some of it well and the effect compounds into multiple areas but especially my creativity. 

No new stories written. Nothing published. Ideas planted, germinated, rising about the soil and scorched by the sun. It’s been a barren few years in terms of creative output. 

So how do these words help me refocus for the coming year? It’s about forming positive habits and achievable steps, looking at the long term destination rather than short term gains or (potential) rewards. 

Patience – like that of a saint. The ability to weather the storms and circumstances, and to travel when the conditions are good. To me, it’s having a longer perspective, a focus on the horizon and not simply the step immediately in front of me.
It’s a cultivated habit, a fruit of character and personality. To keep doing the work, not seeing the reward, while others around you are blessed and keep on going with nary a care in the world. I will have my reward in this life, or the next. Not to be distracted by the success of others (applaud them, support them, champion them) because they have done the work that is required. 

Fortitude – defined as courage in pain or adversity. Basically, above all, to stand.
So much has sucked away the creative impetus and momentum over the last few years and it has taken up a significant amount of emotional and mental energy. Often it’s painful and demoralising. Especially when it’s not happening to me specifically but to close family members who you take care of. It’s hard to see someone you love in pain and there is not much you can do except hold a space for them, and yourself.
Sometimes I feel like an anchor point for those around me but I’m afraid I’ll lose my grounding. But, digging in and digging deeper. 

Tenacity – keeping on when all you want to do is give up. And I’ve been feeling like giving up a lot lately. Had a rough gig on the weekend; it wasn’t a train wreck in terms of my drumming but for whatever reason it felt awkward and crap and at the end of the gig I wanted to break my drumsticks, sell my gear and quit playing drums. 
But that is one gig. I will have other bad gigs, I am sure. I’ve also had great gigs. Each day is a chance to refocus, start afresh and be thankful for mercy and grace. I’ll be looking at the next gig this weekend not through the lens of the past gig but at the possibility of what awesomeness it could be. Back to the practice pad.

Im summary, three words are meaningless without a plan to make them a habit so I’ll keep making notes, keep reading, keep writing. 

What would your three words for the year be?

Handwritten Pages #5

I grew up in a house with a corrugated iron roof and loved hearing the sound the rain made on it. It’s a familiar sound and a familiar memory and I used it as the basis for an idea developed below.

Like the wind picks at the corrugated iron roof, this memory is a scab I have picked at for years and years.
I have scratched and scratched.
Sometimes out of curiosity, out of a need to understand; to comprehend how we failed to relate to one another. Or out of frustration and anger at failed intimacy. 
I retreat into the solitude of the bedroom, into a book and a pen and bury myself beneath headphones where the music thrashes and yells and pummels.
And like the wind, I return to pick at the scab of memory.

Handwritten Pages #2

The second instalment of Handwritten Pages. This one was inspired while reading Amanda Palmer’s book, “The Art of Asking.”

I cannot recommend her book highly enough if you are a creative person. It is a heartfelt and affirming read; quite challenging to accept her premise sometimes but as a creative person there is such a wealth of ideas to gain from it. If time is of the essence, listen to her TED Talk.

The couple sit across from each other at the dining room table, each with a pen and a pad of Post It Notes.
In silence they share a communion of scribbled notes, stick figure cartoons and random doodles intermingled wiht a chorus of laughter, sighs and whispers.
There is a solemn but playful sincerity to their ritual as the notes pass back and forth.
He passes a note to her; the body of Christ.
She receives it. Reads and responds.
She passes a note to him; the blood of Christ.
He receives it. Reads and responds.
He offers his hand and they stand to leave with the benediction spoken on paper.
They leave the notes as holy writ.

Two New Poems for Old Acquaintances

At the end of last year, two of my colleagues left. One retired and one was returning home to another state before heading off travelling.

In a sudden moment of ideas, I composed a poem for each. I couldn’t read them aloud myself because I hate farewells and ended up a blubbering mess in the corner while other colleagues read them for me. Wuss that I am.

I will share them with you, even though you don’t have the context of the people I know because I like them as stand alone poems.

 

Athena’s Owl

The light is extinguished at day’s end
the filament fades from white to orange to yellow to black
                                                              to signal slumber’s rest
          shadows encroach where light once reached

Athena’s owl ruffles her feathers for one last flight
          preens from quill to tip and one soft downy feather
          falls like a summer cloud
          rides the drafts and settles in the corner

In the silent moment before flight
          she takes one final glance
launches on soundless wings
          the warrior of the night.

We wake at morning’s first touch and
                               find the roost empty

Our hearts turn to sorrow and mourning
for wisdom’s presence is no longer amongst us
we run our fingers along the perch, the grooved indentations
of claws leave furrowed rows of knowledge

The wind reaches into the corner
                              lifts the single feather
the movement catches our eye; we reach down
                              hold the quill between thumb and forefinger
                              our extant memory
a reminder of wisdom’s presence,
                              her integrity and compassion
We are made the wiser because of her.

Diaspora

The wind asked,
“How now, spirit? Whither wander you?”
Wherever you may take me
But I will not be driven like the autumn leaves
Aimless, directionless, at your capricious mercy.
I will set my sails and use your strength
To take me to foreign lands.

The wind said,
“You have not moved.”
I have travelled the length and breadth
Of my imagination; my feet are not weary.
I will choose when to tie my laces
shoulder my pack and
Cross the threshold of my volition.

The wind asked,
“When will you find a home?”
I find a home where there is a bed for rest
a cup of tea
a book to read
a pen to write with
a nook for study
a place where my heart is at peace.

And the wind was silent.

The Earthen Man

This was an attempt at a spoken word poem whose genesis was at school where a group of Year 10 students were being introduced to slam poetry.

I took one of the prompts and explored the origins of my name. It is rough but a fun activity to explore. Hope you enjoy it.

The Earthen Man
When I heard the minister pronounce the benediction
At my grandfather’s funeral
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”
the recitation of symbolic circulation
I hear echoes of my name

Adam

accent the first letter with exhalation of breath, “Ah”

“Ah-dam”

a whisper of life escaping.
Count those breaths, man of earth, keep a record, keep a tally.
Know its origins lie in ancient roots and ancient lands
your genesis is found in holy writ
the clay, the breath, the man created
the Play-Dough of God’s creative work

“Ah-dam”

a synonym of man and earth
a story deposited and poured from one jar of clay to the next
through eternity’s hourglass until the dust and ashes settle
inverted and another life begins

“Ah-dam”

this life begins as the conjugation of my father’s seed, my mother’s soil
the banker and the occupational therapist
the handy man and the artist
and I look at the dirt beneath my fingernails
see it is more my father than me
but I have mown my fair share of lawns, dug holes and shifted topsoil
I am more likely to find ink beneath my nails
from pens where words seep out like
the sap from a tree I never planted but I am learning to climb
now I garden with words
planting syllable seedlings in the the dust accumulating on the windowsill
in notebooks and diaries and journals
whose pages I imagine falling out like the petals of the cherry blossom
in my parents’ backyard, a delicate cascade of vowels and consonants

“Ah-dam”

in retrospect, memory is an archaeological examination of a past
digging through layers of soil
stratified artefacts poured through a sieve of inconsistency

“Ah-dam”

while the root system seeks out good soil
the surface is choked by weeds and caged by thorns
the fruits of labour harvested
a meagre handful, barely a morsel
a portion for one
let alone enough to feed a family
or the overflow to lay out a feast for friends
and strangers
I would be wise to reap the harvest
plant new seed at season’s turn

“Ah-dam”

the late starter to a race
trying to peg his pace with the front runners
rather than running his own marathon
the rhythm of a heartbeat
I have not kept time with
a pulse I lag behind most often
while trying to rush ahead

“Ah-dam”

Feet of clay baked over many summers
Running barefoot through the streets
Dodging bindies, stones and once, a rusty nail
Embedded into the sole of my foot
A fissure that now lets the water in
disintegrating in the tides
of people

“Ah-dam”

are we more than bags and bags of soil or fertiliser
stacked on shelves in mausoleums of DIY self-aggrandisement?
let me remove the speck of dirt from my eye
form the rain around this granule of dirt
and I will water the ground
from which I came

Book Versus Movie Part 2

A little while back I argued in Book Versus Movie that there is much to gain from seeing film as a different language of art. 

But I’ve been thinking about it some more and watching The Book Thief on tv recently crystallised another aspect of the book versus movie debate. I didn’t watch the entirety of the movie (I will watch it in full one day) for one reason that  I hadn’t thought of: voice.

I love The Book Thief. It is a magnificently written book and one of my favourites. Death narrates the story and it is this voice, and the voice of the author, that makes it such a stirring novel for me. While watching the film, I didn’t have the same sense of voice. The film looks superb, the characters well defined, but it was the lack of authorial voice that I was expecting that made me turn off. 

Similarly, my viewing of The Lord of The Rings is informed by my reading of the novels. There are parts that I love and adore in the film, and others that are just downright cheesy and lacking the right voice to give the scene its proper gravitas or humour. The voice of LOTR is sometimes as dry as mortuary dust but that is what gives the novel is authenticity and pathos and humour.

Voice is one of those almost intangible aspects of writing; you know what voice you like, those you do not, those that sound mellifluous, those that sound like a Year 9 class on Friday afternoon. I think voice works for cinema too but it is more a chorus.

The “book was better than the movie” debate is too simplistic and we need to unpack it to understand why it is said, and whether we believe it or not. Both are art forms, with different voices and different modes of production, and should be treated as such. To simply divide is to denigrate one art form, extol the other and the division is not helpful. 

Appreciation and understanding is the aim.

One Image, Two Conclusions

Last Friday I had a shocker of a day at work; the end of a long and tiring week which meant that I did not shower myself in glorious brilliance. And, as they say, the hits kept on coming.

It was nothing earth-shattering and it didn’t affect me directly but a piece of news that hit me at my weakest in terms of creativity and my own writing progress because over the past few months my writing time has suffered due to work commitments, and the ability to find the mental and emotional energy was sorely lacking. And it manifested itself in frustration and, if I am at all honest, jealousy.

I hit up a creative friend and simply vented in private. In the words of John Farnham, to “take the pressure down.” And it felt better to whinge about my own predicament and celebrate the success of others.

Over Saturday I was playing around with my phone, a new notebook and my fountain pen, to take a photo.

The first result was this:

Aside: The fountain pen was a gift from my colleagues for my 40th birthday a couple of years back and the inscription reads, “When your heart speaks, take good notes.”

And every writer knows this feeling. However, in my current feral state of mind about getting stuff done, it was a challenge, an affront, a curse, a mockery.

But, shaking off the negativity, I changed the photo to this:

Comparing yourself to others is a sure road to bitter disaster. Pursuit of your own goals and dreams is the correct path.