Some final thoughts on the 30th anniversary National Association of Writers in Education Conference. Followed by a train journey of semi-doom where not only did the train break down, but also my cheap-as-about-fifty-portions-of-chips Hudl tablet crashed somewhere around Huddersfield (Hudlsfailed?! Sorry sorry sorry). ‘Polyphonic Place: Putting Sound Into Words’ and ‘Loving Your Legacy: A Poetry … More Polyphony, listening, legacy #NAWE30
He said: “you get your eye in after a bit” trace wall lines, the culvert of Trub brook, kick up leaf litter roots, leaves and mycelium disrupts, unseen spores are dust motes on equipment picked clean: the bones of the mill, the bones of the fence rainbows on the millpond, oil painting wrinkles on the water’s … More Peeling back layers of time: excerpts from ‘The Miller’s Cottage’
The Rochdale Way is a 45 mile route that loops (mostly) around the Rochdale borough, it is one that should probably be split into parts as the full route may be too long for even the most hardy long-distance rambler. Designed in the late 1990s by Richard Catlow, John Cole, Martin Riley and John Taylor it … More Doing the Rochdale Way #1: Heywood, a bramble ramble, and low-flying golf balls
‘The rhythm of walking generates a kind of rhythm of thinking, and the passage through a landscape echoes or stimulates the passage through a series of thoughts.’ Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust (2001: 5-6). ‘There’s nothing wild in this country: every square inch of it is ‘owned’, much has seen centuries of bitter dispute; the whole landscape is … More Maps lie! Looking for the confluence of Roch and Irwell.
As I’ve not written for a while about the project, I thought I’d write a little bit about the “process” of making and of responding to a place creatively. (This is something that will eventually feature in my main thesis on the process and practice of “making”.) Many writers are asked “how do you do it?” or … More Writing place – some thoughts on process. (And a poem!)
A creative response to the previous blog post. The Pace Egg Play, Monday 6th April 2015. It’s 9am, foggy but muggy and cars still have their headlights on, you’re running for the bus to go to a village that you’re not from. At the bus stop there’s the mashed, yellow remains of a burger and there’s … More There are thorns on a red rose – challenging “traditions” & heritage narratives
I’ve heard it said that you can measure your way up to northern England via bread – bap, cob, muffin – that the bread’s width increases, becomes a floury pillow – barm cake, stottie, hoagie – a generosity of yeast, wheat, salt, water, fat. Likewise you can map out the geography of Lancashire by its … More A red rose smells so sweet