A sad loss to the creative world.
G R Jordan author, poet, and top Dad apparently!
Tag: life
Changing Job
I’m changing job at the moment and Ken Robinson has something to say to me!
My Kickstarter for my new novel Crescendo! is still running here but not for long!
G R Jordan author, poet, and top Dad apparently!
Finding life!
One wise man’s view on this thing we call life.
The Kickstarter for my new novel Crescendo! is almost finished. Check it out quickly, right here!
G R Jordan author, poet, and top Dad apparently!
That’s Writing!
G R Jordan author, poet, and top Dad apparently!
Why Write Fantasy?
Turning to one of the wisest of children’s writers.
And also pick out its darkness and glories
es!
G R Jordan author, poet, and top Dad apparently!
National Poetry Day
It’s National poetry day so here’s one I made earlier in celebration. It’s from my poetry book “Four Life Emotions” and a wee favourite of mine. It tells of the relationship between my mum and my grandmother when the former was visiting the latter in a nursing home after the onset of Parkinson’s Disease. Sometimes life just flips on it’s head and we’re never truly ready for it.
My Child
She is my child.
She lies head caressed to my bosom, a babe in arms,
Seeking security of my presence.
She is my child.
I cut her food and instruct her on how to eat,
To take the joy of her new life.
She is my child.
She relies on me for the basic human functions,
Assisting her with her mistakes.
She is my child.
I hold her as she walks with unsure balance and direction
But with persistent agitation.
She is my child.
I am close to her and she to me,
For she said I’ll miss her.
She is my child.
She was my mother.
G R Jordan author, poet, and top Dad apparently!
Changing of a Bed
When my 4 year old recently kicked me in the head whilst lying in my bed, I got to thinking about how the place where we sleep changes through the years. As so often, this generated the guts of a poem and the following ensued. Usually these rough starts are where my poetry comes from.
Bed
From encompassing arms, I was laid into a flat bed
Bars that protected my roaming urge, left me void of the caress
That would be obtained when I later wandered
Across the landing to reach the space between
My mother and father, disturbing their peace.
A larger bed left me wondering when,
My legs would grow to touch the air beyond the duvet
Which had to be thrown in moments of heat,
Attacked with a vengeance by arms too small,
To control such obstacles to receiving a cuddle.
As testosterone raged and limbs expanded,
I treasured the space that truly was mine
To control and decorate, to relax on and linger
Surveying the posters of dreams that fought
To lay an impression on the journey’s start.
Then in different rooms, I took refuge in beds,
That were not my own but hired for a time.
Homeless but happy, breaking new grounds abroad.
An abode so petite, so cramped and basic
But owned periodically to give it some worth.
Then the bed grew, doubled in size,
To allow for manoeuvre of multiple occupants
Who fumbled and loved, learnt new emotions.
For some the tenants changed but I grew fortunate
In keeping the lodger within the house walls.
Feet in my head, an occupying force,
Takes ground in my bed, with the cutest attack
Which left this dreamer awake most nights.
So strong the attack that more followed on
And all hopes of ownership went off to the wall.
Then she spent longer in that slumbering bastion
Before they suggested a different abode.
But she troubled them not long, never lingered,
And she made her way to a different home,
Parting with tears and eyes ever so tired.
Too much room in this bed nowadays
And no flesh to tell me my feet are cold.
A room that was filled with noise and laughter,
Passions fulfilled and children rampaging
Has become a tomb with orthopaedic pillows.
G R Jordan author, poet, and top Dad apparently!
Pressure! – Deep in the Self-publishing Groove
Fitting writing in is hard enough at the best of time with a busy family, a normal job and all the other things life throws at you. Hence I write during my lunch break. Edit in the wee hours of the morning. Grab a moment while the kids are at a club and I’m sat in the cafe outside or even at a table.
In earlier days I would have taken my pencil and pad and wrote from the top of my head. Today is similar, except that I use a tablet, with a Bluetooth keyboard and it comes with thesaurus, dictionary and encyclopedia. My work can sit on a cloud or a card that is smaller than my thumbnail. Looking with truthful eyes, I find technology helping me achieve my end, assisting in cutting out extra work.
And yet, while I love the fact that I can control so much of my own work, there comes a pressure. Everything seems to need completed at the same time and with the obligatory professional edge. But I am just a writer. Sit me in front of a keyboard or give me a pencil and I’ll knock out a story, without hesitation. It’s in-built. I didn’t become a writer, I was born one. Albeit, I had to learn our code for transmitting the stories first. Not saying I can’t improve because I can, but I am a writer.
But I wasn’t born a publisher. Visual art can be a strange experience. And the nuances of formatting, well let’s say, I am new to them. These things that don’t come naturally add pressure because I feel out of my depth. Even with hired help, I feel exposed. And these extras, these important items, become precious to me because they show off my writing. They help people connect with my core, my work. And hence the pressure comes and I become scared that I am not doing my writing justice with these other items.
But there is a revelation. I can only improve if I first try. “Better to burn out than to fade away,” was said in “Highlander”, the eighties film. Don’t bury your talents to be more biblical. And so one must take the pain to receive the gain as the fitness gurus tell us.
It helps when reading about other authors who had to fight their way to publication. Stephen King comes to mind. I read “About Writing” and initially wondered why there was so much about his own life and not about the writing process. But now, having leapt into the same passion, I get it. The man said it himself.
“Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy. …this book…is a permission slip: you can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will. Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up.”
― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
So no matter the pressure, I’ll keep drinking!
G R Jordan author, poet, and top Dad apparently!