Autumn’s breaking in. I feel comfortable in my own skin. I can deal with the drizzle, and the pouring rain, and I like to wear lots of layers and put the fire on at night. I keep thinking about this time last year and what a catastrophe it was so be so poorly, so mad, so incapable of just stopping. Now it’s all passed, it’s just gone and I don’t have to think about it anymore. I’m obviously doing fine. I have worked so hard, to be well, to recover, which was the hardest part, and to try and get back some confidence because it crashed and dissolved when I started to get better. Now I’m getting out more and I feel my coping threshold has increased. I love my life, even when it feels like I’m hemmed in and forgotten. I’m loved. Part of what I tend to write about, always unwittingly at first, is that pressure, of being inside, of being in the house, of being smothered, of being in a narrow minded community, just locked in, and I fight against it. It’s also security, the feeling that there is always a retreat. And if I wanted things to be different I would change them. Or maybe it’s not so easy, maybe I just say that to reassure myself. We’ve always wanted to love to Scotland, but you have to consider the kids, moving, moving schools, and really, here, we are so secure. Unless the landlord wants us to move out so he can sell his house. We haven’t got much but we are not materialistic; we live within our means and we take great care of ourselves and each other. Me, who feels like I would bruise if someone so much as talked to me too loud, and the kids who keep me trying my best. 

I think with regards to my collection with Penned in the Margins I feel isolated up here, I’m not fluent on any poetry scene, I am a recluse, I devote all my time to writing, reading and child-rearing, and have no social life. I am perfectly happy, perfectly comfortable with the way I am and the way things are with me but I will have to be out there a little more, build up my presence, try to sell some books. This terrifies me. I want to push on with this. I have no idea how to market my work, and as it’s not in my nature to come forward I feel as though I’m going to have to try even harder. I am happy on the page, I only ever wanted to exist left to right, in 10 pt. Times New Roman and on white paper, coffee stains optional. Now it feels as though there is a huge world I’m entering into gladly, but cautiously, as I haven’t been there before and there is seriously too much to take in. Now we want to know our poets, we want to see them, we want to facebook them, we want to attend their readings and we want to review their books on the internet. We want to engage in all kinds of ways that I am not yet comfortable with. I know I will start to unfurl a little, and go in slowly and carefully, climb the rungs. I absolutely want to live up to expectation and beyond. But I am just a little thing in a small town with a big heart and lots of poems.

I’m going to London next week, 6th October 6pm-9pm for the exhibition Art in Mind at the Brick Lane gallery, featuring work by upcoming artist Alexandra Gallagher. Check out her facebook page and do drop by if you can make it, it should be excellent.

Maybe I will see you there!


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