The Beauty of Poetry

I don't claim to be a good poet but I appreciate poetry and find it thrilling to write it if I have the inspiration to do so.  Last year I took a masterclass with a mixed group of poets, some published, some talented and original, some, like me, were just there to learn.  Each week we were given an assignment and a poem hopefully emerged.  To a novelist to write one poem a week didn't sound much but the task demanded all my energy which meant other writing projects fell away.   My results were interesting. 

A poem I wrote for my grandson germinated in that class and I worked hard to complete it for his second birthday last week.

I didn't realise that writing a poem for a loved one could be so difficult and yet so satisfying.   I transcribed it onto an ornamental scroll and handed it over to his mother.  She read it with a tear in her eye before carefully storing it in his memory box for later.

A New Kind of Love

(for James)

This new kind of love takes me

by surprise. An ageing fear melts

in the rush of your embrace,

the innocence of your breath,

the words of trust in your eyes.

This new kind of love permits us

to giggle a lullaby by Brahms,

stumble-waltz in time to Strauss,

build blocks in towers to tumble,

eat soup from the same spoon.

This grandmother’s love scares me,

to know you will cry when I must go.

Until then let’s blow dandelion clocks to the wind,

and count memory seeds for you to catch and hold.

moira mcpartlin – May 2011



How to have the perfect holiday

How to have a perfect holiday Book a cheap flight to Malaga, hire a car and head for the hills. Book only one or two nights accommodation in advance. Once there buy a detailed map with guide to the area and take it from there. We had two nights in Ronda, two nights in Zahara and three nights in Grazalema because we found a fantastic hostel there. Climb as many high mountains as you can, see as many sights as you can fit in but still make time for siestas and reading - I still read two books.

This is part of the Abode of the Moorish King which sits above the Mira Stairway,
365 steps leading into a mine and gorge.
In the 14th Century slaves were used to
carry water up the stairs for the villager
 - their life expectancy in the mine was eight weeks.

Things I love about Andalucia: Every premises has energy saving bulbs. They have different shapes and sizes for every fitting. Everyone speaks to you, young and old - greetings of hola, buenos dias, buenas tardes, buenas noches are universal and a delight. Hardly any English speaking tourists.
The houses are painted sparkling white with fabulous tiles. Clean streets, no litter, no dogs or cats. The chickens, dogs and vegetable gardens are situated on the village fringes. I took great pleasure in seeking them out.

Just painted - 

the house painters of Zahara are a band of women 

who will never be out of work.

A well tended vegetable patch in Grazalema.

The villages seem to be self sufficient. There are hens, bread making, oranges, cheese making and large communal vegetable gardens.

Where the dogs and chickens live in Zahara.

 All the streets are beautifully cobbled and there are no potholes! Shops are unobtrusive. They look like houses, no advertising or Tescos or other big supermarkets. No boy racers, no neds. There are loads of old men, as well as old women; not something we see so much of in Scotland. And most walked everywhere with the use of only a stick. I saw no zimmers or tri walkers. It must be all that olive oil. Real chips made from real potatoes.  Small beers not whopping great pints. Fabulous vino de casa at an average price of €8. 

A tattie plot in Rhonda.  

Cactus graffiti in Zahara.

Things I didn't like about Andalusia: The mountain roads are narrow with super high verges that could seriously damage the hire car. TV Channel Toro. Ronda is the home of bull fighting and this channel was on in every bar. It is horrible to see but also compulsive to watch.

The view from Sierra de Grazalema's highest mountain - El Torreon (1654mtrs)

After the hill walk

Got to Keep Going

For the past ten months I have been trying to get my novel The Incomers published. This is a demoralising and frustrating process and the amount of effort and motivation to keep going can not be underestimated.

Writing a novel is hard work - but it is fun. Every morning for a year or two you wake up and know you will spend the rest of the day in the company of good friends. OK maybe you created these friends yourself but they are still your friends.

The main character in The Incomers is a young black African mother, Ellie, who comes to live in Fife. I love Ellie. She is a wonderful person. I didn't ask for Ellie to be the main character, that role should have gone to a small girl called Mary. But the moment Ellie entered the story she took over and made it her own. When I finished the novel I tried to treat the process of submitting to publishers as an administration task to be fitted around my writing. I wanted to write something that was under the bed - a short story called The Mongrel that screamed to be a novel.

I tried to write the second novel but I couldn't. I couldn't let go of Ellie. I sent out submissions to publishers and agents. The responses I got back were positive. "A great idea, very interesting but not for us." Quite a number of publishers wanted to see more, but many admitted they were scared by certain aspects of the book, it didn't fit in with what the public were buying.

Each time I thought I was getting close, a rejection came back. My early readers loved the book. One impartial expert told me it ticked lots of boxes and I shouldn't give up on Ellie - she needed to be heard. And yet the rejection slips kept coming in and I still couldn't write the second novel.

Then on Boxing Day while my family were all around, I got a phone call on my mobile. It was a London number I didn't recognise so I ignored it. Then the land line rang, the same number, someone really wanted to speak to me. My heart was pounding when a voice announced she was from XXX publishing. No one phones you on Boxing Day unless it is good news. Unfortunately this particular lady must have had a bad Christmas. She began by telling me how much she loved the book and then why she was rejecting it. Meanwhile my family thought this was the phone call.

My disappointment didn't last as long as theirs. I was furious. Furious that I had let soemone spoil my family's Christmas, furious that I couldn't find a home for Ellie and furious with myself for letting eight months go by without starting novel number two. I told myself that I still had many options open to me, but I had to put Ellie behind me. I will continue to try to find a publisher, but I may have to write a book that is more commercial and The Mongrel might just be that beast.

It is a horrible lesson to learn especially when I know that The Incomers is a great book and that when it does get published the public will want to read it.

In the mean time I am now forty thousand words into my second novel and am loving it. I haven't abandoned Ellie, I still think about her every day and I still do something for her every day, but I am falling in love with my new character now and that is what is keeping me going.

Traditional Music in Safe Hands

Congratulations to Orcadian Fiddler, Kristan Harvey, on winning the BBC Young Traditional Musician of the Year.This competition has been running for a number of years and the quality of the contestants proves that the future of Scottish traditional music is, at last, safe in the hands of this country's youth.

For years Scottish traditional music has suffered at the hands of Tartanism. Shows like The White Heather Club was spoon fed to us as children because it was what the broadcasters believed we needed to see. It was uncool to be seen walking to school with a fiddle under your arm. It was taboo to admit to liking pipe music. Thankfully that has changed.

The Celtic Connections Festival closes today. At the five concerts I attending during the festival I was delighted to witness the huge volume of youngsters in the audience and on the stage. On Saturday I went to the Festival Club in Glasgow Art's School. There, impromptu sessions were springing up in every corner with the majority of the players being below the age of twenty.

And on an early morning journey into Glasgow last week I was stunned to see a group of about twenty school children walking along the road, all carrying traditional instrument cases.

I believe the change in attitude is mostly due to Fèisean nan Gàidheal, an organisation set up to support community based Gaelic arts development with a strong emphasis on music. But it is also the influence of unique artists like Martyn Bennett and Gordon Duncan. These two, sadly missed, pipers have led many young Scots back to their roots.

Choice – What Choice?

When I was small there was one type of crisp – Ready Salted; two types of bread – pan or plain; a few types of chocolate - Cadburys or Rowantree, Nestle.

Then things changed and we had so many choices we didn’t know what to choose. But it seems that the trend is reversing and we aren’t even noticing. There seems to be thousands of products in the shops but are consumers given the choices they want or are they given the choices retailers want us to have?

Two examples are the two As – Apple and Amazon.

I have resisted buying an iAnything because I hate being tied into one product. I also try to avoid Amazon for the same reasons. I don’t buy stuff at Tesco; I don’t like bullies who tell me what to buy and who use their size to push small independents out of the race. And this avoidance has not been easy because Amazon do make it very easy to buy, too easy. It is most people’s dream to have everything one click away.

And it depresses me. The music and books offered to us by Amazon, supermarkets, TV and Radio are a tiny percentage of what is produced by artists each year. If we continue to accept this our culture will be devalued.

But I hadn’t realized how bad things were until I went shopping for an ebook reader. The market is saturated with Kindles, the Amazon’s ebook readers that uses their own format, forcing you to always purchase books from them.

All reviews I have heard start by describing the Kindle and go on to mention, in passing, that others ebook readers are available.

I was disappointed to find that in both John Lewis and Selfridges, Oxford Street, London, I had to search hard for something other than a Kindle. The Sony and Samsung readers demonstrators were either out of batteries or not connected – there were no others to try.

It was while looking for ebooks that the Apple thing caught my eye. It seems that if you are looking for a smart phone or music player this Christmas, you are going to have to search through the hundreds of models of iPods and iPhones to find any other choice.

Good Luck!

Latest Successes

The worst part of a writer's life is learning to deal with rejection letters. But to achieve success it is necessary to submit work for publication. The risk is rejection, the reward is publication.


Earlier this year I read an inspiring essay by writer Linda Cracknell. In this essay she described how she set about systematically submitting her work. She was determined and it paid off. I took her lead and began a submissions frenzy, I studied markets, I bought my envelopes, stamps and International Reply Coupons. Every time I received a rejection I would send the story out again. Here are some of the results.

Winning

A memoir piece Winning was commended in the Leaf Memoir Competition and published in the anthology Foresight with Hindsight. You can read Winning here.

Highland Clearance

Earlier this year I was inspired by Anne Redpath's painting The Mantelpiece. I wrote a wee story called Highland Clearance. Northwords Now. a fine Scottish literary paper published the story in its summer issue. You can now read it online here.

The Girl in the Burgundy Boots

Many years ago, when I worked for Shell Oil, I spend the very cold months of February and March in Budapest. Every day I walked from my five star hotel to the Shell Office. On the way I passed a concrete building with covered cloisters. In one of these cloisters lived a tramp who huddled against below-freezing temperatures under mounds of blankets. This story was inspired by him.

The story was published in the Autumn issue of Crannog.

Twenty Five Feet Behind

Woman, even strong women, can too easily fall a few steps behind their partners without realising it. I entered Twenty Five Feet Behind in the Mountaineering Council of Scotland Mountain Story competition and was awarded third prize. It is featured on their website here.