Back To Reality: Scotstober

Back to reality or at least to a lot of laundry and kids' issues both at school and at home. Life always seems to trip you up when you try to take a break from it.

My trip to Fife was amazing, mainly because it was so laid back. I wandered the beaches when the weather was beautiful, the woods when it was a bit grayer and museums and churchyards when it was raining. I got to stand as close as I dared to the Forth Rain Bridge which I'm a bit obsessed with. None of these things would entertain my kids, so it was a good chance to entertain myself.

Here's a few new Scotstober posts, some inspired by my recent holiday in Scotland. I've combined them to catch up on those words I missed, although I haven't been unable to come up with anything poetic for Day 6 - boak - to throw up, the feeling you're going to throw up. That may be beyond my poetic ability.

#scotstober Days 7, 8 and 12 tap - top lang - long jouk - a quick movement, to evade Cloods tap thi hills thi firth bleacht siller an white thi lang stretch av beach bowlin wide dugs lowsed tae thi saunds joukin in an oot thi rocks up an doon thi stair Days 9, 2, 10 and 11 haver – to talk nonsense, to gossip dicht – to tidy up thole – to bear or endure bile - boil naebody tae haver wi naebody tae dicht up efter ah can thole thi seelence av a tuim hoose ah lang fae its echa in thi bile av thi kettle Days 13, 15 and 16 howff – a favourite place puddock – a toad cuddie – a stupid person ah sall gae tae Birnam Wid an staun in thi hert o thi aik ye’ll cry me a witch in mah howff wrunkelt as a puddock but yer a cuddie afeart o a wumman wi ideas Days 9, 14 and 17 haver - to talk nonsense gowster - to storm with wind and rain lum - a chimney a gowsterous day thi wind howlin thi rain blatterin oan thi windaes but thi lum is drawin weel an ahm haverin wi mah freends

Days 18, 21 and 22

tuim - empty
sook - to suck
heid - head

ahm tuim av thochts
staundin in thi wat leaves
thi wind sookin at mah skin
hair beelin around mah heid 

I'll try to catch up some more before the end of the month, but it's been so busy at work it's unlikely.

I've had some work published in Scotland recently. My poem 'Writing for Mr Stangeland' has been published in From Glasgow to Saturn, a magazine connected with the University of Glasgow, my alma mater. I can't wait to see a copy.

And my Fibonacci style poem 'Found in a Goniatite Ammonite' was published in Poetry Scotland. It contains such a great mix of poems from Scotland and abroad. A great wee read.  

Scotstober 2024

I'm on holiday in Scotland and I can't wait today for my first wander. I woke up to a pale sunrise and an alpaca in the field below my window. 

I was here twice over the summer, once with a school group and once with 3 of my kids, but this time it's just me. I have no plans really. I'm staying in the East Neuk of Fife where I've only visited once, besides St Andrews, decades ago. Summer was so stressful and dictated by others, I hope to just visit some of the coastal villages, do some writing in cafes and just chill. 

And maybe catch up on the Scotstober posting. Every year, Scotstober celebrates the Scots language on social media by posting a Scots Wird o thi Day, a new Scots word every day that posters can use creatively, writing their own poems or sentences, finding famous or humorous uses of the word, just sharing the love of Scots. 

Here's a list of the words

I don't speak Scots naturally. I lived in Scotland for about 17 years and I studied Scottish Literature. My ability to use Scots is like most of my languages, I can read better than I speak. But sometimes I can hear Scots in my head and that's the voice that I want for a poem. 

I'm way behind on my posting of the words, but here's my start. I tend to write snippets of poems and then try to stitch a poem together at the end of the month. 

#Scotstober Day 1 -  tyne - to lose, to suffer the loss. 

ah hae tint thi mune
deep in thi tangles
av thi epple trees

Day 2 - dicht - to tidy, to wipe up

Ah dicht thi rottin fruit
thi lace-leafslien on thi egress
abandont by thi rashin saison

Day 3 - noo - now.

ah hae tint thi mune an its story
in thi doctors an lesson plans
noo clutherin
mah mind

Day 4 - haar - a sea fog

memories
hingin oan lik a haar
saft an lawoer thi gairden

Day 5 - clype - to tell tales

but nane will clype oan me
if ah dae nae work thi day
no thi maggie
or thi hare

I'll head off soon, but I'm enjoying the slow start to the morning, even if the internet is dodgy.

The Wet Dark Slips of Gold

Wet, windy and dark, we're properly into autumn, but it's been so delayed this year which hasn't been a bad thing. The lingering heat is very welcomed. The leaves are starting to turn, maples first and then the birch. My garden covered in gold flakes that I will have to rake and rake, but I will never stay on top of them. 

Seasons cycle and I fall into the same routines, with my gardening and in the house, my moods. Even in my poems, I find myself caught up with the same images, the same thoughts. The geese leave depresses me, leaves falling are beauty but an ending. The cold is sneaking in. I rake and prune, tidy the garden for hibernation, trying not to think of the next season. Trying not to count the seasons that have passed and the emptiness of uncertainty of the season before me, but the certainty that they will follow the same rhythm. I try to capture the positives of the moment, focus on those slips of gold. 

I'm still only really writing on the weekend, so trying to see the positive of that. Starting one poem a week is good, submitting once a week is good. I was playing with images this week in connection with my poems, maybe something I can use if my book is ever published. Things have slowed up at my publishers, so I'm guessing everything has been pushed back again. 

I've been playing with combining photos that I've taken and adding lines from poems.  I'm not very artistic, but I do love to take photos. The act of collaging multiple images with words is something I've never tried before and I am enjoying it. I have about 5 pieces so far. The group that hosts our writing group meetings has a regular call for art for its window space, so maybe I could aim for posters to hang as a display. Then once I have a book in my hands I could use them for a reading.  

Here's one I've posted with these lines on Insta:

Thi claik are gangin awa,
arrows lowpin aff,
takin a daud av mah hert
jist like they dae ivery year.

I'm enjoying playing with them for now.

Publication news after a dry spell:

Two of my poems are appearing in the new issue of Aimsir. It was lovely to be included and the editors worked with the writers to get it just right. It looks amazing. Best of luck to them. 

Scottish Book Tour: Scotland Ten Years On

My attempt at Substack didn't work, so I'll stick to notes there and my blog here. 

The sun's back. Two weeks ago I had solar panels installed and then Finland went into autumn mode with mists and overcast darkness. It's good to have this burst of sunlight to make the huge cost seem worthwhile. The cats and I have been recharging our batteries in pools of light, though the throw blanket has found it's way back to the couch. I'm not ready to turn the heat on yet. 

The trees are just starting to turn, hints of gold and red around the edges. We're about a month behind season-wise. I have pictures of the kids from past years, knee-deep in piles of leaves. Gold birch coins and mushrooms are just starting to sprinkle the lawn. 

My pictures also show the Scottish Independence Referendum from ten years ago, September 18. My social media is full of people remembering, many mourning the loss. It's still a blow, especially after Brexit and the recent mess in the Scottish Government. The possibility of independence seems further away than ever before. 

Speaking of Scottish, I'm still trying to work my way through the pile of books I bought this summer in Scotland. I picked up a few older books that I had never read, including Jackie Kay's Trumpet and some George Mackay Brown titles. 

I also tried John Burnside's Dumb House. I haven't been able to get through it. It reminds me a lot of The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks which I love. Burnside was a poet, novelist and editor who recently died and I had never read any of his work. But I couldn't get into this book, the main character is messed up. The book starts with him just saying that he's fed a set of twins poison, similar to Banks' character Frank announcing he'd killed three people so far in the opening scene. I couldn't find anything redeemable in the main character, even though the book tries to show the loss that led to his horrible actions. I may go back to it as it's impelling to find out about the twins, but I just can build up any sympathy for the main character. 

Trumpet, however, really builds empathy for the characters, Millie and Colman, the wife and son of a famous trumpeter Joss Moody who has just died. Joss's secret is out and his family are left to deal with the aftermath of the explosion left between them, Millie by hiding herself away and Colman by exploring his father's past with a journalist. Here the backstory doesn't truly explain Joss' choices but lays a foundation for the person he becomes. The writing is beautiful and quite raw with emotion, beautifully done.

And beautiful isn't quite the right adjective for George Mackay Brown's seminal novel Greenvoe. Wrapped in myth, landscape, history and humour, Greenvoe is a village full of character and characters set on an imaginary Orcadian island. Their secrets are all laid bare and knit into the village's spirit, Alice has seven children all named after the men she had affairs with, guileless Timmy buys his meths for his Tilley lamp, but everyone knows he drinks it himself and the school teacher impotently lusts after the ferryman who has his eye set on a bigger prize. Mackay Brown builds up a close-knit community that doesn't always have each others' best interests at heart. When modern incursions of an secret industry called Dark Star threaten the island, the villagers have little choice, but to accept their own natures. The writing is poetic, woven with sea and island culture. This is no surprise as Mackay Brown is also a brilliant poet. An absolute gem and I'm looking forward to my next book by Mackay Brown. 

It's been over ten years since I left Scotland and almost twenty since I completed my Masters in Scottish Literature and there's still so much to explore in its literature. 

No real news in my own writing. Moving forward slowly. 

If anyone is interested in Scots language, the Dictionary of the Scots Language has their own version of Wordle - https://www.macwordle.co.uk/ which is quite fun. 

Moving into Autumn, Moving On

Finally autumn is here. I'm not complaining about the long summer, but it's been slightly surreal, the heat and the bright sun. But last week had a hint of 'mists and mellow fruitfulness', one of my favourite descriptions of autumn, especially when I go out to my damp apple trees, but also a humid heat. This week things are definitely starting to move more towards autumn. Lots of rain yesterday, gold birch leaves scattered on my lawns sweaters needed in the morning.

I've been making applesauce, apple cakes, courgette/ zucchini cake, stews and fruit compotes. Autumn to me is a lot about food, obviously. But I'm also doing a tidy of the garden and my allotment, curling up in the mornings to write to the rain. My favourite season, except for the awareness of winter stomping in at the end. I just want to focus on the hazy, cool and damp moments in front of me.

I'm booking another trip to Scotland for October which I'm getting excited about. This one is just me for five days. I'm heading to Fife where I haven't spent much time. Hoping to do a lot of writing and wandering around little towns, visiting cafes and bookshops. Big plans, lol. 

I have no news on publications, magazines or otherwise. I'm still submitting my Finnish collection here and there, but my Scottish collection has been delayed again. Surprise, surprise.

Even though my book publication is probably still a ways off, I'm trying to psych myself up by figuring out how to promote myself on social media. I've joined various platforms and occasionally spend some time reading, but I'm not very good at posting on them. I wonder if poets really get many sales from social media. I think online sales will have to play a big part for me as I won't be able to do the book tour thing as I did with my last book almost 20 years ago. 

I was lucky that another poet who was being published by my press was a Writer-in-Residence and had the contacts to set up a poetry reading series around southern Scotland and I set up a few of my own with groups and places I knew. I'll do a reading or two here in Helsinki, but otherwise as far as I know there isn't much of an English poetry network here. If anyone knows differently, please contact me. 

So I've joined Substack recently, but haven't really posted and I'm still finding people to follow. I'd like to get off Twitter, but I don't want to lose that sense of network, even if I'm a quiet member. I'm not sure where to start with being a more active poster. 

I'll post this on Substack and Twitter and Bluesky, but otherwise I rarely post on social media. So many platforms that I lurk on. I don't like that they are such time-suckers, but it is what poets, artists in generally probably, need to do if they want to have a presence. It feels like you need that presence to be accepted for publication, especially when I cannot have a physical presence in the UK where I am mostly published. So I'm trying again with this . . .

My long weekend is drawing to a close. It's wet and moody out, bringing dusk earlier and earlier. The days are slowing down and I'm giving in to them. There's never enough time, there's still a sense of urgency different from what I get in the summer. To nest, to harvest, to prepare for what's coming. 

I've made banana bread, apple cake and applesauce cake for home and school, two types of chicken with apples and applesauce. All trying to use up my apples from my cinnamon apple tree. I've wrangled my reluctant daughter into dinner, homework and taking out the rubbish, but not a shower. Compromise. 

And writing, I've managed a little. Sent out some submissions, one already declined. I've fought with a poem that I can see but can't express. It's coming, gradually. 

We'll see how it goes. 

Writing A Life

After a week of heat, autumn rain has hit my little corner of Finland this morning, so I'm soaking up tea and writing since I couldn't manage to sleep in. Back to school blues. I'm happy to be back to work, love meeting the kids again, but miss the slow starts to the day and the empty calendar. 

This last weekend I downloaded all my posts on this blog to a Word file. Yes, I was procrastinating writing poetry, we won't go into that. 

It got me thinking about how much I write about my life and my swirling thoughts. I keep a journal, not every day, but regularly. I write in this blog, I've kept various blogs over the years. I've been in online forums where I've posted regularly in a daily update thread. I've even come across a gardening journal I kept for a few years of what I planted, what the weather was like. I obviously have an obsession to chronicle my life. 

Over the years I have downloaded all this online journalling and have so many files. I could stitch them together to get an interesting view of the past twenty years of my life, from a writing point of view, as a mother (from parenting boards) and just about life in general. It would be reams and reams of words though, this blog alone takes over two hundred A4 pages. 

Twenty years of blogs, 40 years of journals and over 30 years of poems. Which all basically add up to my life story. I can't imagine what I could do with it.

A friend recently wrote a memoir, a non-fiction meditation on her life. I say recently, but she obviously spent years writing it. I'll review it below. I can't imagine writing a memoir. I wouldn't know what angle to take or what theme to spin around. I have done lots of things, lived in some interesting places, lived through 50 years of events, I even taught a writing your life course for a couple of years and I'm no stranger to exposing my life through my poems, but I wouldn't know where to begin. What makes our lives interesting to others? What obsession can we share?

Or have I already begun? I'm tempted to start bringing together the different pieces year by year, to see what I was doing and where I was mentally. It would be a huge job, a distraction. 

In my early journals, I didn't write about what was going on in the world. I was a teenager and was more focussed on what was going on in my own little bubble. I doubt that would have much of a wider appeal. Things get more interesting as I get older and better at writing, go to university, to Scotland, become an adult, enter a relationship and have children. Though I occasionally look over the parapet, I still focus on my own internal world, worries and dramas. And none of it is too dramatic, maybe not enough to write a memoir. 

So I'll probably just keep writing, an archive of my life to leave behind. I'm sure it'll give my kids a laugh. Maybe it'll end up in a museum of Generation X - following my journey from eight tracks to X.com and beyond. 

A quick review of Storm Pegs by Jen Hadfield as I've just finished it. I've mentioned here before that I'm not good with non-fiction. I try to read it but always leave the text unsatisfied. That sense of trying to make meaning of the randomness of our life, to wrap things together, not with a neat bow, but into a useful bundle of sticks often feels forced to me which is probably why I couldn't write one. 

Storm Pegs follows the poet's life in Shetland as she tries to discover 'where am I?' As to be imagined, it's full of poetic wonderings at the Shetland landscape and sea, travels to different corners and islands, learning about the language, the culture and people. It's lush with details and unravellings. 

Jen Hadfield fights against the idea that Shetland is isolated or remote and draws beautiful connections between the community, her neighbours and the creative scene in Shetland. But there is a sense that she's quite comfortable in being hunkered down in her caravan, strapped down against the elements and prefers that edge-of-the-world feeling, that the sparse spaces and distance are something she craves. 

She doesn't try to show us how we should live, where to take your next holiday or how to find the poetic in your daily lives. This is the smallest glimpse of what her Shetland life is, make your own conclusions. 

Jen is an amazing poet, with an eye for the small awkward details of the world, so I knew the writing would be exquisite. From her poetry, I knew she would draw me into the Shetland culture and wade through its language, scooping up glimmering fragments as she does glowing algae. I wasn't disappointed. 

She also gives us a hint of the day-to-day, making a life where she has no history, where she can write her own story as Poet as a neighbour calls her. It's not always simple, of course, but she finds patterns of beauty in even cutting open worms when she needs a non-poetic job to pay the bills. It was lovely to wrap myself in her world for a short time and it left me wanting more. Maybe Jen should start a blog, lol. I wish her the best of luck in the next stage of her adventure. 

Enjoy your weekend. 

A Fallow Summer

My summer break is almost over, I return to work in a few days. I feel like I've barely done any writing which is frustrating when I think how much time I have off from school in the summer. Finland's had an amazing summer this year, really warm and sunny, but I haven't taken advantage of it either. Having a week teaching summer school in the middle of the summer broke the time up weirdly. In the first weeks, I had a rush to do all the appointments I was not able to do while working and then when I was just starting to relax I had to go teach in Scotland for over a week. There was an expected bereavement during that week that also threw things out of whack. We knew it was coming soon, but not just then.

I then brought the kids back to Scotland to visit friends and family and that turned a little difficult, I hover between the words traumatic and miserable, but that seems a bit dramatic. All three who came, went into surly teenager mode, even the pre-teen. They didn't want to do anything, even eat and I felt stressed and put out. It left me wishing I had travelled alone as no one seemed to enjoy it. 

I remember a similar disastrous cross-country trip when I was a teen, my headphones on the entire time, not wanting to do anything but wander about alone, so I shouldn't be surprised, but it did put a damper on the summer. 

So this summer feels incomplete. I don't want to go back to work, though I enjoy my job, and I don't want to push into autumn, but I do want to change the soundtrack for the end of this summer. I've had friends over one evening, and I'm trying to write again in the mornings after wandering out into my garden to water. Maybe combine the two, at least at the weekends.

Today I rode my bike to the library and the plant store and then spent ages trying to sort my cottage garden spot. It's not working well in Finland but I keep trying every summer. I put in new flowers for the heavy winter to kill and dig up plants that haven't made it or just don't suit. The soil is horrible, full of house-building waste and it doesn't get enough rain under the eaves, but this year it was full of tulips in the spring and overrun with irises, so it's not all bad. 

I've written a couple of new poems over the past two days which is more than I've written most of the summer. I'm still in the first flush of love with them, but I will let them mellow and see if I can live with them. I have no focus just now, no collection I'm trying to round off or a new theme stuck in my head. Random words or ideas set me off and I just let my writing flow from there. Hopefully, the fallow writing summer will allow for some more growth later on. 

Poetry publication news: my poem 'In My Last Phone Call' was published by Ink, Sweat and Tears. It's my second poem to appear on the website.

Not much else to say, I guess slow movement is movement.