A Fresh Start

 

 

A Fresh Start.

So, for some reason I decided that starting a blog would be good for me. Hopefully I'll keep at it because I think having an outlet for my opinions, thoughts and work will benefit me (somehow). I already have a lot of ideas about what I'm going to post, but this blog is more for myself than getting my work out there (that would just be a great bonus). Whether it's just my mam or my friends who read this, or even just me, I'm sure that this is a positive thing. Therefore, I thought it would only be right if I started by giving a quick overview of how I came to have one of the best experiences of the year.

The Beacons Project, 2017.

This project, funded by the Welsh Gov and run by Hay Festival of Literature and Arts, has been possibly one of the best things to happen to me. Not only did it finalise the "Yes! I really do love literature! This is what I want to do! I can build a career out of this!" thought I'd been turning over in my head for God knows how long, but it introduced me to experiences, people and literature that I'll forever be thankful for.

This fairy-tale story began after I wrote a sequence of sonnets for the English Prize for my school Eisteddfod. I worked really hard on them and drew the emotion from a personal experience I had. The theme was "Fake News", but instead of taking a political Donald Trump-esque route like a few of my peers, I decided to focus my poems on rumours and how they affect the individual, the person who spreads the rumours, and the collective group who just watch what's going on and spread the rumours further. I chose this because I'd gone through something similar as the individual and hadn't really dealt with it. No time like the present, right? (Technically the past is what I'm talking about here but I'm reflecting so rhetorical questions are necessary).
 This was the first time I had ever attempted to write poetry for myself but I was so proud of what I'd written that I feel comfortable enough to share it with whoever you are (if you want to, or you could just skip it).

RUMOURS I

Have you heard the fake news?

Whispers floating down the impish street.

Now opprobrious instead of a muse,

no longer respectable, pure or neat.

Looking at the filthy floor,

hanging down her head

and not seeing the truth she saw before,

only seeing red.

Then she cries

about what she knows is real  -

not the lies.

Why should she suffer this ordeal?

So she stands stern for all to see,

the rumours about her, the fake news about me.

RUMOURS II

Relaying false realities

from the sharpness of my tongue

creating numerous casualties

whilst the fiction is still young.

With a slight whisper here,

an adroit blather there,

until you can hold their fear

and they're caught in the snare

of crying and shame

towards an anonymous source

not knowing who they should blame

for the false news that hold such force.

Why do I do it the familiars ask?

If I don't someone else will complete the task.

RUMOURS III

We don't know her face

which is filled with regret,

only her case

that was spitefully set

by an Ossa of prowess

who sought to diminish

the confidence she held to confess

that she didn't want to finish

her growth and light

that shone so brightly on those surrounding,

but without the will to fight

the rumours are compounding

her, even though she knows what's real.

We don't (but we do), so how should we feel?

TRUTH

It finds the way out eventually,

then everybody knows

that although she’s okay essentially

it’s the scarring not the blows

to her self esteem and reputation

that have a hold on her still.

Is she out of this damnation?

She’s changed now with her battle and will

to forget the drip and drops of liars

or the thieves of calm

and extinguish the fires

and to finally disarm

them and create her own.

The fake news that taunted, finally overthrown.

The day of the Eisteddfod came and I came 3rd and I was incredibly happy about it, especially because it was something relatively new to me. After this though I pretty much focused on school work because exams were looming; I didn't have much time to write any more poetry or even read it. Until one English lesson we were handed a letter about entering the Beacons Project competition for creative writing. The Project included meeting and talking to a wide variety of authors and influential workers within the Literature and Theatre community, going to lectures about a rage of compelling subjects but most importantly learning about how to break into the industry and develop our own work. All of this across 4 days at Hay Festival.

I entered.

Obviously.

20 A-level pupils from across Wales were selected for it out of the hundreds that applied and I'm still proud to say that I was fortunate to receive one of those places by submitting my collection of sonnets. I will never tire of saying that because the experience was life changing (sorry for the dramatics - it really feels that way). 

I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to split what happened each day into a series of blog posts because I don't want to skim the details, but I also don't want to write something that goes on for eternity. Leaving the post here will create suspense right? Isn't that how this works?