Meet My New (Imaginary) Friends—The Little Fears (created by author/artist Peter Edwards)

(Caution: Sleepy-writer thoughts lie ahead.)

Writing.

More isolating than I expected.

And I love being alone.

It feels safe.

But writing brings on a whole different kind of aloneness.

It’s not a very still and quiet alone.

Too many pesky thoughts and ideas. Too many noisy inner voices.

Things start to get muddled up.

In a surreal Dali-esque mad artist kind of way.

You begin to want a real presence. (As I allude to in my poem Tidal Pool).

But people are also distracting.

And you have a book to write.

Unlike your characters, you can’t customize your interactions with people.

Which makes you feel lost. Full on, fairy-tale-waif-in-the-woods lost.

And, so, when I sat down to compose this review of Peter Edwards’ books, I was trying to figure out where to start.

Then a thought spoke.

Just one.

It said “The Little Fears are good company.”

Granted, probably not the kind you would bring to the office party.

Or to your neighbourhood potluck.

But they are, strangely enough.

The quirky nature of the Little Fears helps banish the feeling of alienation you get from the day job and the real world.

“I’m not so odd, after all,” you tell yourself. (Even though you have developed the bad habit of talking to yourself ever since you first decided to become a writer.)

Oh, the art, too. It tickles something in my (Jungian, I hope, not Freudian) subconscious. Like when Peter invited his blog followers to create something based on his art and characters.

Durthi, the plant shaman, was very evocative for me—I love the idea of plants and animals having powerful agency against humans.

Overall, in decrypting the pun-based humour of the little stories, your mind focuses; becomes grounded. And then the laughs come. Or groan, as the back of some of his Little Fears books proclaim.

But I find myself chuckling more often, when I read his books and his blog posts.

They not only take the edge of my ever-circling mind, they take the edge off my horror-in-real-time, confusing, mucky mess of a life.

And I don’t feel so lost.

Or alone.

For I have Edwards’ Little Fears to keep me company. (Visit his blog here: https://littlefears.co.uk/)

(My favourite pun was the Stephen King cameo, by the way. In case you were wondering…)

Adopt some of your own Little Fears on Peter’s Etsy page: https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/LittleFears.

Little Fears books by Peter Edwards:

Capricorn

Grey Moon

January

Seeking Hydra

Spiders

Under a “Hunter’s Moon” with Philip Caputo

Book Review: Hunter’s Moon by Philip Caputo

Well, of course, I read his A Rumor of War in history graduate school. So, I was excited to receive a copy of Hunter’s Moon: A Novel in Stories in a giveaway hosted via Goodreads.

Not to stereotype, but I’m pretty sure I’m not Caputo’s target audience. A) I’m vegetarian B) If it were the zombie apocalypse, I’m pretty sure I would starve to death rather than hunt (and eat) one of my beloved animal friends.

But who knows what you would do in that scenario to survive? Maybe I’d be a pretty good hunter and gatherer. Which is why these stories surprised me, in much the same way as if I would become the Darryl (from Walking Dead fame) with his hunting acumen. But, even in my writerly let’s-get-a-story-from-them daydreams, I still can’t imagine shooting an animal.

Because of that, I wanted not to like this story collection.

I’m not even really a fan of general fiction. I’m a genre reader, pretty much these days.

So that’s at least two strikes. The third being that I’m getting more and more women-centric these days–way above and beyond my usual feminist beliefs. Men have had the limelight for long enough in this world.

But the writing won me over. The good old turn-of-the-phrase. Haunting, sparse, compelling me to read on.

And, because, as I’m entering into the confusing swamp of middle age, these stories all had a theme I could relate to.

I don’t know what to call it, really. A loneliness that feels like an old friend. A poignant seeking for something that will not be able to be resolved as long as we’re still sitting in the box called the human condition. A quality that reminds me of the kid that so wanted to be a child of the forest and the wild, instead of living among people, and yet was drawn indoors by the lure of sustenance, or the fear of punishment.

Of being alone, still, among all the other seven billion and counting people on this planet, taking up more and more space. And that it is, in fact, even more lonely for people like me.

It’s a transition that I haven’t come out the other side of yet. But the stories captured in Hunter’s Moon tell me that maybe I don’t have to know, yet. I can just sit with it a while, under the hunter’s moon, until the sun rises on the next part of my life. Or that the moon keeps an eternal watch on this, the end times (sans zombies).

(I received this book via a giveaway hosted by the book’s publisher/author via Goodreads.)

 

 

The Journey Back to Earth

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Whew, finally getting around to reviewing some books for #writingwednesday!

First up, Versions of the Self (poetry) by Christy Birmingham.

Linky links:

Amazon

Goodreads

Christy Birmingham’s When Women Inspire blog: https://whenwomeninspire.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/christybis

Review:

I’ve followed Christy Birmingham’s blog for years, and, likewise, she’s been a strong supporter of mine. I think she was one of, if not the first, who purchased my book of poetry when I self-published (Oh, Createspace, how I miss thee!). But this is the space for honest reviews, and, being an honest, ethical, straight-arrow type, with a healthy dose of blunt forthrightness, here goes my honest review. (Please, stick with me to the end of the review.)
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this book, the first time I read through it. I felt somewhat removed from the poems within, and I couldn’t understand why. As a woman, going through what seems a similar journey of self-transformation, why was I feeling unsettled? Why didn’t it grab me straight from the beginning?
It wasn’t until I sat down to write this review that I realised what was giving me this sense of disquiet. I spend a lot of time in other realms. The theme of my own poetry book is all about journeys to other worlds. Alternate dimensions, astral travel, tandem dreaming, visits to fairyland–however you want to classify it, it has very little to do with the “real” world. And my short stories reflect more of the same–fantastical, surreal, spooky, and a little escapist (or so I hope!). I spend so much time up here in my head, or a million miles from it, that I’m not very present. I constantly receive gentle instructions to become more grounded, to visualise coming down into my feet. But it’s not a place where I’m most comfortable. I want the deep vastness of space; of the ocean. Of anywhere but here on Earth.
Christy’s poems reflect exactly that sort of grounded earthiness I’m constantly trying to avoid. Being present, being in the moment. Being real, no matter how much it hurts. Or how confusing it is. From my way-out-there, interdimensional traveller perspective, I see her as a very present poet. And I’m also not used to reading that in poetry.
And it’s a necessary, and lovely, stability in the rareness of the feeling her poetry inspires. With each poem brings another block to lay on the foundation under my feet. As a woman, as a denizen of this planet no matter how much I dream myself otherwise, she connects me back to the Earth under my feet; to my own “Version of Self” that connects with lines of her poems.
“Gliding under Water” reminds me of the simplicity of being a young girl in a pool; a time where my sensory experiences were more immediate. Though her work is titled “Versions of the Self,” I see it more as a stripping away of those versions to achieve a strong core, bringing us along with her as she goes back to basics. To having strong roots. And water, ironically, also helps root the reader in a very real, relatable experience of loss and change, in her poem “Within a Few Feet”. We have no choice to be present right along with the poet, because her pain is ours. It’s a pain that, sadly, lies in most women, and maybe the human race in general.
Lastly, she reminds me that it’s okay to be down here, in the muck and mire that is Earth, to “start at the bottom” (from “Bottom of the Waterway”). Because it’s only from there that we will learn to fly.