Jogging through June and July
Just where did that time go?
The highlight of June for me was being asked to be one of the four leads on Visual Verse, my favourite website for submitting #poetry and #shortstories. As I have previously mentioned, writers are asked to respond to an image within the hour.
The photograph of a young man(?) dripping in gold paint prompted me to write the following poem (click on link for original photograph):
For the plinth
Memories disperse into mist –
pointillist specks separating
like the universe –
and numb blanks will pixilate your face
and plane your profile…
so breathe slow,
calm in your balmy stupor,
warm in the glow of pagan flames,
as I dip my brush into liquid sun
and gild you in immortal light.
In long strokes, your soles
become golden angel shoes.
I tickle your toes, slipping bristles
between them, and slick your calves,
pushing the brush into tucked-away places.
I glance at your silent face;
it will be the final portrait I paint.
I coat the curve of your buttocks
and the ripples of your spine –
the union of brush and skin our metaphor.
From mound to mound,
my wrist furls and unfurls,
graceful and balletic as your shoulders become orbs.
I am conducting a symphony
where musical notes are lovers’ heartbeats.
My brush drips metallic sobs
as I lift your hair
and coil around your fragile neck like a tightening serpent,
shushing your diminishing gurgle
and reminding you of Tutankhamun.
I replenish my brush and transfer it.
I must caress your draped hand.
Weave fingers.
I anoint your palms and nails with the gold strands,
gliding purposefully now to cover your limp arms.
I plunge both hands into the unctuous ooze,
slide over the crescent of your stomach,
circle your chest. And lock in your heart.
I paint shut your eyelids, sealing in dark moons,
kiss your lips, smooth your face and give you a halo.
I came across a Facebook group called 100-word story where the photo showed a deserted bus station. My piece 'The Departed' was published:
The Departed
It was a cliché – eyes meeting across a crowded room, and all that, except it was a cliché with a difference: we were two lone travellers on a bus, and during that three-hour journey, we fell in love.
We exchanged details and kissed before I disembarked; the creepy driver watched in the mirror. I waved as your face against the window became a speck in the distance.
I was distraught not to hear from you again. The news reported you missing.
But I got your message.
It’s dark. I am here, waiting – and wondering why the driver is here instead.
Not original picture
Again on Facebook, a poet friend of mine, SO Fasrus, was asking for very unusual submissions - poems about public conveniences! The reason for this is that many face closure. A party event was planned within a public loo where poetry pamphlets would be distributed. My poem was chosen as one of the included pieces:
Public Inconvenience
Weeing outdoors is a thorn in my side,
not to mention the nettles stinging my hide.
Please don’t proclaim indoor business denied.
A park’s not in lieu of a lav.
Nothing can beat that sigh of relief
when loo paper’s there instead of a leaf,
and a seat, and a door (with no gap underneath).
A privy that’s private I’ll have.
When you’re desperate – and can hardly walk for the pain –
and the only damn option’s to squat on a drain,
you wonder sincerely, ‘Do they have a brain?’
A toilet ‘To let’ shows no sav.
A few years back, a play of mine was shortlisted in Pint-Sized Plays. In June, I stumbled upon 'Pint-Sized', a different outfit altogether, although still in search of the elusive shortie. I subbed a funny playlet. News about shortlisted scripts will be announced in September.
I also found Diabolic Shrimp, a great review website run by Joshua Grant for children's books, and I submitted a few of mine.
Grindstone Literary is a great site for writing competitions. Not only that, they provide feedback. I was delighted with their response to a piece of flash called The Artist. It was ranked as in the top 10% of entries and this was the report sent:
'Wow. A powerful piece that delivers unexpected conflict and finality that feels poetic and fresh. The description used to describe Kiku's experience of the oil is visceral and enjoyable - in contrast with the second half of the story. The plot illustrates trust - Kiku knows something isn't right but continues, trusting Josef. Excellent depth of relationship dynamic there...'
Then there is a word of advice in how to strengthen the piece by providing insight into the establishment of the relationship between the two characters, and it finishes with the words 'Brilliant flash fiction'.
To have such feedback is rare, but so valuable. I am delighted and will definitely enter other Grindstone competitions.
In July, I was asked by a neuroscientist called Deanna if I would like to contribute excerpts to a website for struggling readers called Magic Ladder. I sent extracts from all of my children's books. Text to speech is used to help the children read. It can be slowed down, sped up and read in a variety of voices.
I was interviewed by writer and reviewer Connie Huddleston. You can read the interview here.
Connie wrote a lovely 5* review for my children's book Song of the Moon.
'British author, Helen Laycock’s Song of the Moon is about a girl named Izzy, who many call a tizzy. Izzy is a character you’ll remember. She is bright, funny, and seriously devoted to whatever she sets her mind to. I found myself involved in Izzy’s story almost immediately and read this book in less than one day, in my spare time. I loved every minute of the story, the characters, and the evolving plot. Few writers can write a book for children that will also appeal to adults. Laycock can. I haven’t read anything else written by Laycock, but already know that I will.'
