Life Works: Myth and Archetype in Everyday Life

Saint Brigid's Fire

2012-02-01T00:21:00.003Z

Brigid was a slip of a girl with a mass of red-gold curls. It drove the nuns wild, that hair, for however much they combed it sprang back into a cloud. The girl ran wild too, although she had such a sweet nature none could not be cross with her for long. Not that she was often around to be told off. Brigid loved to be outside: she would slip out of the convent and dance barefoot through the long grass in a manner not becoming to a novice nun. She was a problem, that was for sure: daughter of a serving maid by her master, only their Christian charity had given her a home. The lord Dubhthach was said to be a wizard, one of the old faith who knew more than was right of mystery and magic. At least her mother had been baptised by the good Saint Patrick himself.

In the end, the wise old abbess let the girl have her way. Brigid was put in charge of the convent flock, and spent long happy days playing in the pastures. Under her care, the sheep gave thrice as much milk as they had before. The nuns were not the only ones to benefit. Brigid was a kind-hearted child, always willing to help those in need. She would let any thirsty passer-by drink his fill, but miraculously the milk-pails were always full at the end of the day. The nuns saw the good-will this earned them in the village, and sensibly held their peace.

As she grew older, Brigid remained just as kind but she became cannier. One day the lord of Leicester was visiting, and she asked for alms to feed the poor. When he refused, she begged him for a patch of land – “Just as much as I can cover with my cloak”. Now that cloak was woven of fine Irish linen but with a weft as loose as a baby’s bowels. Four of the sisters took hold of the hem and began to stretch it out like a fishing net. He laughed as they backed away and promised to give enough land to keep them in food for a year. Another time, thieves stole cattle from a local farmer: the river rose up to block their escape, and as they swam across their clothes were washed away. The men returned dripping naked to beg for forgiveness. Brigid brewed ale for the poor too – rumour said she changed her own bathwater into beer: and her example inspired the local innkeepers so that none ever went without in that part of the land.

She learnt what she could of namesake, too. Brighid – ‘Bright One’ – was a Celtic deity, daughter of the great Dagda and a reknowned poetess. She was born at sunrise as her mother walked over a threshold, so that she belonged ‘both within and without’. Brighid was said to have two sisters, one of them a physician and the other a craft-smith: but more likely they were all one person, a triune goddess of creativity and healing and sacred fire. She presided over the festival of Imbolg (In belly) or Oimelc (Ewe’s milk), when the sheep drop their lambs. This was celebrated on the ‘quarter day’ midway between the Yule solstice and the Eostre spring equinox, and was a time especially sacred to women.

When she grew up, our Brigid became Abbess of Kildare herself. She was known for both her wisdom and compassion. She kept the old ways in Christian fashion: she was said to have power over both fire and water, and many stories are told of her healing miracles. Where the hem of her robe touched the ground, snowdrops and crocuses sprang up. To honour the hearth fire that women tend in every home, she kept a flame tended by nine maidens burning in a sanctuary that no man was permitted to enter. Brigid was eventually consecrated as a bishop, which was unusual in her day too. When she died, she was made a saint – the patroness of poets, blacksmiths and healers. She is often portrayed with a cow at her feet, holding a crozier (bishop’s crook) and a lamp. The Feast of St Brigid is held on 1^st February, the day before Candlemass. It is a festival of song and light and purification. And if Gaelic Brighid is honoured too at this time, there is no conflict in those celebrations.

The Story of Writing: From Stone Age to Kindle

2012-01-12T07:58:00.002Z

In the beginning was the Word...

And it was Good. Mmm. Nice.

Followed soon after by Ugh! That’s yuk!

At first, these were the only words people had.

Then someone combined them to make a suggestion.

Umm? How about it? You and me, babe...??

And that was when things began to happen.

For a long time, no-one bothered to write words down. Eventually the Ancient Sumerians started to scratch marks on clay tablets. This was just to keep track of their trade transactions: how many sacks of grain for how many camels? Then some bright spark thought of putting pictures on the tablets too: it was worth getting your sacks and camels the right way round. They were pretty basic markings, made with a reed stick. If you look at a Sumerian tablet, it looks as though a bird had walked over the wet clay. But this was the first time that words had been written down.

So, strictly speaking, accountancy is the father of literature.

The earliest cuneiform (‘wedge-writing’) tablets date from around 5,500 years ago. Early scribes had to memorize hundreds of signs used to represent common words. At last someone had another good idea, and developed a system of phonograms. This meant you could spell out strange words, like foreign names, from their sounds. Our modern alphabet is based on a system of twenty-two letters used around 1200BC in the Phoenician city of Gebal. It became known to the Greeks as Byblos, the Place of the Book.

Early books were written on papyrus or vellum. The invention of paper came much later, and even then, books had to be laboriously copied out by hand. This was thought to safeguard the transmission of knowledge. When William Caxton set up his printing press in 1472, he was accused of corrupting the public by distributing bawdy ballads.

After this protracted start, the printing process began to speed up. In 1525, William Tyndale’s English New Testament was published. The Church tried to suppress it, but to no avail. Across Europe, knowledge was no longer the preserve of the educated few. Classical works in Latin were replaced by writing in local languages. By the nineteenth century, steam-powered rotary presses made production possible on an industrial scale. Scientists could share their discoveries through academic journals. Reading became a popular pastime for the emerging middle classes. In 1935, Allen Lane was stranded without a good book in his pocket, and Penguin paperbacks were born. By the late twentieth century, personal computers provided printing technology in private homes.

Nowadays, if you are a writer, you have a huge range of options to get your work into print. From gilded behemoths like Oxford University Press to innovative independent publishers like John Hunt; from ponderous leather-bound tomes to Kindle and e-books. The publishing world is changing at lightning speed: the internet means that the smallest minority interests can find their target audience.

But there is no substitute for a real book: slightly dog-eared, the pages turned down at the corners, scribbled comments in the margins. A date and place on the fly-leaf, to remind you where you were. The smell of paper, the weight of it balanced in your hands.

And that’s the story of writing. ‘LifeWorks’ is launched today. Thursday 12^th January 2012. Celebrations!!!

New Year's Resolutions

2012-01-01T09:52:00.004Z

What are your New Year's resolutions? Not the ambitious ones you announce, slightly tipsy, when someone asks you at a party on the big night; nor the virtuous ones you make, feeling slightly wistful, when the next day dawns and finds life much the same as it was before. So many people focus on their shortcomings: things they want to remedy about themselves. But as any trainer knows, criticism alone is a poor motivator. Surely it's better to focus on doing something positive: a new skill (learning a language), a dream (becoming an artist) or a long-held ambition (running a marathon). Things on your bucket list, that you want to do before you finally kick it. That way, we find fresh energies and start to change our selves. Instead of being merely remedial, our resolutions become another step on our life path. And this just could be the month to make it happen.

January is the month of Janus, the Roman god who presides over the turning year. Portrayed with two faces, he looks to both the past and the future. He is the guardian of gateways (modern keyholders are called janitors), and his image was often carved over doors. Doorways imply the entrance to a new domain: they are associated with birth, death and initiation. On a practical level, they are important for marking boundaries. A ‘front door’ separates our private lives from the public domain. Within the house, doors demarcate areas of personal space from rooms for general use. We use doorways to categorize our thoughts: sometimes you forget why you came upstairs until you go back to the hallway. Cicero coined the term ‘memory palace’ in 55BC for the technique of memorising a list of items by visualizing them in a series of rooms. Passing through doorways, whether physical or imaginary, helps us to organize information
in our minds.

The resolutions that matter are the groundswell ones that creep into your conscious from below, that you find lounging in your mind like intruders because you had no idea you felt that way. Once formed, they seem inevitable and undeniable, a natural extension of your self. Suddenly it’s obvious what you should do next. You can see it all clearly in your mind now. Everything we do, from making a drink to founding an empire, starts as a picture in our image-ination. This is the right direction: you just need to take the first step. And you know it is a good decision because once you've made it, life feels back on track.

Christmas Is Coming!

2011-12-22T23:55:00.002Z

Christmas is coming! Today is the shortest day of the year, the mid-winter solstice. Everything has been done to ensure that the sun comes back again. Each house is filled with lights and greenery. The tree is up and the turkey has been ordered. Neighbours call round to consume mince pies - eat one in a friend's house for a happy month next year. Cards on red ribbon festoon the house like strings of Tibetan prayer flags.
Cards at Christmas are a good tradition, albeit a relatively new one. They only date from Victorian times - after all, they presume a postal service and high literacy rates. The first commercial Christmas cards were produced in 1846: they were condemned by temperance enthusiasts because they showed a family drinking wine.
Christmas cards perform a very different function from e-mail or Facebook: each envelope is a small gift, representing a quantifiable investment of writing time and money. Of course, card etiquette is fraught with difficulty. Is a hand-written note preferable to a round-robin letter? How many years should you continue sending if there is no reply? Why do people always send you a card the year when you finally cross them off your list? What does my choice of charitable cause say about me? (Oxfam this year: caring & interesting). But this is as naught compared with the problems of presents, especially the annual potlatch* festivities with the relatives.... Seasons Greetings! May you have a joyous and peaceful holidaytime this year.
(*Potlatch: Native American celebration where big chiefs distributed status goods; compared here with modern ritual of gift-giving involving conspicuous consumption).

St Nicholas Day

2011-12-06T12:51:00.002Z

In northern Europe, children put their shoes neatly by the door last night. If they have been good this year,

St Nicholas fills them with sweets and toys; if not, they will find a lump of coal and a hard stick. For others, he will come on Christmas Eve, soaring through the night sky in a flying sledge. Many centuries ago Nicholas lived in Patara, in modern Anatolia. His father was a rich merchant and left a fortune to his only son. But why did he start leaving gifts in this way?...

... It had been a good night. The wine was sweet and the barmaids obliging. Nick staggered slightly as he stepped into the street. A full moon hung low above the rooftops. The cool air was welcomely refreshing. Nick waved away the servant who stood waiting and set off alone through the quiet streets.

His way passed through a poorer part of town. He stumbled on the rough ground and bumped against a wall.

As he steadied himself, he heard a girl’s voice from the window high above.

“That’s all I really want.”

Without thinking, Nick paused to listen. What women really want: that would be good for a young man to know!

Another girl answered, speaking low.

“Three gold coins! Father will never find so much for each of us.”

“Without a dowry, his family will never let him marry me.”

A third voice chimed in.

“There’s only one way for girls like us to make money.”

“And he would never want me after that...” The girl’s voice dissolved in tears.

Nick bowed his head in confusion. Three gold coins: he had three times that in his purse at the end of a night out. To these sisters, it was the difference between life and despair. He pulled the little bag of money from his belt. Should he call up to them, throw it through the window? But they might be scared, ashamed at having been overheard.
Better to leave it secretly, where they would find it in the morning. He only had one purse: how to show their father that this was for his girls to share? Nick stood on one foot: wobbling, he pulled off one silk slipper, then the other. Swiftly he filled them with coins, twisted each into a ball, threw the three little sacks over the courtyard wall. He heard them land with soft jingling sounds. Then he ran down the street, his bare feet thudding on the ground, laughing like a schoolboy.

From that night onwards, Nick was a changed man. He still liked the good life: he could drink and sing with the best of them. But he seemed gentler, more interested in other people. When he heard a story of hardship, there was often another tale next night of unexpected generosity, an unseen benefactor who had helped in hidden ways. No-one knew who gave these gifts: they were always left in secret, without the expectation of thanks.

Nicholas joined the Christian Church and rose to become Bishop of Myra, in south-west Turkey. He was eventually canonized, although his full title sounds a little formal: the children whom he loved shorten Santa Nikolaus to Santa Claus. The three bags of gold are echoed in the three gold balls found outside a pawnbroker’s shop, giving people another chance in life. To this day, millions of people around the world help Nicholas in his work. At Christmas time they give gifts to children just to make them smile. Forget about magical flying reindeer: now that’s what I call a real miracle.

Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T11:15:00.006Z

Thanksgiving is a time of praise and plenty. Surrounded by friends and family, we celebrate the fruits of the past year. But what did this feast mean to the first inhabitants of America?

The Pilgrim Fathers landed at Cape Cod on 21^st November 1620. They came ashore at Provincetown, just inside the tip of the rocky headland. It was not a good place to found a colony: a few days later they moved the boat to New Plymouth, Massachusets. The winter weather in this new world was worse than their wildest dreams. They crowded back aboard the boat and lived there for the next three months.

These early settlers were English folk. They were not Puritans; the Founding Mothers (of whom we hear less) wore colourful dresses with full skirts. They were not Quakers, so-named several decades later. They were Protestant Dissenters, leaving their homeland for the freedom to worship God in their own way.

The passenger lists of the Mayflower give 102 names: a mixture of men, women and children (including several fosterlings of illegitimate birth). The Mayflower was a merchant ship, square-rigged with three masts, about 100ft long and 25ft wide, sailed by about 28 crew. The quarters were cramped enough during the nine-week voyage; almost unbearable in the three months that followed. The people were weakened by hunger and disease. Half of those on board died during that first terrible winter.

They would all have perished were it not for the generosity of the Native Americans. A Wampanoag leader named Massasoit gave them food when their own supplies ran out. Tradition says that at one point, they were surviving on five grains of corn a day. The following spring, a man called Squanto showed them how to plant the ‘Three Sisters’ – the staple local crops of maize (sweetcorn), beans (legumes) and squash (marrows and pumpkin). He taught them to fertilize the corn with a fish-head under every shoot. That autumn, the settlers brought in an adequate harvest. They knew now that they could survive in this new land.

The First Thanksgiving was a feast to thank God and the Indians. Actually, New England colonists regularly held thanksgivings, but these were more usually days of prayer and fasting. The Christian Eucharist of consecrated bread and wine is literally a thanks-offering (Greek eucharistos, grateful). Thankfully for us, prayer and fasting was not the Native way. Ninety Indians arrived with turkeys for a three-day festival, expecting song and dance. The Thursday start gave the Pilgrims time to enjoy themselves before the Sabbath observance.

Thanksgiving was declared a national holiday by President Abraham Lincoln in 1863 during the Civil War. It was originally celebrated on the last Thursday in November; this was moved to the fourth Thursday in 1941 to extend the Christmas shopping season. It is now the biggest holiday in the most powerful country in the world. The festive meal includes maize, beans, turkey, cranberry sauce and of course pumpkin pie. Five grains of parched corn on every plate remind us of the hardship of those early days. Happy Thanksgiving!

Boudicca (Boadicea)

2011-11-14T11:37:00.010Z

Boudicca was a striking woman: tall enough to look a warrior in the eyes, with russet hair tumbling to her waist and a voice that rang out like a bugle call. She was married to the king of the Iceni, but she was of royal blood, a queen in her own right. Her name means 'Victorious' and she was revered as a leader and a priestess. Boudicca was a young girl when the Roman legions arrived in Britain. The invaders demanded that the Celts pay tribute tax: their leaders demurred, negotiated, and eventually agreed on a treaty of celsine, a patron-protector relationship. When her husband died, Boudicca became leader of the Iceni people.
The Romans took this opportunity to declare Iceni territory their own. They used the usual brutal methods to deal with women and savages. But Boudicca was a true queen, and she was not prepared to accept such treatment of her people. On May Day 60AD, she led the Iceni in revolt. Other Celtic tribes rallied to her cause. They destroyed Camulodunon (Colchester), captured Londinium and marched on Verulamium (St Albans) amidst scenes of great rejoicing. The Celts were fearsome warriors: they fought naked apart from a torc (neck ring) and woad tattoos, their hair stiffened with lime into tall spikes. The Romans were outnumbered, but their military discipline was superb. The legions rallied and in a final battle the Celts were routed. Boudicca and her daughters were never found: some say they took poison to avoid capture.
She may have been defeated, but Boudicca was never forgotten. She is revered as a Great Mother, a woman who rose against adversity and defied death to protect her children. The statue to her on Embankment, London shows a Britannia-like figure. She wass arguably the first great British queen.
How much of our image of Boudicca is true? The Celts kept no written records, and the Romans had a vested interest in recording facts from their own perspective. The Roman Tacitus was a contemporary recorder, but his terse style of writing gives us the word 'taciturn' so we learn little from him. Another historian Dio mentions her, but he was writing nearly 200 years later. So we have to use our imaginations a little, our empathy a lot, to keep alive the memory of this glorious woman: fighting like a lioness protecting her cubs, with her mane of long tawny hair.
(If you like historical novels, you might be interested in the website http://PastTimesBooks.com)

West is West

2011-11-13T23:39:00.001Z

Watched a wonderful film on DVD: 'West is West', the sequel to 'East is East' but with quite a different feel to it. Think less London grit and more 'Monsoon Wedding'. It still deals with serious issues, but with glorious scenery (set mostly in rural Pakistan) and a heavy dose of humour (paternal parenting techniques...). Highly recommended - you'll come out laughing!!!
Sent using BlackBerry® from Orange

Voice Dialogue

2011-11-11T20:23:00.003Z

We've all got several different sides to our personalities. One way of describing these aspects is to talk of the various 'selves' that are all a part of us. These contradictory parts of us come out on different occasions - and sometimes they argue for control of our lives!
This way of analyzing the 'voices' within us is called Voice Dialogue.
I'm having a lot of fun following John Kent's blog:
http://voicedialogueuk.blogspot.com/
It's well worth a look!

'LifeWorks': We're on the web!

2011-11-09T18:34:00.000Z

I'm thrilled!!! My book 'LifeWorks' will be published in January 2012.
It's all about stories, and how we use them to construct our own 'life scripts'.
The book is finally listed under 'Forthcoming Titles' on the publisher website.
You'll be able to order it in the new year, meanwhile check out this link:
http://www.o-books.com/index.php?id=99&p=1798
The cover image is great - it really sums up the spirit of the book.
It's been so exciting learning about the production process.
You can find out more about this on the John Hunt website.
(That's the company who are publishing my book).
Check it out!!!

Bob Dylan: Hard Rain

2011-10-16T23:24:00.002+01:00

Visited Kew Gardens today, in West London. It was a misty autumn morning, and the leaves were turning fabulous paint-box colours. Everywhere, creatures were busy at work - grey squirrels storing beech nuts, swans dive-bombing across the pond - nature in good order and all gratifyingly right here on earth. By contrast, there was a fantastic exhibition of photographs linked by the theme of Dylan's eco-awareness song 'Hard Rain': well worth checking out. Google it for more information!

Dream Dinner Party

2011-07-29T23:22:00.001+01:00

I've just been to see Michael Frayn's latest play, 'Alarms and Excursions'. It's a pointed comedy on modern manners and so funny. He is such a clever and observant man: definitely near the top of my dream dinner party guest list! I'm inviting Saint Bob too, after seeing him on 'Top Gear' last week (eclectic tastes, moi) - self-deprecating but similarly very amusing. And that brainy bloke who edits 'Private Eye' from 'Have I Got News For You'. It might not be the most politically correct gathering, but if I'm hosting, the guests all have to be able to make me laugh!
Sent using BlackBerry® from Orange

Football Hero

2011-06-28T20:22:00.006+01:00

The boy saved the goal. It's hard to emphasize how important this is. The double fracture in his arm was a small price to pay for the glory. A white plaster cast has lots of room for messages in coloured felt-tip: 'You're my hero'; 'Play it again'; 'XXX'. The front porch bears a pile of tributes: toffees, comics, old DVDs. Back in school his blonde sweetheart is Becky to his Tom Sawyer, trailing him round the playground to rout the opposition. The boy is only seven but he knows what is required for success in the tribe.

MidSummer's Eve

2011-06-17T10:45:00.008+01:00

It's nearly Midsummer's Eve, the shortest night of the year. A time to enjoy long dusky evenings outside - though this far north, it's never as warm as it ought to be! But be careful, on this night the veil between the worlds is thin and the faery folk may come to join our revelry.
As the year turns, it's a reminder to us of life's trajectory. The first half of your time on earth is taken up with classic Freudian issues: breaking free from your parents, choosing friends and partners, finding a job. The second half of your life is more concerned with what Jung termed the 'inner journey': gaining insight, finding fulfilment, inner peace. Learning that the first sign of wisdom is realizing just how little you know.
But for now, let's stick with the festivities. Any excuse for a celebration, every day on earth should be a source of rejoicing. What could you do to mark this night? Buy some chunky candles at the supermarket, and put them around the room. Hang coloured paper streamers outside the window, to flutter in the breeze. Scatter rice before your doorstep, to signify plenty - no, that could attract ants - perhaps confetti, or ivy around the door handle would be better. Plan something different for supper, especially if you're by yourself: buy olives to start the meal, chocolate to finish, something bubbly to drink (needn't be alcoholic). Happy Midsummer's Eve!

Sports Day

2011-06-16T09:59:00.002+01:00

Summertime? And the living is easy?? It's the end of the school year, and a hundred and one things need to be done. There's the Junior Play - what should an android look like? And the Parental Barbecue - who was allergic to prawns? Today is Sports Day, but it's raining buckets. Swarms of excited children are racing round the hall, building up energy like the nuclear collider at CERN. I've hidden in the car, communing with my electronic friend. Give me some moral support: click that toolbar button and start to follow my blog!

Bucket List

2011-06-14T06:47:00.006+01:00

What's on your bucket list? You know - things that you really want to do before you kick it. Things that you want to achieve, or experience, or at least see while you're in this world. Running the London Marathon was on mine. I did it this year, and it was quite an experience: exhausting, but exhilarating too (and I raised a lot for charity)!
Think of three things you'd like to do. They could include learning a language; surfing in Hawaii; seeing the Taj Mahal. It doesn't matter how far-fetched they are, you can always change them later! Make a list - somehow it always helps to write things down. Then beside each one, put the first step that you'd have to do, to make it happen. This might be ordering a brochure, making a phone call, asking a friend for advice....
Now pick one one of them, and do it. Without spending any more time or thought on it.
Google it while you're on the computer, and press that button.
There, easy isn't it. You're one step towards achieving one of your dreams.

New Year, New You

2011-01-02T23:40:00.001Z

It's a new year and after dinner everyone sat around the table trading resolutions.
So many people seemed to focus on shortcomings: things that had been neglected or overlooked, that they were going to pay more attention to this time around.
But if something didn't manage to hold our intentions last time, it doesn't seen very likely to succeed for long this year either.
Surely it's better to focus on something new - a skill (say, bellydancing), a dream (becoming a photographer) or a long-held ambition (running a marathon)!
That way, we start with new energies and start acquiring different skills.
Instead of being merely remedial, our resolutions become the crystalizing step on a renewed life path.

Holy Moses

2010-05-11T16:45:00.003+01:00

Three thousand years on, and nothing has changed. The stories relate how the Ancient Egyptians feared and hated the Habiru, the Hebrews ('wandering ones') united by a culture and language - but otherwise so similar to themselves that an imposter prince was indistinguishable from one of their own. The immigration issue was one of the big topics in the tripartite election debate. We still distrust any group of people which we perceive as being different from ourselves. And now the old tribal allegiances within our land are being re-ignited as the parties squabble over leadership roles. Why can't the boys share their toys and take a consensus view for a change? Sharing responsibility for necessary but unpopular fiscal measures would have the added advantage that all the parties could blame each other for the nasty medicine. Just like Moses was able to point out that the discomforts of the Exodus were only a temporary side-effect of Yahweh's plan for his chosen people. What do you think?

After the Volcano

2010-04-26T11:46:00.001+01:00

Volcanic ash over Europe! All flights grounded! World civilization comes to brink of collapse! However, once all the friends and families were reunited, it began to take on another aspect. The volcanic eruption has been like a giant eco-experiment. For years we've been talking about global warming: so regrettable, but can we ever change our consumerist lifestyle? Actually, it seems that we can because we managed just fine without aeroplanes for a few days. In West London, the skies were crystal clear and the nights peacefully quiet. On the news we saw people crying in Madrid, but a lot of people panicked out of a sense of instilled helplessness. They had been flown in and had no idea how the land routes actually link up: just like on your first visit to London, you don't know that you can walk from Leicester Square to Covent Garden in five minutes. In fact, you can get back to Britain overland from pretty much anywhere in Western Europe. Twenty-eight hours on a coach may not be fun but it's not too much of a hardship compared with, say, trekking on foot across the Sahara as a refugee. Modern technology means that businesses can video-conference and save valuable employee commuting time. We can all take holidays nearer home, eat local produce, support our regional economies. Perhaps this volcano will turn out to be a blessing in disguise. What do you think???

Authonomy Again!

2010-03-06T13:39:00.000Z

It is so exciting being online! I've been on five days now, and received some really wonderful comments. Authonomy is like a Facebook for writers, providing feedback from a professional perspective: it is also a fascinating window into the very different lives that people lead around the world. Do take a look!

Authonomy Live!

2010-03-02T22:21:00.000Z

Yesterday I uploaded sample work from 'Life Script' on the publishing website Authonomy. I got up very early to do this, and then had a cup of coffee whilst watching dawn break over the city skyline. When I came back ot my computer at 7am, someone had already 'backed' my book!
Making your work public feels so vulnerable: open to comments and criticism, hopefully people will like it but what if they don't?!? It's hard to choose the moment, that old problem of procrastination masquerading as perfectionism. But my book is climbing steadily up the ratings, other writers have sent messages saying they like it, and there is a wonderful feeling of camaraderie and support. The internet has such potential for publicity and networking, making it possible to share interests that would have been sidelined before. Do sign on if you haven't already - see website details in blog title - and register you support!

Winter Olympics

2010-02-28T22:54:00.001Z

The world is on hold as two teams battle it out for the final Olympic gold. Who would have thought that ice hockey could be so exciting? It's nearly 11pm (GMT) and the war of the giants continues. They are larger than life characters in every way. Behind their visors and shoulder pads the individuals are invisible, transformed into bionic men bent on their countries' glory.
....And the home team won!

Odysseus

2010-02-23T13:29:00.003Z

Odysseus is one of the great heroes of our time. OK, so he lived around 3,000 years ago on a small rocky island west of Greece; but his story is still one of the best around. Ody wasn't much of a hero to look at: short, bandy-legged, squash-nosed and with a head of red hair that marked him out for trouble. When he set off home after the fall of Troy, he hadn't actually done anything wrong - the murder and pillaging wasn't his fault, though he opened the gate to the looters: his guilt lay in his complicity. But he took nearly ten years more to get home. Even when he was within sight of Ithaca, he fell asleep and let the boat blow off course: bit of a Freudian slip, that. So Ody visited a couple of nymphs, though they didn't mean anything to him; and managed to lose all his mates to various misadventures. He might have been a king, but he showed less restraint than a teenager out on a Saturday night binge. That is the basis of his enduring appeal: on his travels, he lives out the life that we are too scared or inhibited to try. And he tells us that it wasn't so much fun after all: there is no place like home, beside his loyal wife. But Penelope is more that a match for Odysseus. She ruled for twenty years in his absence and is just as quick-witted. Old Ody isn't allowed back into their bed until he has proved himself. The Odyssey doesn't tie things up neatly: but then, neither does life....

Synchronicity / Serendipity

2010-02-08T14:20:00.000Z

Funny how you just know sometimes. That this is the right way to go about things; that you were meant to be there; that someone can be trusted. Some people call it instinct; others say its just subliminal perception. It can manifest as synchronicity (*), or serendipity (**), or anything else you like to call it. but sometimes you do just know.
I had that feeling today, as I typed in the last word. I had hoped and planned that it would be, but I do tend to be a perfectionist: it's hard to draw a line underneath and say good enough. I infuriate friends in pubs, searching desperately for a napkin to write down the perfect phrase which has just occurred to me. But today I just knew that I had reached the end of this particular stretch of road.
So... 'Life Script' is finished! This is the final version, and it's complete. As it says in the Rubiyat (current exhibition at the British Library, if you're interested): turn down a glass for me!

* Syn-chronicity: together-happening; when two apparently unrelated events occur at the same time.
** Serendipity: finding precious things unexpectedly by pure luck: often used of junk shops!

The Creative Vortex

2010-01-29T14:55:00.000Z

Creative spiral? Creative vortex! Today I feel as if my brain was going down the plughole. Sitting at the screen for hours, working out what I really want to say. Writing the first draft was the easy bit: this is obviously the equivalent of teenage years for my book. It refuses to do what I want, and seems to have a mind of its own. But at times I am stunned by the sheer fluency of what I have written, the beauty of the similes and brilliance of the metaphors employed. Can I really have produced this? Perhaps, as Robert Graves might say, it is the Mythic speaking through me.... The really appropriate metaphor for my mind is one of those coin whirlers that collect money for charity: everything is spiralling round and around , but hopefully soon the penny will drop!

The Creative Spiral (The Artists's Way)

2010-01-21T10:20:00.003Z

In her book 'The Artist's Way', Julia Cameron talks about the 'creative spiral' in which we may return to a task with new tools and inspiration. Living is a constant act of creation and re-creation: we circle some of the same issues over and over, each time at a different level. Like climbing a mountain, the important thing is not to head straight for the top, but to set off along the best path. She also talks about the dangers of 'perfectionism' which can be used as an excuse for procrastination. Perfectionism is not really aobut getting things right. We may like to think that we have high standards, but really we are putting off the day when we have to move on. A work of art - a painting or a book - is never really finished, but after a certain point you must let it be.
'Life Script' is currently in it third chrysallis incarnation. My original book was a fairly academic little monograph on myth and archetype. A wonderful woman called Wendy Lazear pointed out to me how it could be turned into something much more. The second version was much more practical, but still read rather like a text book. I had to take three months away from it before I could see the changes that needed to be made. A few days after I had made the decision to revise again, I got a letter from a trusted source telling me exactly the same thing. Synchronicity in action! So now, it is being restructured and polished to make it more accessible: a handbook for living, which was what I had always wanted to write.
So this will be the final version. Good luck with your own artistic journey. And I hope you like my book!

Epiphany: Three Kings Day - Gold, Myrrh & Frankincense

2010-01-10T19:11:00.002Z

Epiphany: Three Kings Day. This is when the Christmas crib scene is completed: the magi arrive, bearing gifts. Rather than kings, they were actually astronomers and alchemists, concerned with the spiritual realm. The gift of gold symbolized their hope that the newborn infant would be a king; the myrrh, that he would be a healer; and the frankincense, that he would be a priest. In other words, the Messiah would have domination over the mind, body and spirit. Legend tells that Joseph used the gold to pay the innkeeper; the myrrh, a pungent ointment, he rubbed on the infant's chest; and the frankincense he burned to drive smells out of the stable.
There is a beautiful poem by TS Eliot entitled 'Journey of the Magi':
"A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbert...."
The journey of the three wise men is a spiritual path: such ways are never easy, and we may miss the life we left behind. Eliot's poem has a bitter taste. But somewhere on the road is an epiphany, a moment of realization and enlightenment, which gives meaning to the journey of life.

New Year, New Decade

2010-01-03T13:45:00.001Z

New Year, New Decade! What are your new year's resolutions? Not the ambitious ones you announce, slightly tipsy, when someone asks you at a party on the big night; nor the virtuous ones you make, feeling slightly wistful, when the next day dawns and finds life much the same as it was before (which we all know it will be, but still can't help hoping otherwise, just in case...) No, the resolutions that matter are the groundswell ones that creep into your conscious from below, that you find lounging in your mind like intruders because you had no idea you felt that way, the things you recognize as inevitable and undeniable but had never thought you could do anything about. And actually you can, and this is the time to do it and from that small change everything will be different. And having acknowledged this you feel scared and a little reluctant, because there is always a sense of loss lurking beneath the excitement of new possibilities but all it takes is one tiny change and then the momentum of events will lead you on. And you know it is the right decision because once you have made it, it feels utterly right.

Snow snow snow!

2009-12-18T23:24:00.001Z

Snow snow snow! Looked outside in the night and saw thick white flakes falling. This morning the world was frosted white, like Christmas come early. Car windows opaque with white crystals: normal life grinds to a halt. A sense of hard magic in the air. Man is not good at dealing with extreme nature, even in a minor form. Everything is exceptional now. Friends flying out from Luton were grounded; football practice in the local park banned by council operative. You should stay at home and light the fire, invite friends round to share their body heat. (In the recent power cut, a neighbour's husband fainted from a surfeit of scented candles).
It is only three days to the midwinter solstice. Savour that seasonal cheer!

Stories and Storytelling

2009-11-25T14:58:00.006Z

Is the art of storytelling defunct? This was the topic of an article in the Times last week. In our modern digital age, there is no place for the slow development of story. Tweet, twitter, blog, text: these have replaced the old craft of the bard. We have such easy access to information that no one wants to wait for a denouement. If instant gratification is possible, why not just get on with it?
But of course, life is not like that. In the real world, our lives unfold slowly and with significance. We cannot see the patterns in our lives as they develop, but that does not mean they are not there. Tapestries are woven from the back, and the design cannot be seen until the picture is completed. (Read Tracey Chevalier's 'The Lady and the Unicorn' for a beautiful description of the process). Electronic messages broadcast what we have been doing, but they do not endow our experience with meaning: only the deep process of psychic maturation can do that. Our brains are programmed to perceive pattern and meaning. This is why we can hear words in the random sounds of speech, and why we see pictures in the clouds. Humans are hard-wired to seek out stories. In the past twenty years, there has been a dramatic resurgence in the art of storytelling at just the same time as the dramatic rise in home computing. The two media are not in competition: they satisfy different needs. Since ancient times, people have told stories to make sense of the world. The oldest of these stories are called myths, and they still resonate for us today. Storytelling is not threatened by the internet: narrative lies at the heart of human experience.

The Pergamon Museum, Berlin

2009-11-16T21:47:00.001Z

The Pergamon Museum in Berlin is one of the great treasure houses of the world. Walk in and you find yourself facing a massive Greek temple, carefully transported here and reconstructed as it would originally have looked. Around the walls are fragments of statuary, arranged on a smooth grey background so that the figures seem to be appearing through of a curtain of mist. At the top of the steps lies the inner sanctum: here, the frieze tells the story of Telephos, mythical founder of Pergamon and legendary ancestor of the ancient royal family. The scenes from his life recall themes from so many powerful myths: the royal princess whose child will endanger the king; the infant cast out and suckled by a wild beast; his triumphant return to save the kingdom; the inadvertent reward of his own mother's hand in marriage, here luckily averted by divine intervention on their wedding night; the contrived relationships with other major military characters - notably Achilles and Odysseus; the consultation with oracles, and events leading to the final glorious demise of the hero. Thus is the power of the mortal order legitimized by its links to the semi-divine.
I last visited Berlin 25 years ago. Coming from Moscow, the train passed through sleeping suburbs until we crossed the shrouded border line and the city erupted into a permanent party. Nowadays, it is the east which houses the newest restaurants and late-night bars. Berlin is the cocktail capital of Europe: muscled men sip parasolled concoctions whilst their girlfriends nibble the pineapple garnish. Souvenir shops sell pieces of painted concrete claiming to be chipped from the Wall. But not all the people are in unmitigated favour of the new order. You can also buy little green plastic men like traffic light symbols: these are a feature of Ostalgia - the longing for a simpler time, when everyone knew their place. Whether it was a better time or not is a matter of emotional fealty rather than retrospective analysis. In Berlin, history is being created and updated all around you. The architects of the Pergamon Altar would have felt entirely at home.

Holding Out For A Hero

2009-11-10T15:09:00.003Z

Inspired by Ranulph Fiennes, but constrained by practicalities: organized an expedition to see the film 'Up!'. In case you don't know, this is the story of an old man who fulfils his lifelong ambition of visiting South America... by lifting his house with hundreds of helium balloons. Even if you don't like chidren's cartoons, the graphics are undeniably superb. The story has all the elements of the hero's quest: the initial call to adventure; the departure from the known, overcoming restraints which try to hold him back; the first test, which reveals the true nature of the hero; the ultimate confrontation, in which the monster is vanquished; and the return to society, bearing the boon which is the fruit of his travail. The basic pattern is varied by the fact that the wise old mentor and young adventurer reverse roles - it is his promise to a child which invokes the old man's better nature and leads to his ultimate salvation.
The Greek myths provide the most common exemplar of the hero archetype. Perseus rescuing Andromeda; Theseus and the Minotaur; Herakles and just about any monster that could be attributed to him.... Hollywood loves to draw on this narrative prototype: the Star Wars cycle are some of the best recent examples of the hero genre. These stories and films allow us to participate vicariously in the heroic venture, safe in the knowledge that everything will ultimately turn out all right. Like a fairground rollercoaster, we share the thrills of the ride without having to deal with any of the actual dangers involved. There is a positive aspect to this experience. Although we are passive, we become emotionally involved in the events related. Through stories like these, we learn the right way to behave in real-life situations where we have to face problems and fears. When people need to be heroes, the old stories can provide them with a model for action in real life.

Living Dangerously: Sir Ranulph Fiennes

2009-11-05T13:39:00.002Z

Holding out for a hero? Sir Ranulph Fiennes' talk on 'Living Dangerously' was a good start. For an hour he held a hall of several hundred people hanging on his words. Under a fine turn of phrase and wry sense of humour, we glimpsed a man with almost superhuman tenacity and courage. He is a true an ad-venturer: one who left home and ventured out into the world, to see what he could find.
We all need heroes for our age, people who live just outside the confines of ordinary existence. A little larger than life, they straddle the bounds of humdrum humanity. A hero must excel both physically and morally: strong and enduring, they use their powers for the common good . He (or she) needs emotional intelligence, the ability to connect with people, even more than intellectual ability. Heroes are important because they represent the best in us: they remind us of what we can aspire to.
Few heroes live to enjoy the fruits of their travails: whom the gods love generally die young. Ranulph Fiennes suffered a major heart attack several years ago. He has since continued to live dangerously, recently running seven marathons on seven continents, also in aid of charity. We can all be grateful that the gods realized he still had work on earth to do. PS Go out and buy his book now! It is the next best thing to doing it all yourself.

The Great Mother: Demeter and Persephone

2009-11-03T15:24:00.002Z

Today we studied the myth of Demeter and Persephone. Demeter is the Great Mother, the Greek goddess who watches over all growing things; Persephone is her daughter, who is stolen from her. Or is she? We tried to see the story from different viewpoints. Demeter wants to keep her child safe within her loving embrace, but she risks becoming a 'smother mother'. Persy is on the cusp of womanhood, ready to assume freedoms and responsibilities of her own. Life is never static: the balance of reality is constantly shifting. As we move from one state to the next, doors open ahead of us: the trick is to keep looking forwards, not clinging to what must be left behind. Some wonderful poems by group members written from these varying perspectives, relating these conflicting emotions to their own experiences. Because, of course, myths are not stories about things that might possibly have happened a long time ago: they are about our lives now.
This is a good exercise to do on your own: compose a short piece from another person's perspective. This doesn't have to be written down, although it often helps to do so. You might choose a character from a novel you've read recently, and give their version of events; you could try to see things from a friend's point of view; you could even become the administrator who wrote that letter from the council, giving a running comentary on the community as you walk down the road. It's fun to try, and can be quite illuminating.

Welcome to Life Works!

2009-11-02T18:35:00.003Z

Welcome to Life Works! It's the old-style new year, and last night was a full moon: seems like an auspicious day to start writing. The winter hours make it harder to wake in the morning, but also make it feasible for me to be up before dawn. At first light, the sky was filled with streaks of plum and apricot - probably due to high-level aircraft pollution, but astonishingly beautiful anyway. For me, this is the best time of day to work. The street outside is empty; a cat curls around my ankles seeking warmth; my mug of tea sends frail wisps of steam into the air. It's time outside time, waiting for the world to wake.
Some of you know me from groups and workshops; others are 'friends waiting to be found'. I study myth, using a combination of anthropological approaches and psychological insights. At the moment, I'm working on how we use stories to construct our lives. This involves looking at the traditional tales we call 'myths', and the archetypal figures who enact and re-enact them. Each of us works with this narrative material to compose our very own, personalized life story. My forthcoming book examines this process in more detail. Follow this blog to find out when it hits the shops!