PoetZ

I've written the first few poems for my zombie war poetry idea. They're from the perspective of a girl who fled the zombies into an old air raid shelter with her mum, who turned out to be infected and subsequently died, reanimated and attacked her. She successfully defended herself against her zombie mum, but couldn't dispose of the body because doing so would have meant going outside where all the other zombies were.
Obviously, this girl goes mental, retreating into a childlike second personality, and chalked poems on the wall that are all a bit crazy. Here is an example:

mummy mummy go away
come again another day
go, and take your friend away
tell them I don't want to play
While blood still runs within my veins
tell them they must wait.

short story competition.

So, I heard about a short story competition from the university, which sounds like fun so I think I'm going to enter.
Its got to be a crime story which isn't something I've done before but I think its worth a go. They've given us the opening line, "In my experience, those who beg for mercy rarely deserve it."
I've decided to make it a cowboy crime story, with a Sherrif called Sherrif Woods, who people call "Woody" and I'm gonna try and slip as many toy story references in as I can, short of having a deputy called Buzz and a little slinky dog. . . on second thoughts maybe I won't put so many toy story references in.
Anywho, I think the basic idea is gonna be that a man is found dead and a bandit who operates in the area is likely to be blamed, but then the plot thickens, etc. etc.

Open Mic cancelled

I was going to goto an open mice at The Maypole in Cambridge tonight but it has been cancelled. However, I should be getting together with my poet friend and mentor Helen Mort (www.apintfortheghost.blogspot.com) so that should be fun, perhaps we'll talk about my ideas for books and things and I can see what she thinks.
Getting together some ideas for my first zombie poems, more to come as I write . . . prepare from some sillyness there.

Books?

I have an idea for two books at the moment:
Firstly, I want to try and produce a a book that is a collection of poetry exercises. I think it would be called Writers Unblocked, and I'd try and get as many games and exercises together as possible so that it would be a resource both for new writers, writers struggling for inspiration and for those leading workshops and classes who are looking for something to do with their students.
I've been to a fair few workshops etc in my time and so I already know a few, but it would take a lot of research to get together enough for a book, although I think it would be a good book. Also I could put loads of silly little asides in which would be good fun.

b) My next idea is for an addition to the Max Brooks Zombie series. So far Brooks has written such treaures as 'The Zombie Survival Guide' and 'World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War.' I think a good addition would be, 'Poetz: Poetry from the Zombie War'. I think it would be really fun to write a book of poetry all from the perspective of people fighting a zombie apocalypse... I'd probably have to write to Brooks to see if he thought it was a good idea and would include it in his cannon. Ah well.

Poetry.

So, I write poetry. I enjoy doing it and recently it seems that other people enjoy reading what I write.
I've done a couple of readings at open mics which have gone really well, the most recent of which was particularly good. This was at the punter in Cambridge and I read two poems, and two of the other poets both came over to say they thought they were very good. Obviously praise is always great but it was really reassuring when poetry is a medium in which I very much feel I'm still finding my feet.
There's another reading in Cambridge on Monday night at The Maypole which I think I might go to, and I'm helping to organise one at Uni (in Sheffield) in April, so lots to look forward to.
For now, here is an example of one of my poems, 'A Night On The Drink', which I read at The Punter on Tuesday.

In the morning, as the sun spills
in where the curtain has slipped
and the wine has stained our lips,
we kiss.

Then you roll away,
the mattress lilts in that familiar way
and your feet are tickled by the rug
where it’s frayed.

You tilt your head and arch your back,
pull your gown from the hook,
where a screw is still loose
in the corner of the rack.

Maybe we’ve got lectures, maybe
Our only worries are our clothes;
And it’s alright that there’s so much
We still don’t know.

As if we’re only kids,
with nothing to dream about but this
or what our friends will think.
And I wish it were true as you lean on the sink.

Then you come back to bed,
the sun spills in where the curtain has slipped,
the wine has stained our lips and we kiss,
becoming seventeen again, in my head.