Courttia Newland is starting a series of writing classes aimed at Black writers. Long/short fiction and theatre… http://bit.ly/d9sErl
En route to a school in Brixton to make poetry come alive for year 9. If my brain wakes up before I get there. Game face? Coming soon…
Just a little exhausted. Pops’ memorial service yesterday – thank you to everyone who came and helped to make it special…
- Stop chasing followers – Jeffrey Zeldman Presents The Daily Report
Or, for the writers, write and write and write…
- AdviceToWriters - Freewriting
…and it’s in poems like this that I’m reminded of the common ground between poetry and photography. (more Grossman) http://bit.ly/aFobVt
I feel like Elijah Wood playing Jonathan Safran Foer in Everything Is Illuminated. (I haven’t read the book, hence identifying with the character through the actor.) Yesterday, my eldest aunt was buried back home. In Guyana. Some of the family based in London came together at my Aunt J’s house to mark the time, and to help Aunt J get through. She’s 78, with Parkinson’s - once the iron lady of the family. Now and then, I’m reminded of the power she used to wield. Last night, she got angry with a younger cousin for playing with the fridge magnets, and just for a second, I was ten again. Instant regression.
I took a camera with me. Planned to capture things. But I’m not yet the documentary photographer. I went for the camera just before I had to leave, snapped a few rushed shots. Won’t know what I’ve done until I get the roll developed, though I suspect I under-exposed. Still awkward, pulling out the Yashica, fiddling with the manual settings, explaining. Yes, it’s vintage. No, it’s not digital. Yes, it really does take film. Yes, I do have a posh digital camera in the bag as well. Yes, I just took the picture. No, you don’t really have to pose. Carry on - I want to catch things as they really are. Yes, I am recording this. No, I don’t really know why. It feels in some way important. Maybe this is my pack rat mentality reasserting itself. A new archive to build and curate, more stuff to collect and accumulate. Or maybe this is my response to the fact that I’ve lost a lot, recently. I’ll figure it out along the way.
One of my young cousins, who shall henceforth be known as “Can’tstop Won’tstop” - on the stairs, laughing, at a gathering in London to mark the time of my eldest aunt’s funeral back home, in Guyana.