On September 18, I will offer a workshop on Can I Be a Writer Mother at the idyllic Starcroft Farm Cabin in Battle, East Sussex.
No experience necessary — this one is for any mum, at any age and stage, who is ready to bring writing into her life this fall.
Why sign up for a writing workshop?
I could list all sorts of reasons — fun, a stretch for the mind, heart and soul, not to mention tea, cake and new friendships with like minded mums.
There’s also another reason, offered by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, in her eye-opening guide to creative living, Big Magic.
Elizabeth Gilbert quotes one of her key influences – the unrelated poet, Jack Gilbert – who invited his students to “bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you.”
She adds:
Look, I don’t know what’s hidden within you . . . [but] I believe this is one of the oldest and most generous tricks the universe plays on us human beings, both for its own amusement and for ours: The universe buries strange jewels deep within us all, and then stands back to see if we can find them.
I know the thrill of the jewel hunter well — for example, when a participant in my workshop on fractured fairy tales e-mailed to say
I spent the rest of Friday feeling inspired, and writing a poem based upon what I learned at the workshop. I am (nervously!) forwarding it to you. I’d love to hear what I think.
What I thought was . . . WOW! Who knew this poem was waiting to be written . . . and that all it needed was a little prompt. Whenever I re-read the punchline, Stephanie’s exuberant subversiveness makes me grin. I copy it below, with permission, because it’s too good to keep to myself.
I cannot promise that every workshop experience will offer an immediate return. Some of us need to warm up for a while before we find our groove. But I do know that there are treasures buried inside us all, waiting to reward the treasure hunter.
Please join me for Can I Be a Mother Writer?, September 18, 2023, 10 a.m. – 12:30 p.m., Starcroft Farm Cabins, Battle, East Sussex,TN33 9DT.
Let’s go treasure hunting together!
Snow White
by Stephanie Beattie
I dragged the poor wench through the wood.
My job, quite clear, I understood.
My role: To finish off this lass
And all because the looking glass
Declared her lovelier than a hag (who happened to have wed her dad.)
The evil step-mum quite despised
This girlie’s looks, so she devised
A cunning plan – the Evilest Kind,
For she was quite out of her mind.
I grabbed the pint-sized child, then fled.
Her lustrous hair flowed round her head.
The twinkly, smiley, hazel eyes
Shone teary with frightened surprise!
But frankly, I’m not paid enough
To have to do such gruesome stuff –
Murdering princesses? Where’s the sense?
It seemed to me complete nonsense.
So I dragged this tearful tot
To a dark, dank, dreary spot,
Deep within the ancient wood,
And let her go, for bad or good.
I said ‘Now Miss, you can’t return!!!
They want you DEAD! They mustn’t learn
That you survived. You must stay here
Or else we’re both done for, I fear.
Wander, look about and roam
Until you find a nice new home.
Disappear, GO, STAY AWAY!!
With that I bid you a ‘Good day’.’
I bowed, she curtsied, face aghast.
In pity, I passed her my small flask.
A parting gift, an act of mercy.
She hoarsely whispered “Thank you, Percy.
When faced with dire adversity
There’s nothing beats a cup of tea.”
I turned, departed, left her there,
But I was not without a care.
I hid and watched to check her progress.
I worried for her, I’ll confess.
I’ve heard strange things about this place —
Weird, bizarre, so just in case
I lingered, kept a watchful eye
Her ultimate fate, I hoped to spy.
But wait! rWhat crazy thing was this
Approaching our heroic Miss?
A band of brothers, seven in all
But each was barely two foot tall.
Cloaked and hooded. Crazy folk
Have oft of these strange creatures spoke.
But none believed them, until now.
I thought ‘Cor! Blimmey! Holy Cow!!’
Those Seven Dwarfs approached Snow White.
The young lass stood in trembling fright.
They whispered words between themselves –
These hobbits/midgets/odd shaped elves?
And then yelled, as a single chorus,
“You’ll come and clean our cottage for us!!!
You’ll wash our clothes and clean our floor.
We’ve tonnes and tonnes of chores galore.
Years from now, when you’ve had enough
Of taking care of dwarves and stuff;
Of tucking us into our beds
And saying, ‘night, night, sleepy heads,’
Of cooking onions, beans and mince,
One day, you’ll find a handsome prince
To rescue you from servitude.
We’re sure he’ll be a righteous dude.’
Snow White took stock. She paused for thought.
She pondered all that she’d been taught.
And wondered what she really ought
To do, as she felt rather caught.
And a teensy, weensy bit distraught.
‘Do not take sweets from strangers, dear.’
She heard her dad’s voice in her ear,
And this thought helped to calm her fear.
Within her hand she felt the tea
That had been given her by me.
The flask felt solid, strong and true.
It was a heady, potent brew.
And she knew just what she had to do.
She made the dwarves stand in a line.
She patted them. She looked sublime.
A picture of shining nobility.
They didn’t realised her hostility.
She took her aim and bowled that flask –
It felt an entertaining task.
She knocked the dwarves clean off their feet,
Then beat a most speedy retreat.
I never saw that wench again.
The Queen believed that she’d been slain.
She disappeared from this cruel place,
That luscious lovely, Princess Grace.
And rumour tells she left our valley
To start a seven-pin bowling alley.
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