Walking naked in the storm...

When we began the Wild Woman journey, we made a pact to keep it real and honest, and not to hide away from the source, even if it hurts. This can feel very exposing and often in workshops there were tears as people shared their poems. The important thing was that whatever the source, however painful, it was always shared through the act of positive creation. So, even the most painful exposure was in itself empowering. It is a case of owning one's own story, speaking in one's own tongue and saying "ok, from my life I create because that is my source and my power - I do not need external approval saying I am an artist, a poet, an author - I create because I am!"

Wild Women attracted people who were both published authors and those who had never written. When we first started performing, there were people, like myself, who had experience of public performance and those for whom this was a completely new experience. It was fundamental to my work in this group that no-one felt inhibited to create, that the poems and stories flowered naturally. Over time, I guided people in polishing their words but no judgment was offered on its 'value as Art' because it is all valuable. The quality is in the integrity of the poems and this is what makes them shine. These had a right to exist in the world at large, and I was determined that I would find a way for that to happen, to honour and celebrate the lives of each individual woman, each unique voice. Which is where Wild Women Press was born, but that is not this story just yet.

The story I want to share with you is about Pat, a woman who joined that very first series of workshops. Now, it was a few weeks into the workshops that Pat admitted to us that she had not known it was 'a poetry writing course' and that if she had done, she 'would not have joined'. Too late, I told her, we have you now! Pat stayed with the group beyond the duration of the workshops, and wrote wonderful and powerful poems, and got up there and performed them with gusto and grace, but still she said "I am not a real poet, not like the rest of you"...

Eventually, I decided to challenge Pat on this. During a weekend residential poetry workshop that I facilitated for the group, I set a number of exercises. I worked everyone hard to dig deep and discover - over dinner they complained I had turned them into the 'dry husks of poets' but by then, they were used to my technique - take no prisoners, but take them with love! Anyway, one of the exercises was to write a poem starting with a scent memory - a memory of something you could smell. I asked everyone to relax and remember a smell from their childhood and then write intuitively from that inspiration, using this as the basis for their crafted poem later. When we returned to craft the poems the next day, I tried a new approach, asking the group to read and critique each other's work, making suggestions for strengths and improvements. Pat tried to escape, saying that she was not a poet and did not want to take part in the editing workshop. Now, what we did next was, I admit, a bit unorthodox, but we had all known each a long time and we trusted each other. We barred her exit and told her she was not allowed to leave until she had written her poem! What is more, at the end of the workshop, I got everyone to enter the national Ottakars Poetry Competition. We each filled in our forms and submitted our poems, each with an equal chance of winning the local award. Poets and supposed 'non poets' alike.

Of course, you know what happened, don't you?

Pat won. I remember the day she called me to say that she had just heard that she had won the competition and that they had asked her to go and read at the prize giving ceremony. Not as part of Wild Women, but as a poet in her own right. What is more, she had accepted the challenge! I pointed out to her that she won, over and above us apparent 'real poets'. Even she had to admit a laugh at that point! It was a moment to be treasured and an achievement we celebrated.

The poem that Pat submitted was a deeply personal and courageous piece, and her decision to read it in public, in front of her two grown up sons, was a life-changing moment for her and one that showed enormous confidence, honesty and bravery. It was truly inspiring for all. And it was one of those moments where I am reminded of the importance of Wild Women and it makes all the work done over the years worthwhile. I am so proud of Pat, and of all of us.

Pat agreed to allow me to share this story and poem with you, and has written a few words about her journey with Wild Women. It gives me great pleasure to do so now.

Pat's Story

Pat celebrates the release of Howl at the Moon, September 1999

‘Taking part in the workshops being part of the Wild Women group allowed me to be strong enough to leave an unhappy marriage and have an independent life. The opportunity to write poetry, which as a complete beginner I found very scary at first, gave me the confidence to speak out and find my own voice. In 2003, I won the Ottakars Poetry Competition for my region, and went to Carlisle to read my poem. This was a significant moment in my life, as the poem dealt with a very personal experience. I hope that in my own small way, my strength to speak out helped others. It was such a thrill to win and made me realise how far I had developed since joining the group in 1999. I even discovered that I enjoy reading my work out aloud and that gave me a new confidence, creatively and personally. I am now blissfully happy with a wonderful new partner and we are shortly moving in together. I really believe that Wild Women happened at just the right time for me. It has been a wonderful enlightening journey, which I wouldn’t have missed for the world".

Pat July 2007

Swarfega

Slimy, frog spawn gel
Memories from childhood, memories from hell
He washed his hands in Swarfega
Cleaned off my blood, so I wouldn’t tell.

His taste of stale beer and pie
HP sauce, coffee, all a lie
Sweat, excitement, fear, alone
No one heard my body moan.

The touch of creeping fingers
Hands too big, for my small body
Prying, prizing, arousing, hell
All triggered off by Swarfega gel.

Trying not to wake up mother
In my bed, my mouth is smothered
“Do not shout or she will die”
So I gave in without a sigh.

Where were you mother in time of need?
Did your empty bed not plant a seed?
If only I had rung a warning bell
The memories unleashed by Swarfega gel.

(Copyright Pat Tolmie 18/9/2003)

My Wild Woman...

Close up of front cover image Howl at the Moon by Victoria Bennett (copyright)

So - where have we got to? The journey so far:

We have made the decision to accept the quest;
We have gathered our clan together and packed our knapsacks with hearty provisions;
We have called on our guides and gathered our talismans and tools;
We have faced the first obstacle and cleared our creative river of sludge;
We have entered into deep listening and stillness, sharpening our wolf skills;
We have named and done battle with our first enemy - the shrieking harpies!

What comes next? The next stage in our journey was to begin to get to know the Wild Woman within each of us - to find out what she had to say, what her voice was like, who she was. I asked each participant to write intuitively for 10 minutes, beginning with "My Wild Woman..." and we then shared what was written. This was a writing practice that we built into each of our meetings, and through it we discovered the strength, vulnerability and beauty of our individual voices. With each writing down, we peeled back the layers and got closer and closer to the truth of our own journeys, discovering long buried dreams, passions, sensuality and power. It is my belief that this simple exercise built a foundation stone for the creative and personal transformations that followed, as each woman gave herself permission, even if only in that small space once a fortnight, to speak out loud her deepest desires, dreams, fears, angers, frustrations...

So, together we mined for our gold and together, we took the raw writing and polished the gold until it shone, finding the essence of what it was we wanted to say and how we wanted to say it. At the end of the 10 workshops, I asked each woman to choose a My Wild Woman poem to put into the anthology Howl at the Moon. The power and beauty in each piece still shines today. I remember the first time the group performed live - how incredibly empowering it was to stand up and speak out "My Wild Woman..."

We still get requests for these pieces, eight years on, and I still receive letters and emails from people, men and women, who say that this anthology, in particular, these poems and pieces of writing, stir something deep within them, bringing their own creative howl to life.

For your pleasure then, here are some of those poems - join us in a Wild Woman Howl and write your own (and for men, well, you choose - you could go for your inner woman, or your wild man!) ...


The Wild Woman Poems - A Selection


Hallelujah! (Pat)

My Wild Woman is born today.
Out she comes, outrageous, confident.

I'm sick of being kept down.
Let me scream, howl, shout.
Gone are the days of shyness
that held me back.

I'm buggered if I want those days again.
Shout Hallelujah! Lift up my skirts and run free.



Wild Woman (Julie)
My Wild Woman has been away.
Put down, subdued, kept out of sight
lest she offend. But now she is back!
Peering cautiously at a world
where she thought sh did not belong -
and she is saying very clearly
that she won't be leaving again.
And every time she gets put down
she'll come back even stronger.
Soon she'll be indomitable!

There was once a time when
she wouldn't say boo to a goose.
Now she might say boo to a gosling
if the need arose.

It's a start!



My Wild Woman (Helen)

My Wild Woman is free to swim in clear waters
and lie under the blue sky, basking in golden sunshine.
She eats and drinks whatever she wants
and doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks.
She dances in the rain and moonlight,
wears every colour of the rainbow,
laughs loudly and sings to music.
She has wisdom and strength,
gentleness and power,
magic and healing.



The Wild Woman in Me (Gill)

The wild woman in me will not keep smiling when others
are hurtful, she will spit back fire instead. She will run up
a mountain, dive naked into a crystal pool. then bask on
the rocks like a lizard soaking up the sun.

The wild woman in me will buy a huge canvas and make a
bold abstract painting, flinging on colour, rolling in it,
becoming part of the painting.

The wild woman in me will hold onto her power and
never, never give it away to anybody else, however much
she loves them. She will know her power and strength
even if she never shows them. They will just be there.

She will be at peace with herself and the world.



My Wild Woman (Rosemary)

My Wild Woman weaves stories from the rich yarns of her
life, scattering pain and humour like jewels amongst
the threads.

My Wild Woman dances through her life, happy to share
the music of her soul or spin in solitude.

My Wild Woman thinks sex is more fun than aerobics and
doesn't care who knows it. She cooks with passion and
eats with grace. My Wild Woman thinks her bum is big
and sexy and shows it off whenever she can.

My Wild Woman can't remember the last time she
watched TV.

My Wild Woman is an alchemist; a crucible in which the
sacred flame of spirit is fanned into life by the roaring
wind of passion. She visits only rarely, when the love of
friends, the scent of summer or the throb of the beat can
coax her out of her hiding place deep in her belly,
behind my heart.



The Wild Woman in Me (Sue)

The Wild Woman in me dances and wishes she could
dance always as she can dance alone. The looseness of the
body, the supple feel of movement, the bliss of music
lapping you and taking you over, making you move
and feel and travel.

I the kitchen I am the most brilliant dancer ever. It takes
a while to loosen up elsewhere.

No-one is looking, no-one really bothers about you

but obviously I'm not wild enough not to bother.



My Wild Woman (Ruth)

1.
My Wild Woman is dead.
She used to be apoet once,
but I've forgotten where she lived.
She sat too long by the telephone,
waiting for crumbs of your love.
Swallowed up by longing for your arms,
the endless prison of grief.
Trampled by publishers,
scorned by editors and agents.
Worn down by gas bills,
weighted down by wet washing;
the endless peeling of potatoes.
Going it alone at parents' evenings,
lugging shopping with aching arms,
searching for odd socks;
shivering in the empty bed.
Rejected, torn apart, battered, thrown away.
Putting on a smile to tell the world she was over you.
Everybody thought she had been made strong,
while inside she was dying, dying, falling forever.

2.
My Wild Woman is alive.
She is a poet
and she lives in my house.
She switches off the phone
and ells you to sod off.
She is as free as a bird.
Adored by publishers,
praised by editors and agents.
She has oodles of money.
All her washing is dry;
the kids peel the potatoes.
Admirers surround her at parents' evenings,
she has a hunk to carry her shopping.
Her socks are all in pairs
and a red-hot lover shares her bed.
Loved, appreciated, renewed, treasured,
smiling to tell the world she is over you.
Everybody knows she has been made strong,
they can see she is living, living, soaring forever.



My Wild Woman is Home (Sal)

My Wild Woman is at home now. No longer a caged
beast, frustrated and lonely, fighting to be free. My Wild
Woman cleans my river now, carrying away oozing
stagnant waste, leaving me as strong and magnificent as
she is. My Wild Woman is my companion now. We talk
and love each day. I am Wild Woman and she is me.

Kill the harpies...

Creativity occurs in five phases - inspiration, concentration, organisation, implementation and sustenance. Women who have lost one or more of these phases often claim they can't think of anything. They become distracted by love affairs, tiredness, fear of failure, too much work or too much escapism. Very often, there are signs of strong beginnings - endless unfinished projects scattered about the floor, lots of ideas and big plans but never any gestation. Stuck at the inspiration phase, they are dissatisfied with the results, frustrated and unfulfilled. Here, we find the creator seeking approval - taking another degree, booking onto yet another self-development course or refusing to see their achievement until a 'real publisher/writer/artist/gallery etc' recognise its value. At other times, she hides, under siege from the negative criticism from the uninvited squatters in her head, yammering away with a stream of judgments...

your work isn't good enough/ right/ is too small/ is insignificant/ is easy/ is of no value... you can't draw/ sing/ paint/ write... your not a real writer/ artist/ musician... you never finish anything/ are unoriginal/ uninteresting... who wants to listen to you/ what makes you think you have something worth saying... everyone will laugh at you/ that's stupid/ you're boring... it isn't real work, is it?

And the woman, weakened and harassed by these harpies, comes up with her defences, polluting the river over again...

I can't do it... I haven't got enough time/ money/ space/ experience/ training/ equipment... I'll do it when the children grow up/ when I can afford to/ when I retire/when I have a studio/when I finish this course ... I need to look after my partner/ child/ parents/ dog/ cat/ house/ neighbours...

Yikes! The list is endless, believe me...and once we give up our river, our life force, because of some distorted idea of over-responsibility or respectability, the harpies come in and steal our dreams. And that applies to men and women alike! So the first lesson, that is learnt over and over and over...

Life is not meant to be lived in stolen moments

There is no such thing as your spare time

Life is not to be controlled by should and must

No matter how demanding your life is - and it can be very demanding - your own creative, deep life is not meant to be a secondary option. Without it, you will dry up and fizzle out. It is vital that the necessity of nourishing your soul-life is recognised by yourself and those around you. And if they can't...then you have some difficult questions to ask. Without a doubt, if you do not do this, your spirit will slowly suffocate and you will wake up one day and wonder who it is that is living in your life. And if you still don't listen then pretty soon, you will wake up to a tidal wave of destructive sludge heading your way.

It isn't easy, I won't pretend it is. But it is possible. Have courage! Let's shoot those harpies and clear that river!

SHOOTING THE HARPIES

The following exercise can be done alone, or in pairs. Take a piece of paper and write on the left side HARPIES and on the right side, WILD WOMAN. On the left, write the statements that block or hinder or attack your creativity, that undermine your soul-full life. On the right, write down strong, positive, powerful affirmations that nourish your creative life force. For example, here is one from my own list:

HARPIES
Why would anyone be interested in reading what I have to say?

WILD WOMAN
What you have to say is a unique expression of your being in this world and because of that, it is valuable. When you share your heart, you help connect the world in love.

When we did this as a group, we worked in pairs, so we did it slightly differently. Each person wrote down and shared their own particular harpies, whilst their partner responded with the Wild Woman counter-balance - making sure that they did not use a should or must in their reply. It is amazing how daft our own harpies sound when we say them allowed to another - and how simple the counter-answer sounds in our ears when spoken by someone else! We then shared them as a group, along with much laughter and also tears, because it hurts to admit how much we hurt ourselves. In sharing that vulnerability though, something special happened in the group. From that point on, we knew the voices in each other's heads and we could help each other, wounded as we might be, limp onward!

Of course, it isn't as easy as just saying them out loud. You then have to work on them, listening deeply so you can catch them when they start to attack. But having the counter-attack helps swipe them away until they become simply an irritating fly buzzing around - easily dismissed and swotted away. Stick your list up somewhere you can see it and use it as ammunition when you need it. Or, as we began to call it - get the HARPIC out...you can see which particular harpy this comes from by reading on. Thanks to Gill and Ruth, for agreeing to share their original harpies and their quest to rid them!

RUTH
My original harpies were:

Darkness of emptiness, grief, pain at life's bitterness -
bloody hell, get the violins out! Well I've definitely slain that one.

Work? What work do you do? (genuine quote from a bitchy neighbour!) - I'm not a proper writer -
definitely slain that one with a silver bullet and laid it in the grave!

Rushed, always rushing - put out the bins, wash up, make the beds, do the shopping, tidy up, sort out washing etc etc - the life of a busy single mum of three -
well definitely cracked that one too - I've got a house husband now!

`Talk talk talk' always on the phone.
Mmmm - not exactly cracked that one, but actually it's been transformed now - I don't see it as a harpy any more, more socialising (necessary for sanity of isolated writers) and networking.

So I've got rid of all of them. The only one that really attacks me now is the
`nobody wants to publish my work' harpy.

The bastard!!!! I'd better kill that one off too...


GILL
HARPICS…that was what I used to call them- mainly because mine were about not being a good enough house-wifey and mummy at the time Wild Women started. There was no way I could write anything until I had scoured my house from top to bottom and swabbed every birds nest in the woods(- a la Billy Collins poem - advice to writers from his collection - taking off emily dickinson's clothes). As I am such a filthy slut I didn't leave myself much room for writing! Every time I wrote I felt guilt, guilt guilt about what I hadn't done for my family. But I wrote anyway.

Which leads to number two- that's not real poetry. My brother said this to me when I showed him Billy Collins collection Nine Horses. Why he feels competent to judge what is or isn't poetry I am not sure. But it summed up how I felt when I tentatively showed my work to others. When I started writing I felt my poetry was not literary enough, incomprehensible enough, I wanted to write poems about my daughter being called ginger minge and about the randomness in my head, to make people think and laugh and it was only through the help of ww that I started to realise that this was actually ok. Then Wildie Alison persuaded me to go and see Billy Collins at Grasmere and the penny suddenly dropped. He was doing what I was trying to do and he was famous for it. Hurrah!

Number three was the attitude - oh you're in a women's group therefore your poems will be crap sonnets about cats or menstruation or it's a nice hobby isn't it and various other snide remarks.

Number four - Are you doing the MA? I lost count of the number of times people asked me this -I don't have an MA in poetry and I don't want one!! (shock horror).

In other words nobody cares about poetry anyway and it is only any good if it has some kind of seal of approval like being dead or published by Faber or being a Professor of it.

5 = The Proper Job virus!! I have always worked in some way, even when my daughter was young I did market research part time, but when I decided to write full time - (eventually after wrestling with all the other harpics) I still felt I wasn't putting my fair share into the family coffers and every time my creativity wavered I would scour the papers for biscuit counting jobs.

Now for how I beat the harpics!...

I still haven't fully beaten them of course- Even though my novel manuscripts are being favourably received by Farrar Straus and Giroux (but not published- YET) I still look in the Whitehaven News for biscuit counting jobs.

The secret of course is this - those harpics aren't real. Those harpics are inside your own head. The more you value the power of your own creativity the more other people do. Basically it comes down to self belief and bloody mindedness. I just kept doing it. I just kept writing and believing in myself and getting on with it, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. Some days it was a terrific struggle. Right now it is really hard because I have had favourable reception of my novels but no one wants to publish - YET. I have optimism, I have hope, I have good supportive friends who understand the creative process. I count myself very lucky that I have so many good friends from Wild Women that I can call or e mail when things are getting me down.

I am still not a 'famous' writer...But I have written two novels, 3 non fiction books, magazine and newspaper articles, 2 and two half poetry collections, done a year's performance course and performed at all these places since joining Wild Women Press:

Loose Muse, The Poetry Cafe, London
Glastonbury Festival Poetry & Words Stage
Verberate, Manchester
Stirling University Poetry & Sexuality Conference
Off the Shelf Literature Festival, Sheffield
Spotlight, Lancaster
Seahouses Shanty Festival, Seahouses
Malt Room, Brewery Arts Centre, Kendal
Words by the Water Literature Festival, Keswick
Matt & Phredd’s, Manchester Poetry Festival
Lancaster University
Tullie House Art Gallery, Carlisle
The Beacon Arts Centre, Whitehaven
The George Ballroom, Penrith
Wild Women Salons, Windermere
Bluebell Poetry Events, Penrith
Source Art Cafe, Carlisle
neo gallery Cockermouth
Regional BBC Radio
thecommonpeople.blip.tv

kill the fucking harpics!

When the Levee Breaks...

The Deep Water - painting by Adam Clarke (copyright)

It is important after an exercise such as Clearing the River that you take time to reflect on the process of change within yourself. As a group, the next time we gathered, we shared what had happened for each of us since beginning the journey. In the space of a couple of weeks, significant creative shoots were already growing. For some, it had opened up new creative possibilities - a new book begun, an offer of television work, a return to old poetry notebooks and a renewed enthusiasm. For others, and this includes myself, the process was more painful - headaches, blocked sinuses, sore throats - all symptoms of aggravated or stiffled creativity. Some shared that although they had not started to write, they were more in touch with where and how they were blocking their expression, for examples, being too busy or not having space. What was noticeable was that for everyone, the signs of change were already surfacing - ad when change begins to happen, it is important to re-awaken ourselves to listening deeply.

The exercise I chose to share with the group at this stage was aimed at developing the three core practices of breathing, stillness and listening. When we undergo a deep journey in our lives, we must equip ourselves with the tools and talismans necessary - in this case, the ability to hear ourselves, the world around us, the unspoken guides...

The exercise is simple, and encourages us to 'tune into' the essence of the words, the vibration of our creative expression. I began with a brief introduction to the three core principles above and followed this with a simple 'energy clearing' colour visualisation, working on the body and "chakras". Once this was completed, we moved into a deeper relaxation and meditation to find a 'guide' for our journey. At the end of this meditation, I quietly encouraged each participant to allow the guide to lead them to a place outside where they could listen...

Whale Cottage, where Wild Women was born, had the benefit of being in the middle of the Lake District, near to fells and a beautiful river. The participants went outside and found a place nearby to sit and listen. For twenty minutes, each person sat and listened deeply to what was around them, and within them, using all the six senses and during this time, wrote down all that they 'heard' and then re-listen through the words they had written, using this to shape a short poem. Then they were to ask their guide for a gift from that place - something that caught their eye or called them in - maybe a stone, a feather, a blade of grass - a talisman to guide them.

When we gathered back in the room, we each placed our gift on the table and shared our writing and our 'gift'. The writing was beautiful, each piece unique and special and moving. It was a precious moment where we each felt the treasure held in our words and the beauty of our own creativity. The tenderness and respect that was held in that moment was immense and powerful. When I look back in my journal, I find one entry for this day:
"we all felt the stillness and connection. This will be a good group - I can feel it..."

And it proved true!

MEDITATION FOR MEETING YOUR GUIDE

Lie or sit comfortably. Bring your attention to your breath, feeling your belly rise and fall. With each breath, let go of any tension or tiredness, letting it flow harmlessly into the earth beneath you. Let any thoughts or feelings that come drift away with the breath, like pearls rolling off of silk. Keep bringing your attention back to your breath and your body. Beginning with your toes and feet, bring your breath and attention to each part of the body, breathing in softness, warmth and light, allowing it to enter all knotted or impenetrable places, and with the exhalation, release any stress or tension you are holding on to. Do this until you have relaxed every part of your body, from toes to face.

Now, take three large breaths through your nose and out of your mouth, letting go a little more with each breath. Repeat this, but this time, softly close your mouth and on the exhalation, let your lips vibrate a 'hmmmm' sound from deep in your body. Repeat this for eleven cycles of breath. Feel each vibration soften your deep centre. Repeat eleven cycles of soft breath, followed again by eleven deep, vibrating breaths. This is your Wild Woman chant, calling up the deep guide.

As you complete the cycle, you find yourself beside an ocean. You feel the soft breeze on your face, smell brine in your nostrils. You can hear the gulls cry overhead and the soft rise and fall of the waves on the shingle. You notice a woman approaching you, smiling, her arms outstretched to greet you. This is your Wild Woman. She takes your hands gently in yours and holds them. Close your eyes and feel the warmth all around you, feel the love filling you. Ask her what she needs and how you can help her. Listen to her reply. She turns your hand around and places something on your palm. She tells you this is a guiding symbol and how it can help you. Thank her for her gift and get ready to return.

Focus on your breath once again. Be aware of your body as it travels through. Let go of any hardness that it hanging on and breathe in the warmth, the light, the salt air. Feel the earth below you support your body as you let go. Now, take three deep breaths in and out and feel the raw, ocean energy fill you, filling every nerve and cell. Wiggle your toes, wiggle your fingers, scrunch up your face and relax. Take another deep breath in, stretch your arms above your head and let out a big sigh on your exhalation, allowing your arms to drop back to your side. You are now fully present. Breath normally and when you are ready, gently get yourself up, take you notebook and pen and find yourself somewhere quiet outside to write.

Good journeying!

The mission, should you wish to take it...

After the River visualisation, shown in the last blog entry, I used the outline given by Clarissa Pinkola Estes in Women Who Run With The Wolves as a guide to the basic tools of the journey, the ways in which we can encourage our wolf spirit to come out and howl. Here are those 10 basic needs for reconnecting with the wild, with a little homegrown adaptation:

1. Receive nurturing: allow yourself to receive compliments and nurturing and use these to send your Harpies back to their own lands;

2. Respond: creativity is the ability to respond to our lived experience, using all means available to us. Practice deepening your response to your own experience, thoughts, feelings and dreams. Keeping a journal is a good way of doing this;

3. Be wild: let ideas, thoughts and consciousness stream uncensored - jump into the full flow of the river. Try the intuitive writing practice daily to get familiar with this kind of listening;

4. Begin: have a go, even if it is scary - if you are afraid of failure, begin now. It is not failure that holds us back, but our reluctance to begin. Take a good look at your fears and your harpies that hold you back - give them a voice and then answer them!

5. Protect your time: Stake a firm claim on your creative time and nail a do not disturb sign to that door - do not banish your creativity to stolen moments. There is no such thing as spare time, so make space for your creation and wild journey a priority;

6. Stay with it: Let your dreams carry you, and refuse to cooperate with the oppression of your spirit. When you see your spirit being abused, polluted or starved, show your claws and fight for your survival;

7. Protect your creative life: practice your creative work every day and connect with the energy of that creative fire, even if it is just for 5 moments a day. Plant the seed and grow it!

8: Craft your real work: protect and nurture your soul and your real journey. Insist on a creative life, one that engages you with your full feeling, your sensuality and passion and inquisitiveness. Enjoy your wild spirit - get to know it and let it help you understand the path you are on, and give you the courage to follow it;

9: Be willing to listen: sometimes on this journey, the creative river turns up something you do not want to hear. Be willing to listen with an honest heart. Even if you are not able to act on what you hear right at that time, be willing to acknowledge its truth and your current active choice in the situation;

10: Nourish your creative life: this basically sums up the other 8 guides - by giving your creative life the basic ingredients it needs to thrive, you will reconnect with the Wild Woman (or man) within you. These are: space and time; understanding and listening; passion and enthusiasm; respect and love.

And remember - dare to dream!

A page a day keeps the doctor away...

Following on from the last chapter in the adventure, I thought I would share with you the following journal extract that came from my own Clearing the River exercise, back in 1999. It is strange and also uplifting to return to these writings, to read what signs and messages came through at the time. That is why I find keeping a daily such an important part of the journey of being a Wild Woman and a writer. It allows me to listen closely to the intuitive voice, to stay in touch and to remember that this is the voice beyond all external voices.

Extract from the Clearing the River visualisation - March 1999

By the riverside, the tall larch trees grow
threadbare in winter coats of lichen green.
The sun shines on the water, low milky light
refracted through a spectrum lens.
I am halfway up the gorge, my fingers
red and dirty with clay that crumbles at my touch.
A woman comes to me, with moon-milk skin
and stars for her eyes, singing quietly to herself.
The river flows. I sit on the ledge, alone.

She calls to me. I catch her gift.
I have a star in the palm of my hand.

You, Star-Goddess, woman of mine, have left it here.
You stroke my cheek and brush my hair,
lay my head upon your breast.
Now rest, you say, rest.

She places a star upon my head,
another in my womb.
I reach inside my mouth,
take out an apple seed to plant.

The tree grows strong, with blossom rich and full.
I open my hands and see
a hundred stars, rain diamonds
caught by the nets in seas of turquoise and monarch green.
And so I sit, with the sun, the stars and the blossom
of the tree I planted from my seed.

All energy works best when in harmony.
The boat I have built is strong.
Ride the edge of the wave, swim the river of life.
Without a road, there is no reason to move.
Without a path, there is no purpose to heal.
Travel with the care of love and respect.
Only you can give these things away.
No one can steal them from you.
Live a little, dream a little.
Hold a hand at sunrise, walk in sunset.
See tiny bubbles of life in the water.
Sometimes calm, sometimes fizz,
this is how a full life is.
Ride the river and live this way,
both calm and wild; alive.

Come to the fire, look into it.
What must die so it can thrive?
The past, the past must die.
What must be nourished so it can live?
The Wild Soul that seeks food and love.
Know that you have been in exile all your life.
Embrace the edge of the wave and end your exile.

I must shed my clothes and stand naked in my grief.
I must cry the tears that would fill a hundred seas.
Clear away the old and let the new shoots grow.
I put my hands to the earth and dig.
A single crop of blood falls, new life takes hold.
I enter into the desert, its sand blown by a hot wind.
I meet myself in the emptiness, but not alone.
I sprinkle the garden with stars.

It is not magic, she tells me
but still, I can spread light.

(Victoria Bennett)

Journals give away a lot too. When I look back, I can see the times I was avoiding listening deeply by the pages and pages of trivia that purposefully refuses to see the blindingly obvious. I am able to see where I am repeating the same cycles, where the old harpies rise up, where the deep song speaks and where I grow too, and how far I have come, even when it can feel like staying still. Sharing our journal writing has been an important part of our group journey, and it is also a safe space for our own, private experiences.

In between the pages, the true voice can learn to sing. I know of many women who begin their journeys hiding their writing, finding inventive ways to take time out to write in their secret journals, hiding them in cisterns or under carpets. The Wild Woman is cunning. She always finds a a way of giving that space to howl, so that one day, when you are ready, you can just come right out and howl in public, with pride and passion!

EXERCISE
If you haven't already got one, go out and buy yourself a journal. Some people like to have plain notebooks, others like to have something ornate. Sometimes, I like to have the cheapest of children's exercise books, so I don't feel precious about scrawling in the pages. Whatever draws you to it, choose your journal as your friend, and begin to make space for writing every day. If you here a voice saying: "but I don't have the time" - you are hearing a HARPY (we will come to those later!) If you are doing this, here is a tip: everyone needs to go to the toilet, and it is usually the one place with a lock on the door. Start by writing your journal on the loo for 5 minutes a day. If nothing else, you will probably unblock something!

Clearing the River...

The Grieving Mother
Image Copyright Adam Clarke

I was deeply inspired by the book "Women Who Run with the Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. A funny tale really...I had kept the book on my shelf for a few years, occasionally retrieving it to read and returning it, finding it dense and impenetrable. Then, one day I picked it up and read it through in 3 days flat, barely able to lift my head from the pages. It spoke to me in ways that I was ready to hear and my own Wild Woman was called. Since then, I have heard many women say "oh yes - I have that book but I could never really get into it"...I reply that it is the kind of book that finds you if you need it, when you need it. I am indebted to the wisdom and stories of Clarissa P.E, as these formed the backbone of the first workshops I ran with Wild Women, combining what she taught me, with the intuition that guided me towards establishing the group in the first place.

One of the very first stories I used from her work was that of La Llorona. As I readied myself to share it around the fire, I warned the women gathered that it was not a happy tale, but one of sadness, betrayal and loss. I remember that as I read it, some of the women began to weep quietly, their souls responding at a deep level. Afterwards, I introduced the practice of 'intuitive writing' - this was to become a cornerstone of every meeting and is the practice of writing without stopping or censorship for a period of time. It is demanding, freeing and exhausting!

I asked of each of us to write intuitively for a short while, without stopping, about our own 'rivers' - what had we polluted them with? What dreams and ideas had we given birth to with no arms or legs, only to throw them away and then live with the loss? How were we the woman dredging that river, day after night? After we shared these in our circle, I asked the women to close their eyes and relax and we travelled on a visualisation, where we imagined the river as it was now, and then, slowly saw the clean, fresh water cleaning through the sludge until it ran clear. For some, this happened quickly. For others, it took time and repetitions. It is one I often return to - checking in to see what waste my river is full of and chucking out the odd supermarket trolley and old wellington boot!

With thanks to the author, I repeat La Llorona here for you, as it appears in Women Who Run With The Wolves:

"There was once a rich and powerful hidalgo who owned many factories along the banks of a great river. he had much wealth but was lonely. Each day, he would see the figure of a young woman, walking softly along the riverside, singing gently to herself. The words and songs would drift out over the water and on the wing up into his dark and dusty office. The woman was poor but her beauty was beyond compare. her hair flowed long behind her and glinted in the sun just as the dancing water that raced along the river's path and her voice was as sweet as the dew fresh nectar of the golden mango. It was not long before the rich hidalgo decided he wated her for himself and, being a man of much determination, he kept on until he had her heart. Each day, as his factories would churn and belch along the green river banks, the hidalgo and the river woman would slip away to a secret glan and there they would make love. Then the woman would swim naked in the water, diving deep down to the river bed to bring up emerald treasures for her lover. It came about that the woman bore two sons, twin boys, but they were born blind and deaf, with no arms or feet. The doctors told her it was the water from the river that had poisoned her, so full it was with the waste from her lovers factories. The woman wept when she saw them for she felt that she could not care for them. The hidalgo, on seeing his sons, turned away from the woman and pretended not to know her. Soon after, he married another woman - a rich woman who craved the things he made in his factories that polluted the river. Desperate, the woman bundled her babies on cloth and tied them with rope and stones and threw them into the river. Immediately after they sank to the bottom, the woman fell to her knees and howled, her grief was too much to bear. It broke her soul into a thousand fragments and she fell to the ground dead. Her soul rose up but it was sent back, tied to the earth until she could find the lost souls of her two innocents and so she began to search the river, up and down its miles of water, from the fall of the sun to the first break of dawn, to no avail. Night after night, she searches but she can hardly see through the dark and dirty water, each year that passes it grows more polluted. her ghost drags the river bed with her long, spindly fingers and her grey matted hair trawls through the stagnant water. All the time, she is calling for her children, unable to rest until she has found their lost souls."

It is a very powerful exercise, and one that felt important to begin with. Why not try it for yourself?

EXERCISE
Read through the above story - or have someone read it to you. When you are ready, pick up your pen and notebook, bring to mind your own 'river' and what you have polluted it with, or thrown away, and write for 10 minutes without stopping, reading through or correcting. Read this back to yourself and share if it feels appropriate. Now, find yourself a comfortable place to lie or sit, relax yourself through some deep breathing, becoming conscious of your own body and breath and let all else fade away. Now, bring into your mind your river - full of its stinking sludge and rot and see a clear stream fighting through. As you pull out the river weeds and rubbish, the stream gets stronger and stronger, clearing away with it deep troughs of waste and slime, until the river flows free and clean. Keep at this until the water flows freely. When you are ready, become conscious of your breath and body again and return to the room. Write again for 10 minutes, allowing the images and emotions from this experience to flow through into your writing. Share if it feels ok to do that.

Around the cookfire...

The friendships formed through the shared creative celebration of Wild Women are very important to us. In this transient, disjointed world, it is all too easy to lose touch with the value of simply sharing with other women. The sharing of creativity, stories, songs, poems, tears and laughter around the fire has been a deep female tradition for thousands of years, and yet, we are strangely disconnected from that community nowadays. One of the things that felt very important in starting Wild Women, was the creation of that shared supportive space. Not in the sense of a therapy group, but in the sense of a life sharing circle. And it was very apparent right from the start, that the old traditions were alive and well within us.

One of those was food - the sharing of and eating. I asked every participant to bring something to share for lunch. Right from the first session, this wonderful parade of dishes appeared, and as Adam prepared them in the kitchen, we shared our stories, wrote our poems and travelled our journeys. On return, we joined for a feast and there was certainly no mention of dieting! Infact, it was obviously such a central part of our union, that I extended the workshop time by an hour to give time for the eating! Eventually, this sharing of cooking and eating filtered into our writing, and became our second anthology "Hot Pot of Passion: A Sensual Celebration of Food" The book was written from a series of workshops that I lead, and edited by a group member Julie Stebbings. It was completely vegetarian, even the poems, and combined poems, recipes and love spells, celebrating the nourishment and sensuality of the Wild Women - and the first of its kind to be published - but here I am jumping ahead of ourselves!

On that subject though, one of our later members, Yvonne, has agreed to share with us her memories of Wild Women. Yvonne joined Wild Women on our 1 year anniversary, and it seemed as though she had always been with us! Although she did not take part in the first journey, the timing seemed just right, and she was soon a fully fledged 'wildie'. A dedicated healer and spiritual woman, Yvonne also has a passionate and wild side that I think is evident in her early poetry - and certainly in her dancing! She now lives in Scotland, and is a Reiki and crystal healer and Nia dance guide, but we meet for our annual retreats and at other gatherings. Here is her story, in her words...

Yvonne (left) and I at the launch of Hot Pot of Passion,
held at the Penrith Ballroom.
My favourite was the notice downstairs that read
"Wild Women in the Ball Room"!

'I joined Wild Women a number of months after it had first started, invited by Sal and Vikki who I already knew. I can remember setting off from Northumberland where I lived at that time in glorious sunshine and feeling a mixture of excitement and apprehension at joining an already established (indeed published!) group of women, when I had never done any creative writing myself. I needn’t have worried about not being accepted as everyone was really friendly and welcoming, and as interested in the gorgeous food for lunch as much as writing! I felt a bit out of depth as far as the writing went, as they were just starting work on the anthology ‘Hot Pot of Passion’, but felt incredibly proud at having a poem or two published (even if I didn’t think they were as good as the rest!) – Self-criticism was never allowed, so it’ll be interesting to see whether Vik prints this on her blog . . . . ☺ (I don't agree with Yvonne, but in the interest of honesty - yes, I have left that bit in!!! Vik) I still have some wonderful friends from the group and experienced their love and support when things were rough. In fact I know I can always count on their loving support if I hit the rocks again, which makes my heart smile in gratitude.'

And here is one of the poems from Yvonne, published in Hot Pot of Passion (the line layout has been affected by blog contraints and does not appear as it does in the book!):

If I Were a Three Course Meal

To start, I shall enliven your taste buds,
a variety of crisp green and red lettuce and rocket,
roughly chopped with tender tendrils of spring onion,
sweet and pungent, and a sprinkling of
dark earthy pumpkin seeds to add crunch.
Now comes the sensuous creamy slices of avocado
slithering around the glass bowl.
Next, toss in splashes of olive oil, tamari and lemon juice.
Serve, and enjoy the contrast of crunchy and smooth.

Now your taste buds have been jangled and are ready for the
feast.
Succulent vegetables grilled in olive oil
and shards of black peppercorns,
served with hot jersey pots glistening as the butter tumbles
slowly at first, then like an avalanche towards the base of the
dish.
Titbits of freshly picked chives garnish the top like confetti.
Then the spears, with their green and purple tips,
languishing seductively in the pool of melted juices.

Feeling sated? But we're not finished yet!
Here is my bowl of temptress fruits.
Cherries red and plump, soft pink raspberries brimming with
juice.
Red grapes, tart on the outside but surprisingly sweet within.
And the lovers' fruit, strawberries,
already dipped in sugar and cream
and licked clean before tasting their sweet red juices!

CREATIVE EXERCISE
Now your turn...the creative exploration was to imagine yourself as a food or a meal - what would you be, what food or meal could describe the person you are? Now, write yourself from that perspective... and see what you cook up!

From Small Seeds...

The commitment that each woman made on that first day of Wild Women was deep and life changing. I don't think any of us knew where it would take us, and that was both exciting and scary. It is much easier after all to stay within our safety zones, rather than to wake up and realise who we are and what path we are on. Of course, it is a long and circuitous path - and we often pass ourselves along they way, but ever since that first moment, the Wild Woman has had a voice!

Today, another member of that first meeting has offered to share with us the small seed of that beginning...

Gill Hands before a reading at the Poetry Cafe 2007 -
at the start of Wild Women she was terrified by reading in public!
Now you can't stop her...

Gill Hands was one of the first 12 women to join Wild Women, and since then we have published a great deal of her poetry, including 2 full collections, Internet Love Slut and Rilke Tattoo. Her voice is totally original and at once, bold and sexual; delicate and tentative. I have had the pleasure of performing with Gill a number of times, including at Glastonbury Festival in 2005. Not only has she fully come out as a poet, but she has explored her creativity and being in so many ways I couldn't begin to recount them here!

In the spirit of this blog, Gill agreed to share with us the following extracts from her journal, written in the first week of Wild Women - where we see the Wild Woman she is emerging between the pages:

"sat-13 march Really enjoyed the [Wild Women] writing workshop today and felt empowered. It was exciting to meet other people who feel the same way about writing as I do. So many seemed to have had their passion for writing sucked or knocked out of them. Well now we are going to claim it back! sun 14 Something is opening up inside me, a bit muddled and hesitant. I started crying in the bath last night. Things are starting to move and I'm not sure if I want to be a wild woman. It rubs off the nice comfortable rounded corners and leaves you with raw edges. I need to know who I am and be me before I can take off and fly. mon 15 Spent ages cleaning up and messing about rather than write. Very erratic in the brain today. Part of me is very optomistic but there is a horrible foreboding of doom that is very unpleasant. I don't want to look at the reasons why just now. sat 20 Had a bad harpy moment- worrying about what poems to read for the last session of the Higham Hall writing course. They all seem crap. How can I read any of them in front of the pussy bow ladies? If I use the word minge they will die. one of my harpies must be being 'nice' and not writing anything disturbing. (well I do write it but I don't show it to anyone.) I asked Brian if I should cheat and put some in by Ted Hughes to see if anyone would notice. He said why? does he write crap poems too? so I told him to fuck off. when I rang Ruth she was very supportive and told me not to be embarrased as my poems are good and to imagine the pussy bow ladies in the nude on the toilet."

Gill has since used words much more challenging than minge, and has had her poetry once described as 'the wrong shade of lavender' by a reviewer. You can see more of her poetry on www.wildwomenpress.com, and you can follow her surreal journey by visiting her blog on http://darkblondes.blogspot.com.

For now, I leave you with the first poem from her second collection Rilke Tattoo, published October 2006 by Wild Women Press. In this wonderful and unsettling collection, the POET descends into the abyss of creativity, revealing in surreal, witty and sometimes disarmingly vulnerable vignettes the process and inspiration behind the writing of poetry and the all important, and challenging self- acceptance of one's own voice. I love Gill's work and I love sharing the journey with her.

THE POET Speaks

I will make myself
THE POET
in big black capitals.

Less painful than RILKE
inscribed on my arm,
less complicated than upside-down writing
on a T shirt
with the message to myself…

“YOU ARE A POET, THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.”

I will refer to myself in the third person;
will write THE POET did this,

or that,

or the other.

Lately, it has been the other.

(Rilke Tattoo, copyright Gill Hands, published Wild Women Press 2006)

The Group Contract

A Wild Howl
from me and some of the members of the first Wild Women group
(as Ruth pointed out the other day - we've been going so long our first picture is in SEPIA!)

In that very first meeting, I encouraged the group to get to know each other, dividing them into pairs and asking that they introduce themselves, telling their partner the story of who they were, including 3 things that did not include the usual subjects (e.g. what their relationship status was/what they did) but instead to share something of themselves that was unique to them, and something also that was hidden - a fear and a secret desire or wish. We then introduced our partner to the group and listened to our stories. This enabled us to meet each other on a much deeper level than normal, and also set the way for the honest sharing that is the hallmark of the Wild Women group. It also lead to the interesting experience later on of knowing the deepest thins about one another, but not knowing each other's surnames!

It was an important thing to do, and I remember feeling so honoured to share in those beautiful stories, that even then shared joys, sadness and hope.

I then asked the group to share what was important to them in these meetings, what they needed to feel safe, what they wanted to receive from each other. From this we wrote our Group Contract and this became our guide over the next 10 meetings, and also became embedded in the journey we took. It helped us to remember what we promised to each other, and also to ourselves, what we had promised by way of nurturing the Wild Woman in our souls. In many ways, it is still at the bedrock of our clan and our way of living.

So, here it is, after all these years...

We, the Wild Women agree to:

Honour and nurture the Wild Woman Spirit in ourselves and each other;

Respect each other, our needs, views, beliefs, dreams, ideas and thoughts;

Be proud of our creativity and share our creative expressions
with pride, confidence and without apology!

Work together to create a safe space for each individual to
explore, express and celebrate their unique self;

Be nurturing of each other's creativity;

Offer "loving honesty" in a positive and supportive way;

Offer validation of each other's ideas, thoughts, dreams;

Be open and unconditional in our positive regard for each other;

Be non-judgmental in our attitudes, beliefs and comments;

Speak from the I and own our ideas and thoughts;

Offer positive encouragement;

Acknowledge our own and each other's specialness;

Maintain confidentiality within the group and to be clear when we are
sharing something that we wish to remain only within the group;

Be clear and assertive with our needs and wants;

Be willing to HAVE A GO, even when it feels a bit strange
and scary, and to support each other in this!

This last one was, and is still, really important. Through that willingness to take those leaps of faith, we have discovered so much. Without it, it is too easy to remain in the comfort zone of being who we think we 'should be', instead of discovering and celebrating who we are. But the journey is one rich with challenge and reward, as we were to discover, because once you step off, you find no matter how much you want to go back at times, you can't. The Wild Woman is awake and she isn't going back!

The First Time...

The meeting of Wild Women was special for us all. Sometimes it feels as though it was unavoidable. Ruth Snowden was one of the first Wild Women to join us. Infact, I sometimes think that Ruth "knitted" the notion in my mind! Now, Ruth is called White Owl by many, and I recently discovered that when she had been writing in her journal for somewhere to meet other wild women, I had been walking in my local countryside and had stumbled upon a white owl in a tree. She (the owl) and I just stared at each other for a while before we went our own ways, but I remember feeling distinctly spoken to at the time! A week later I had the dream about Wild Women. Over the years, we have experienced many such 'strange experiences' - so much so that we no longer call them strange!

I have had the pleasure of sharing the journey with her since that initial encounter, and I asked Ruth if she would share with us her memory of the very first meeting of Wild Women (in human form!) and what it has meant for her. This is her story...thanks Ruth for sharing your tale...

Joining Wild Women

"I can still remember sitting on the sofa at Vik’s place, deep in the countryside at Whale, the day of that first meeting. I was waiting for the others to arrive and already I felt an inner peace seeping into my bones, a feeling of `rightness’. As I watched woman after woman walking in, dressed in interesting, creative and artistic clothes, I thought to myself yes! Here they are at last – the people like me. This is my tribe! I was not wrong. I was three years into my career as a professional writer, with numerous articles in magazines and newspapers and my first book Working with Dreams already under my belt – but I was yet to discover my real passion and my true voice. My inner poet had been gagged and bound since I went to university at eighteen and I was afraid to stand up and say this is me, this is who I really am. That day, guided by Vik, I began a journey of self-discovery that was to plunge me head-long into the sea of my own soul. We wrote for our lives, witnessed one another’s tears and triumphs, did wild drumming and dancing, shared sumptuous feasts and ate an abundance of chocolate. There was no going back, nor would I ever want to. From that day on I have always been proud to stand up in the darkness, throw my arms wide to the moon and howl I am a Wild Woman."

Since that first day, Ruth has published many beautiful poems with Wild Women Press, and we released her first collection in 2004, called Green Dusk for Dreams.


One of the first things I noticed about Ruth's voice was her uncanny ability to jump through time to inhabit other people, places and even, at times, species! Hers is an evocative, feminine voice that is both tender and fierce, as a Wild Woman is. Here is the first poem in that collection:

The Morning After

She woke in damp grey dawn,
trying to claw her way back down into sleep;
her limbs numb from the cold stone floor;
her mind screaming at the unreality of it all
and the silence now that they had gone.

Had there been shepherds, kneeling before her?
Rough faces, bristly, pushing to get a look?
Ordinary folk, struggling in with baskets of bread, olives, figs?
Was there frankincense coiling from the mean fire?
The sharp smell of myrrh, calling up deep memory,
stirring unseen presences in the dark?

The babe whimpered, nuzzling for more,
stretching hands like tiny stars.
Then he paused, letting the nipple fall
from his slack mouth rimmed with curdy milk.
He burped, dribbled; gazed right at her
with ancient opal eyes that saw all things.

She wrapped him close, tight against the fear
that ran like rats in shadowed corners.
Wishing he were not a God; tearing him
from the chasm of another, distant, morning.

(Green Dusk For Dreams, Wild Women Press, 2004 Copyright: Ruth Snowden)

You can find out more about Ruth's ongoing adventure by visiting her blog Journal of a Wise Woman...and she will be back with us on our Wild Woman adventure with more tales of magic, mystery and creative journeying.