A Word on Witch Hunts – I don’t think it means what you think it means

The phrase “witch hunt” seems to be cropping up a lot recently, and not just because it’s Halloween. It’s been used in relation to the investigation into collusion between Russia and the US government and in association with the powerful #MeToo campaign. Neither are witch hunts in the original sense of the word because in both causes, they are seeking specific wrong doing. If they are witch hunts, we need to rename our police force the Witchfinder Generals.

The phrase refers to trials of witches who were accused of causing harm by magical means. Anything from having red hair or being left handed to being independent or promiscuous could be used as proof of witchcraft. The point about witch trials, as made so powerfully in Arthur Miller’s iconic play The Crucible, is that the charges are arbitrary and the accused are clearly innocent. There may be an argument that there was, at the heart of the McCarthy-era witch hunt for communists that inspired Miller’s play, a sense that there was some wrong doing. However, the way that people were accused, the hysteria and distinct lack of proof made it closer to Salem than a search for justice. These recent cases have led to criminal investigations, and those simply aren’t initiated because someone starts a whisper campaign that leads to hysteria. In short, there is more than a discarded poppet behind the Russian investigation and there is no more a witch hunt against Harvey Weinstein than there was against the Yorkshire Ripper.

Words and phrases can evolve, however. Lindy West’s excellent article Yes, This is a Witch Hunt. I’m a Witch and I’m Hunting You turns the idea on its head. Instead of hunting for witches or their modern day equivalent, she suggests, the #MeToo campaign is empowering women and hunting down oppressors. There has been an increase in women identifying with the figure of the witch along these lines; witches, after all, have independence and power. In stories, they often get the best plot lines and have a lot more fun, even if they’re made to pay for it. Why not change the story and own the insult? While this is not the original intention of the phrase, it’s a positive development.

I’m not OK with powerful men crying witch hunt when they get found out because it’s an emotive phrase with the weight of brutal history behind it. It’s different when women do it because it’s our history and has been repeated in so many ways over generations. We’re not living in the village of Shirley Jackson’s haunting short story The Lottery and what’s happening now is neither arbitrary nor unfounded. It’s been a long time coming, and so perhaps it is time for witches to step out from the shadows and start hunting.

I have a poem over at Dodging the Rain today in which I own my inner-witch. It’s a call to arms for women to raise their voices and embrace their power; I couldn’t have known when I wrote it just how relevant it would be. What I do know is that we have to listen to these voices. Believe women as they step out from the darkness. Together, they have power you can’t imagine.

#MeToo and the Importance of Finding the Words

There’s something at once depressing and profoundly uplifting about how fast the hashtag #MeToo started trending across the world. Women from all walks of life and all ages shared their stories of sexual harassment, some perhaps for the first time. It may feel like nothing – a few more words sent off to the ether, jumbled with all the other endless words on the internet. In fact, it’s a revolutionary act, rejecting that this is either the fault of the victim, or just the way things are. The more women speak up, the more varied the circumstances and outcomes, the easier it becomes to see that there should be no shame attached to women and something has to change.

I have my own stories in the #MeToo vein, I think all women do. I have almost shared and hesitated several times, demonstrating how deep the problem goes. Perhaps my stories aren’t dramatic enough, perhaps I should have been more careful, perhaps I can’t explain that cold, sweating shame inside me without being stained by it, without somehow taking the blame. This is why women stay silent, and why it’s so uplifting that so many women are speaking up. Articulating these issues as a problem is the first step to changing them, and that’s the hard part. Finding the words for something like this, something that is so deeply, socially and institutionally ingrained in all of us, takes more than courage, it takes poetry.

I have some wise words by Audre Lorde stuck above my desk to remind me why I write and why I need to keep going as I head further down the rabbit hole of my PhD studies. 

For women, then, poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams towards survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.

One of the reasons that I chose Audre Lorde as one of the poets to study was because of this quote. It made me think of the witches in Macbeth who talk about “a deed without a name,” and I wonder how much living in today’s society as a woman is still a deed without a name. We lack the language and the audience to be able to express our experience, at times. Poetry has a role in helping us reach that expression, and it’s why I chose both to study female poets for my PhD and why I’m using the history and mythology of witches as a lens to channel that expression in my own creative work. I may not yet have the words to succinctly add my own #MeToo to the beautiful angry chorus arising online, but I am working towards it.

If you’re interested in learning more about Audre Lorde (and you should be, she was a phenomenal woman, activist and poet) there’s a launch event at Waterstone’s Tottenham Court Road for her collected essays and poetry, Your Silence Will Not Protect You next month. It feels like this collection is incredibly timely and much needed and I’m looking forward to more inspiration and writerly fire at the event.

Exclude me from this narrative

Something really weird happened today, or certainly something really weird for me. Something I tweeted a couple of weeks ago got picked up by a couple of total strangers who then proceeded to fight each other over something very strange and petty, tagging me in at each stage in the conversation. My original tweet had been about enjoying a night of live music with my Mum, and now all of a sudden these people were arguing about the relationship status of one of the musicians and it’s bugged me a whole lot more than it should.

I think the first reason is because I try to keep things positive on social media. I don’t understand people who feel compelled to share online the films or books they didn’t like, or the public figures that annoy them. If I love something, I share it and if I see a film that I wasn’t so impressed by, for example, I keep quiet because maybe I wasn’t in the right mood, or maybe it just wasn’t my thing. I don’t see what value it serves, just like gossip and bickering in a public forum don’t do any good, either.

I have an aversion to bitchiness and gossip that goes back to being bullied at school; I can’t understand why people don’t take more care over how they behave online. I get that this is a first world problem of course; I just got tagged in a heated discussion of celebrity gossip, I mean so what? I guess it bothered me because the matter they were discussing was hugely relevant to me; like the figure they were discussing, I’ve been single for a number of years, too. They couldn’t have known that, and obviously I’m not imagining my love life invites the same level of speculation as a celebrity. It just reminded me of something that I still wonder about - when I post about loving a play or concert, when I share my writing, is there a contingent of people who ignore all that good and can’t focus on anything but the fact that I’m single? Are there people side swiping all the joy that comes from art for a chance of some grubby gossip?

I think this matters beyond what annoys me. A recent Guardian article looked at how addictive features are built into social media. This means we’re getting hooked on the positive reinforcement of approval, but I think too many people crave any kind of attention, even if that means inviting negativity. As this is World Mental Health Day, I have to take a breath to think about what this all means. If we’re all getting hooked on attention, and negativity seems to garner more attention – as ever the squeaky wheel gets the grease – then what are we letting ourselves in for? I’m not trying to put forward some kind of Pollyanna vision here. The bewildering range of social injustice across the world makes me angry and I’m not afraid to say so. I’m not burying my head in the sand, but I don’t call a roar for change negativity. Anything that highlights injustice and leads to change can only help our mental health.

But for the other side of social media, the side that likes to gossip, or pick fights, I’m going to keep myself away from all that. I want to focus on the things that give me joy – the people I love, the art that comforts and inspires me and the writing that I can’t live without. Maybe people will still gossip behind my back but to be honest, as long as I don’t have to hear it, I’m not sure how much I care. I’m going to focus on the positives and so with that, let’s take this full circle. For World Mental Health Day, here is the music that I so enjoyed with my Mum, from a musician who gave me a memory I will always treasure.

Back away from the gossip and the negativity for your own mental health. You’re much better off finding ways like this to make your soul sing.

Student Days

I officially registered for my PhD today and I’m at once thrilled and terrified. I’m excited about the work I’m doing and somewhat daunted by the long road ahead. I honestly never thought I would be able to do something like this – not rich enough, not clever enough, not creative enough, just plain not enough, I suppose. When you don’t come from an academic background, those opportunities appear to be for other people and it’s taken a lot for me to overcome that assumption and even get as far as day one.

I know that it’s not going to be easy, and that I’ll have many obstacles along the way. One of the few things in my favour is that I seem to thrive in that environment. It’s not a skill I wish to have, I’d rather be one of those luckier people who breeze through life but I’m not. It is something, at least, to know that when all else fails, my resolve never will.

When I started writing, I wanted to see what I could do if I really tried. It’s a scary thing; if you never try, you can always imagine the potential you might have had if it hadn’t been for a career, family or life getting in the way. Once you start, at any point you could realise that perhaps this isn’t the path you’re meant to travel, that your talent exists only in your own imagination.

At every point in my development – first an Open University course, then some Arvon courses, and most recently an MA, I’ve been waiting for someone to tell me I don’t belong there. No one has yet, so while I may have to fight off that imposter syndrome in my own mind, the truth is that I’m doing OK. I work hard at my writing and while I’m writing, I believe in it. This wavers after each rejection, then I take a deep breath and resubmit my work elsewhere. My belief in myself may be fragile, but that’s all the more reason for me to protect it so fiercely.

So here I go, about to start a course of study that’s going to take me to some dark places, creatively and mentally. I’m confident there will also be many moments of light because there always is. I was saddened today to hear of the loss of Tom Petty, but grateful that it prompted me to rediscover his music. One song in particular has reminded me who I am and that whatever challenges may lie ahead for me as a student, I won’t back down.

Music video by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers performing I Won't Back Down. (C) 1989 Geffen Records

Pop Quiz Writers: What do you do?

I’m getting my head around starting a PhD next month and earlier this week I undertook the mammoth task of tidying my desk. It’s amazing the difference it makes, looking at it now gives me a feeling of control that is otherwise slightly lacking in my frame of mind as I leap into the unknown. It also gives me a sense of possibility about my writing, rather than looking at the random pile of papers and post-its that was there previously and inspires nothing more than a passing thought of “eugh, I need to sort that out.”

I was thinking about the difference those couple of hours of effort has made to my mind set when I met with a writer friend yesterday and we got to talking about the rituals we undertook before we started writing. There’s nothing magical in intent or result about these rituals, we have not unlocked unparalleled access to a mythical muse. It’s more about getting your head in the right space to concentrate on what you need to do – and sometimes trick yourself into writing even when you don’t initially feel inspired. Some people light candles or meditate; others seek out the perfect soundtrack and begin writing when the music starts. I have a writing cardigan and when I’m wearing that, it’s time to get to work.

There are some aspects of writing that can’t be taught and the writing ritual is one of them. You have to find your own way, let the process evolve and trust what works for you. What I call my writing cardigan has no inherently literary or magical properties; it’s one that my Mum knitted for me when I was a teenager and at this point it’s a little frayed and lost its shape. Because I love it, I can’t let it go and initially I would wear it when I was writing because that’s something I do at home on my own and frankly it’s probably not fit to be worn in the outside world. Over time, it became a signal to my mind that I was going to be staying at home and writing whenever I put it on.

I think that’s what the writing ritual is all about. We all have lives outside of writing, and most of the time you’re working hard to keep that going – whether that’s working to keep a roof over your head, looking after children or just the smaller things like keeping food in your cupboard or making sure your car has had its MOT. It’s something very personal and it depends on how you write, and how much time you have. If you have all day, by all means take an hour to meditate and do what you need to in order to get your head in the right space. If you’re cramming writing into an already busy life, it may be that you just need to take a deep breath and connect with your writing. You don’t need a clear day, a perfect space, a tidy desk or your lucky table at a coffee shop to do good work, but if you’re finding a lot of other things competing for your attention, the ritual can help.

I think the other thing about rituals is that you’re bringing some level of magical thinking into play, and that’s another important part of the process. I am aware that from the outside, my writing cardigan is faintly ridiculous, and there’s not really any chance that it would help to lend it to anyone else if they were stuck. I can – and do – write without it. However, if you’re struggling with maintaining your momentum, or finding the idea of your big project daunting, clearing a space to write and finding a way to get yourself there can make a big difference. Now if you’ll excuse me, my cardigan and I have some work to do. 

Honey, let me READ

I don’t like book snobbery. I don’t like it when people think they’re better than others due to a combination of their education and personal tastes leading them to like books labelled “literary” instead of “genre”. Some prejudices may dissipate in time – Naomi Alderman’s incredible sci-fi novel recently won the Baileys Prize, fantasy series Game of Thrones is mainstream and you only need look at the raft of amazing films and TV series that are currently popular to know how rich the storytelling is in graphic novels. So maybe the snobs will stop telling people what to read, but how to read appears to be another issue.

Really, it’s the same issue in a different hipster outfit. Books aren’t sacred objects. You can dog-ear pages, crack spines, scribble notes, spill your dinner on the cover or read in the bath and let the pages get crinkled and this doesn’t mean you love or appreciate books any less. The magic of reading doesn’t reside in the book - it lives inside you. I asked Simon, a smart bookworm friend of mine, where he stood on things like folding over pages to keep your place in a book and he said the most beautiful thing. “Every book is a museum of fossilised sound.” I loved that because I hear every book I read, and fossilised highlights just how robust it is, how lasting an effect books can have. Glyn Maxwell talks about how you feel good poetry throughout your whole body. It doesn’t really matter if you read it in a pristine first edition, on a kindle, or in a battered paperback, what matters is what you hear and feel as a result of reading.

And OK, yes I know this is petty, but it’s important to me because book snobbery puts people off reading. I’m not sure that those people who claim to love literature and then look down on others for reading different things or treating their books differently do really love it. Perhaps they love feeling cleverer than other people. Perhaps they like their smart bookshelves more than piles of crumpled titles scattered around a house because they look better. But if they cared about literature they wouldn’t care what and how other people read because all readers keep literature alive.

It also matters because if you get too precious about books then kids won’t read them. They have to be able to read what they want, without being afraid of getting shouted at for reading the wrong thing, or not looking after their book. In short, they have to be a part of their lives and you have to let kids love books in the same way they wear down the fur on a favourite teddy bear. I recently took my niece and nephew to see the musical of Matilda and they were genuinely shocked when Mr Wormwood destroyed her beloved books. This despite the fact their own books get folded in their bags, splattered with milk from reading over breakfast or rumpled in bed. That’s because letting books get worn is not the same as disrespecting them.

Listen, if you like keeping your books pristine, then be my guest. You do you, honey. Personally, I don’t care what state my books are in as long as I can read the words inside them. I have a copy of The Crow Road that has literally travelled all round the world after I lent it to a friend when he went travelling and it really looks like its seen some shit. I love that book. I love that my friend, not a big reader, took it with him everywhere he went and read the whole thing. I don’t care that it’s now battered, I care that another person read a beautiful story. If it falls apart, I’ll get another copy or I’ll download it on kindle, I’ll get the exact same story whatever form it’s in.

There’s too much judgement in the world as it is, so really, is folding down the pages of books the hill you’re choosing to die on? Let people live and honey, let me READ.

The revolution will be feminised

The realisation that sexism was a thing came to me pretty late in life. I’m one of three sisters, so there was no brother in my family enjoy more privileges or freedom. My Dad was a nurse, so there were no real gender roles, either. I even went to an all girls’ high school until I was 16. I know that this makes me lucky. I grew up thinking I could do whatever I wanted if I worked for it, and I want the same for every little girl.

Sometimes I despair because it feels like the world is going backwards, but there is reason to hope. I love the twitter account @read_women that shares books written by female writers, often on a topical theme. Whatever is happening in the world, women have written about it and this account exists just to share that work and raise awareness. There’s no profit in it, just a community of people who love reading and raise up female writers who may have been consigned to history or the dreaded “female fiction” label.

Another example is the Guilty Feminist podcast, which makes me laugh a lot. It is characterised by a warm inclusiveness that allows women to be imperfect and I think that’s important. I think comedy can also be very valuable as a means of understanding the world. The podcast does an excellent job of tackling serious feminist issues alongside more light-hearted matters, which means no one takes themselves too seriously.

A third example is Salomé magazine. The editors accepted one of my poems for publication recently and I’m very proud to be a small part of their magazine. I’m also astounded by how lovely the team are, and how principled. They believe in paying writers, so they do. They believe everyone should receive feedback to help them with future submissions, so they do that too. It does make me wonder how so many more established magazines can’t achieve something that these determined women have done in a very short space of time. They are also organising a Summer Party and despite the fact that I’m slightly nervous, I’ll be reading my poem at the event. I’ve had such a warm welcome on twitter that I feel reassured that it will be a fun and supportive environment, one that has been created specifically to help emerging female writers.

What all of these examples have in common is that they’re co-operative, generous in spirit and supportive of others. This seems to me like a new model, distinct from the idea of clawing up a ladder alone to get to the top, and it also seems distinctly female. Feminism has a long road to travel; I know I have a lot to learn personally. We need more intersectional feminism that welcomes even more diverse voices in the conversation, for example, and art has a vital role to play in sharing those voices. You could imagine Annie Lennox and Aretha Franklin singing at this point but I actually think the way things are going, it’s not just that sisters are doing it for themselves; they’re doing it for each other and that’s what is so powerful.

Why drag politics into it?

My favourite thing about Jeremy Corbyn gracing the covers of both the NME and Kerrang in the run up to the election is that more austere media have to describe what they are. I imagine the writer with a face like they’re sucking a lemon as they type “rock magazine Kerrang” in relation to a political story. It seems to have sparked debate amongst rock fans and beyond about whether politics should be included in a music magazine. In these politically polarised times it seems artists of all kinds are told to keep politics out of what they do.

Fuck that.

Musicians, writers, filmmakers, comedians, actors and more are told to stick to the day job by people who don’t seem to realise that it’s impossible because all art is political. It doesn’t matter whether the work is political in intent, whether it has some measure of political thought buried in the subtext or whether it’s nowhere to be found. The act of creating something is always an act of defiance in one way or another. Whether you’re kicking down the constraints of patriarchy, illuminating the impact of war or showing a young couple fall in love against socially-constructed barriers, it’s all political.

As with all art, rock music has been, and continues to be, part of my political education. If established political figures and commentators are worried about scruffy hordes of rock fans taking over their territory, they should be. We’re a lot better informed that you might imagine. If some people are uncomfortable that a music magazine is openly espousing more liberal views than they hold, they’re idiots who appear to have missed the point of the very thing they claim to love. Like the people genuinely surprised that Harry Potter author JK Rowling has anti-fascist, liberal views, it shows a startling lack of understanding. One of the incredible things that art can do is unearth such dissonance of thought and start a conversation.

As an aside, my least favourite thing about the Kerrang business is that I keep imagining someone like Zach de la Rocha reading all the internet comments about how politics doesn’t belong in rock music and shedding a few tears. I’m comforted by the thought that he’ll get an incredible song out of it, though.

 

Personal interlude

The Bank Holiday weekend was a bit strange for me. I learned on the Friday that a friend was getting married on the Sunday and from my distinct lack of knowledge I was clearly never invited. I was a little bit hurt; this was a friend who had drifted away after they found a new partner and yet still I had always thought they’d be back in my life one day. It felt like a faint line was being drawn under the friendship. Over the weekend, I got messages from various mutual friends asking me why I wasn’t there and whether I had known it was happening. That made it feel a lot more definite and that line became much more permanent.

I’m not going to go into a lot of history because it’s not really that relevant. I was a good friend to this person and at a time when I needed support, they weren’t there for me because they were caught up in their romance. Perhaps I did something to warrant their disappearance from my life, I honestly don’t know. Friends have theorised various scenarios and what they all demonstrate is the incredible loyalty and kindness my friends show me all the time.

As well as helping me to remember that my friends are wonderful people, the whole situation made me realise something about what we do and don’t say, what is and isn’t included. It’s possible that this errant friend realised their mistake and felt too awkward to get in touch, for example. It may have felt easier to just slink away, even though I think we all understand when people get overwhelmed, or over-excited or just too damn busy to keep in touch all the time.

The interesting thing is that one slightly awkward conversation and my attendance at – or at the least, awareness of – the wedding would have meant no one else would have known that we never really spoke any more. There was never an argument, and yet the severance of the friendship is absolute and maybe difficult questions would be asked. My presence would have made the absence of friendship less visible to the wider world. Silence didn’t keep the distance between us hidden; on the contrary, it exposed and amplified it.

I’m not sure what all this means, but it’s an interesting idea for a writer. How loudly do the things we consciously edit from our work echo in the final draft? What is the effect of all the things we don’t say? What is happening behind the scenes of the primary action? I don’t have any answers; it’s just something I’ll be thinking about over the next few weeks as I work on some new poems.

Maybe one day I’ll write about this whole situation and how it feels. I’m not so sure on that, because I try to focus on the positives wherever I can. Maybe I’ll write about my brilliant remaining friends instead. Or perhaps something that shows that dark moments illuminate both the light in our lives and secrets about the strange business of writing.

 

And just for the record, despite everything I wish this former friend of mine the utmost happiness. I wish I could have been at their wedding to tell them so. I’ve learned from this that what isn’t said can also hold weight, so perhaps the on going silence will pass on my good wishes somehow.

Human beings suffer

I’m sure from the outside, the lives of writers and artists look easy. I mean, all you have to do is spend a lot of time doing the thing you love, right? If you’re a writer, it means you spend a lot of time writing and reading, which is all I ever really wanted to do so I can see that it might look easy. It means engaging your imagination throughout every aspect of your life, which is a way of truly appreciating it. The challenge, and the place where the real work comes in, is to keep doing these things when the everyday stuff of life gets in the way.

When it comes to major events, from a personal loss to national horrors such as the recent Manchester bombing, things get even harder. I’m not saying for a second that it’s harder for artists. It’s not. I lost my Dad a few years ago and I don’t think it was tougher on me than on my sisters just because I’m a writer. I’ve been following the news about the attack in Manchester with the same horror as everyone else. I’m not kidding myself that I’m somehow special or more sensitive. When I think of writing about it, lines from Seamus Heaney’s poem The Cure at Troy keep recurring in my head:

 
No poem or play or song
Can fully right a wrong
Inflicted and endured.

That doesn’t mean it’s pointless to keep going in dark times. Poetry, for me, is about understanding; it has as many roots in kindness as it does in language. Looking at the world in a new way can help us to appreciate it, see things from a different perspective or articulate feelings we’re struggling to understand. Poetry is also about joy. Poets write for the sheer joy of it, and that’s a good thing to be sending out into the world right now. It can be hard to hold on to that when horrific events take us so far from it, but I feel that artists of all stripes have an obligation to persevere.

The obligation is there not because artists have been marked out for some special reason. It’s because it’s incumbent on everyone to keep going, to find kindness and love in even the most horrific of circumstances. There is as much courage in a teenage girl putting on a sparkly t-shirt and dancing at a pop concert as there is in a writer trying to find a new way to express an old idea.

What’s my point here? Life is hard, human beings suffer and it can be hard to make sense of it all. All we can do as artists is stay connected to kindness and joy. All we can do as people is share that same kindness and joy with others and never, ever stop dancing.