Namaste

 I wrote this poem back in June and looking back on it now, realise how much of my journey this year is captured in it.  This year has been a process of self-recognition.

Namaste

 

I see you.

        Full of spirit,

                puzzled, dismayed

                        by religion

                making you wrong

        for being you.

 

I see you.

        Shocked yet curious,

                images and words

                        in those magazines

                                making you feel dirty

                        so seeking

                a common denominator

        in lieu of confession.

 

I see you.

        Devastated by first love.

                Alone in the world

                        yet glimpsing beside you

                your father, holding,

        a possibility of forgiveness

and worth.

 

I see you.

        Numb, disbelieving

                that thread of possibility

                        gone with his death.

Your worth drowning.

                        A spirited hurl

                of the baby

        out with the bathwater.

 

I see you

        seeking love

                pure and simple,

                        being caught

                                in the snowball

                                        that gathers momentum

then crashes in a heap

 

like your marriage.

 

I see you.

 

BY JEANETTE JONES

Relationship Building 101

I strongly believe that world peace starts with me/us individually - "let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me"

Let There Be Peace on Earth

... and for me, that means the relationships going on inside myself.  Internal Family Systems along with any 'parts' theory in the psychology world helps us to consider how we are at war with ourselves.  

This last weekend, for example, I have noticed: 

• the part of me that wants approval from other battling with the part of me that wants to do things my way; 
• the part of me that has dependents needs battling with the part of me that values independence; 
• the part of me that knows those chips aren't good for me battling with the part of me that just wants the satisfying saltiness and crunch; 
• the part of me that knows I 'should' be working on my business and the part of me that just wants a relaxing weekend responsible for nothing.  

Exploring how our parts interact with themselves and 'other', in relationship, is a current fascination.

The table below (I call it Relationship Building 101) contains some thoughts on what capacities are required, first at an internal level, between parts of ourselves and hopefully once we have practised that for a while, we can move on to practising with those we love.  

BY JEANETTE JONES

Accepting Differences, Honouring Oneself, Embracing Commonalities

Accepting Differences ~~ Honouring Oneself ~~ Embracing Commonalities

How to be in relationships?  We are surrounded by relationships in our lives, whether we are at work, at play or at home.  We may have been challenged over the last few months as we have attempted to perhaps spend more time than usual with our loved ones, or spend time with others in a very different context.  Even when we are seemingly alone, our relationship with ourselves is always present.

Having completely changed my living situation recently, I have loved (and been challenged by) discovering and accepting differences between myself and those I live with.  It has been a discovery process that is held in a context of our united desire to remain respectful and accepting of our differences.  A helpful tool has been looking at our personalities through the lens of the Persona Grata work, where our personality is characterized by a unique blend of six or seven birds or animals representing archetypes.  By using this tool we have been able to look slightly more objectively at our personal preferences and tendencies.  The objectivity seems to allow us to notice, talk about and accept our differences more readily and enable us not to fall into defensiveness.

However, when we begin to differentiate from others by noticing our differences, it can be easy to focus too much on those differences to the extent that we feel separate from each other in an isolating way.  We are wired to seek to ‘belong’ and our tendency is to find others who are ‘like us’ in order to attain that sense of belonging.  This then can lead to exclusion of others when we prize what makes us (who we have defined ourselves as individually or as a group) tick above what makes others tick.  So how do we honour who we are and also honour others? 

This is where the Persona Grata work, or any other way of looking at ourselves as made up of parts (subpersonality model in psychosynthesis, Internal Family Systems model) is really useful.  When we can accept ourselves as a blend of different parts with various priorities, strengths and weaknesses, and really get to know these parts, we become enabled to step forward in our awareness and activate our personal will to at least listen to all parts of ourselves and make our decisions from a place of objectivity that is aligned with our purpose, meaning and values (like a parent guiding a family or a conductor leading an orchestra).

In turn, once we can do that for ourselves (for the most part, nobody is perfect!), it becomes more possible to view our community, our country, humanity or all life on this planet as being composed of different parts with various priorities, strengths and weaknesses, to listen to those parts with an open mind and hopefully to find ways to honour those differences from a perspective of ‘the whole’ rather than the part.  Questions I have found helpful are:

What is this part trying to express? 

What does this part need?

What do these parts have in common?

What can we hold as a common, overall purpose, meaning and value?

Whatever issue you are dealing with at the moment, start with listening to every part of you and see how far your love and compassion can extend!

BY JEANETTE JONES

Natural change

Written on Mother's Day, 2009, I was reminded of this poem tonight as I reflected with a friend how much we appreciate the environment we live in, with exactly this view of nature greeting us every day, when we remember to really look.

I watch mindlessly from above
the to-ing and fro-ing,
the hustle and bustle of people,
traffic, coming and going here,
there and everywhere.

It takes a while
for my eyes to lift, and see,
then it hits me -
insignificant scurrying,
incessant worrying,
constant lowering
of my sights.

For there, casually kissing
the horizon, I see
steadfastness,
timelessness,
inarguable solidity
in the stillness of the trees,
in the setting sun,
hills carving a forever line
in the sky,
reflected in the constant caress
of water, slowly flowing.

I want to slow myself down
to the pace of the trees,
the water, the hills.

From day to night,
through seasonal shifts,
despite the onslaught of man,
our faces change.

Slow down.
Be mindful.
To the pace of grace.
Trees, water, hills.
The changes of nature
embraced.

BY JEANETTE JONES

Sex and Love in Union

The Me Too movement has certainly empowered women to speak up about unwanted sexual behaviour.  Typically, in the patriarchal paradigm that was the incubator for the Me Too movement, women felt disempowered by men who held a position of power over them in some way and used this power to subjugate women sexually, whether through sexualised language or sexual acts. Through the movement, women are finding their voice to speak out against such situations.

From my observations, many movements to reform societal values often seem to swing to the opposite extreme before finding their true value. Perhaps societal values and habits can sometimes be so entrenched that a shock is required for people to wake up and listen.  Where extreme measures are required, there is bound to be collateral damage.  In the example of the feminist journey, many men felt considerably bruised, battered and hated before the true value of equality became the focus of that movement.

So the question I began to ponder was - what effect has the Me Too movement had on committed intimate heterosexual relationships or, as I will refer to them, unions? 

"I have the right to say 'no'", the empowered woman claims. "If I don't feel like sex, I don't have to feel obliged!"

While lots of loving men may endorse the above statements as fundamentally correct, how are the claims in those statements affecting the sex life of a committed partnership? In my experience, some men are frankly feeling disenfranchised as their female partners pull away from the sexual relationship because they "don't feel like it". And those same female partners are feeling a little bewildered as they honour their feelings, engage with and claim their rights and consequently alienate their male partners.

Imagine a woman (tired, low libido, headache) who has recently engaged her right to say 'no' with her husband in bed. Being respectful, he desists from his advances, and perhaps still spoons her to sleep. However, when this happens repeatedly, he finds himself beginning to feel:
- a little resentful (he is experiencing a thwarted desire);
- unloved (sex makes him feel loved);
- less willing to cuddle her (after all, physical contact with her just leads to his arousal and thus frustration);
and... he doesn't want her to feel pressured.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, his needs are not being met.

Back to the woman: her husband begins to show her less physical affection as a result of her refusing sex repeatedly. She thinks he is being petty, gets annoyed and in turn, shows him less physical affection, perhaps less verbal affection too. Emotionally and physically, he pulls even further away from her. Her needs are not being met. You can see the downwards spiral beginning to take shape, snowballing from her original 'no'.  You can imagine the conversation further down that spiral:
"... but sex is part of the union contract!", he claims.
"Tell me when, where and how I ever agreed to that!", she retorts.
The union itself is coming into question.

Michele Weiner-Davis, in her TED talk “The Sex-Starved Marriage”, outlines for us four stages of sex: desire, arousal, orgasm and satiation. Her research-based claim is that often, the first two actually occur the other way around - arousal often occurs before desire is experienced.  This idea runs contrary to our common contemporary belief in the ‘romantic novel’ kind of love, where burning desire fuels intense arousal which leads to incredible orgasm and utter satiation.  Actually, the idea that various actions have the potential to arouse (or kill) desire is a more realistic and observable way of looking at these initial stages of sex.

So what constitutes an action that will arouse desire?  According to John Gottman, we feel loved in various ways, categorised under these five headings:

·         words of affirmation

·         quality time

·         acts of service

·         receiving gifts

·         physical touch

Gottman encourages us to utilise each language, becoming aware of our own preferred language (and ensuring that our partner knows in detail what they can do to speak it in a way we understand and welcome) and also becoming aware of our partner’s preferred language (and how we can speak it so that they will feel loved).  By doing so, we take actions that at least help our partner to feel loved and perhaps even arouse their desire.

It is also important to note that sexual ‘desire’ (in the way we are referring to it) is only present in two forms of love – eros and ludus.  Seven types of love were originally identified by the classical Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle.

The following are simple descriptions:

philautia - self-love (can be healthy or unhealthy)
agape - universal/altruistic love
ludus - playful, uncommitted love 

eros - romantic /sexual love
philia - trusted friendship kind of love
pragma - practical, dutiful love
storge - parent/child love, often asymmetrical

What would happen in our unions if we practiced actions that are characteristic of the other forms of love?  In times of illness, we may have to rely on storge as we care for our partner with the love a parent would show a sick child; in times where one partner unintentionally causes hurt, healthy philautia is helpful for us to retain our personal sense of wellbeing; agape allows us to recognise our common humanity and forgive our partner when they hurt us in such a way; when lust has waned, hopefully we have forged philia to fall back on; and through the difficulties of everyday living, perhaps we can simply utilise pragma to keep our union together.

What does all this mean for our united couple?  Either party, caught in the downwards spiral of resentment, anger, distance and division resulting from the repeated, empowered ‘no’ to sexual invitation, can lose the feeling of desire for each other.  That then just adds to the distress of the spiral and contributes to the questioning of the union. By practicing actions corresponding to the different forms of love in whatever love language our partner prefers, my hope is that we will find eros naturally falling into place.

BY JEANETTE JONES

Bits (written in 2013)

I used to think I could only write poetry when emotional or inspired and couldn't bring myself to do much editing to words thus brought to the page. My thoughts were adjusted on both counts during the retreat. Reading poetry inspired and educated me and studying different techniques opened up new possibilities.

First impressions of paintings either leave me feeling moved or moving on to the next piece. If I'm moved, I linger, look deeper, desiring to answer the hovering question - why? For painter and poet, technical details of memorable pieces can be noted for future practice and practice of a variety of techniques can lead to freedom of creativity.

Seeking Solace (written in 2013)

feel the skin warmth

shrinking from the coming

bite

smell the flower breath

sighing from the day's

exertions

stop all that there is

and watch

this sky-fire

reaching higher

into brooding heavens

the edges of which are

gilt

laced with flame

hiding the depth of

darkness to come

the body of cloud

laden with

tears

to be released when

the source seeks solace

beyond this piece of earth

and the beauty is

spent

BY JEANETTE JONES

Presence and Perspective

Wow.  Last time I blogged here was 2013.  So much has happened.  I am now a qualified psychosynthesis counsellor in the process of establishing a private practice in Tauranga, New Zealand.  My husband and I have two daughters in their teens.

So I am planning to re-establish this blog as a way of recording some of my thoughts about life.

Yesterday, I forced myself to sit down and stop while I ate my lunch.  On our deck, the occasional train rumbles by below, a gorgeous view of estuary and mountains lies before me and from the reserve next door, numerous distinct bird-songs float past me.  As I feel the breeze on my face I try to persuade myself that the long grassy jungle that is our back lawn is in the state it is because of environmental reasons.  Good for the bees, less fuel burned by the lawnmower, the skinks love it and it is so much more natural than a carefully manicured one!  Depends on the perspective I choose to take.  Alternatively, I could allow myself to get really identified with my feeling of annoyance and self-blame (that the lawn hasn't been mown), or if that's too uncomfortable for me, I could project that blame onto any member of my family.  Truth is, it is in the state it is in because... it just is.  Life is happening and the state of the lawn has passed us by over winter.

I notice a young part of me remembering (or is it memories of my children's early years?) what it was like to be so engrossed in the moment, so present, that watching a butterfly flutter past felt like it took an eternity; remembering when a whole school year was like a lifetime.  In some ways, I guess now (at a stage of life when there often seems to be not enough time in the day to do what needs to be done) I idealise the capacity for such focus, presence and carefree time.  For children such a state is natural but as we grow that space can become crowded - if we let it.  Is this a necessary evil of growing older?

I finish my lunch and choose to stay a while longer.  It wasn't so long ago that I had toddlers and was sitting on this same deck with a good friend, desperate for a hand-hold out of the mire of depression I had sunk myself into.  When I wasn't gulping wine to quell the unease, I was present to a whole lot of discomfort.  Being present in this sense involved identification with my state of being.  I was certainly engrossed in what I was feeling to the exclusion of all else, similar to the child state.  However, I was suffering because of it.

My thoughts move to my mother who is nearly 82 years of age, lives an hour's drive away and who I had spoken to that morning.  She doesn't come to visit as often as she used to, getting less comfortable with the difficulties of driving further than just around town. It strikes me that she seems to accept these limitations of her age and stage with a grace and acceptance that I can only hope to share at her age.  Taking her as an example, it seems that it is possible to add more perspective to our quality of presence as we age, with a sense of the old adage "This too, shall pass".  Then again we have all heard of, if not experienced, people who are either over-focussed on the past ("oh, that story again!") or continually worried about the future - non-present perspective-taking run amok..

These were the thoughts that wandered through my consciousness as I sat on the deck eating my lunch.  Initially my thoughts had aligned presence with youth and perspective with aging.  While it is certainly true that the ease of presence is greater when young and that we get more of a sense of perspective on life as we age, my ponderings led me to consider the developmental process from identification to objectivity.  Perhaps what I strive for myself, at the moment anyway, is objective presence balanced with equanimous perspective...


by Jeanette Jones

Just do it.

Check out "Bother to Write" (http://pickendawn.blogspot.co.nz/).  Thanks, Dawn.

This Saturday, I will attend a writing workshop with author Stephanie Johnson.  Today, I started on what I am calling my 2013 Writers' Retreat, taking in many of the sessions offered by the Writers' and Readers' programme as part of the Tauranga Arts Festival.  I am an avid note-taker, so decided I would write up today's experience, if only for the purposes of a writing exercise.  Hopefully you will be enlightened a little on these three current bestsellers from the talks given today by the authors.

Tauranga Writers' and Readers' Programme, Tauranga Arts Festival

Thursday 31 October

Happy Endings - Graeme Simsion and Julie Thomas
 

How does a holocaust novel sit alongside a romantic comedy, on the platform of discussing the importance of a 'happy' ending? The contrast between the respective novels, The Keeper of Secrets by Julie Thomas and The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion, initially seemed a bit like blue cheese and pear on a digestive biscuit: That tart, biting sweetness has a hint of discomfort prickling around its edges, with a lingering aftertaste causing the tongue to go searching for remnants.

However, that sensation of intriguing discomfort is what real life is about. Real life is not a one-dimensional, cardboard cut-out, as Graeme pointed out. (As our recently elected local councillors know, the demands of the Tauranga public require them to provide more satisfying and realistic solutions than what was possibly advertised on their streetside billboards.) Graeme concluded that a “happy ending is perhaps not so much about the (idealistic) 'happily ever after', as about the (realistic) 'happy for now', a 'status report'”, doffing its hat to the unpredictability of human life.

Without further ado, I find myself buying both books from the first session. After all, you have the chance to have them autographed! My hand shakes as I write the cheque. I am happy to part with the money so I raise an eyebrow questioningly at my hands. Were my hands fatigued from their frantic note-taking? Was the excitement of intellectually stimulating literary conversation that uncontainable?
  

I stand in front of the authors, tongue-tied, realising with an element of surprise that I have been given privileged insight into the minds of two successful authors for the last hour and they know nothing of me. Nothing.

“Are you a writer?” Julie asks, pen hovering, eyes questioning. Obviously, my recent virtual brain surgery at her hands is just an everyday occurrence for her (the surgeon with knife hovering, skull open in front of her, commenting with bemusement “It's been a while but it'll be here somewhere!”)

“Budding...” I stammer. She must have removed the part of my brain that deals with language – the stolen violin of her novel is trivial. I watch as she writes: “Good luck”. Seems so banal. I'm obviously not used to getting autographs.

“Just do it. Doesn't cost anything”. Yep.

I fumble with putting that book away and getting out the other, ready for Graeme. First name basis (in my thoughts only, as yet uncoaxed through my lips), a level of intimacy that Graeme shares with his main laugh-out-loud-funny character, Don - a once in a lifetime relationship, he says. He's earned that relationship over a span of at least five years.

“Which colour pen?”, Graeme asks, reaching into a breast pocket rainbowed with colour.

I smile. “Oh, um, good idea. Red. Please.”

I watch as he scrawls: “Best wishes”. Thanks.

Will I ever sit like this, autographing my work for enthused supporters, unsure what to write for strangers who think they know me? It is a possibility now, with extra inspiration from these two authors who experienced the initial rejection we are all fearful of, yet followed that with dedication to their own convictions, culminating in successful debut novels.  

The Creation of New Zealand - Paul Moon

The pattern of authors' rejection, perseverance and success was echoed in the second session of the day by Paul Moon, who spent ten years working on his book Encounters despite receiving an initial rejection of his proposal. To send the full manuscript back to the same publisher after ten years and ask for a blind review (that is, a review from an independent reviewer who is not privvy to the title or the author) is the kind of tenacity that seems to exemplify the successful writer.

That tenacity appears to be evidenced also in the content of the book itself. The questioning of ourselves as Kiwis and our assumptions about the various aspects of our ingrained cultural identity/identities was relentless, often unapologetically dissecting touchy subjects, and showing a relentless determination to question, research, then question again.
 

Moon spoke of the natural evolution of culture, which can be stunted when we try to capture the spirit of it in repetitive cultural demonstrations that possibly don't remain current representations of reality. Our fondness for aligning ourselves with stereotypical cultural identities may be explained by an idealisation of that identity as an 'antidote' to our 'boring' lives, but Moon points out that Michael King's description of our NZ identity as 'good-hearted, practical, commonsensical and tolerant' is the same as that described by Australians and further afield in the western world. It is not unique.
 

Moon describes a tension between the nostalgic view of our world (in the good old days) and how it is in our current reality; and on the other hand, a tension between the utopian desire for how we want our world to be, and how it is in our current reality. His bottom line being that views on our identity can vary between groups (carrying different historical and cultural baggage) and are fluid and evolutionary over time.

I imagine Encounters would be a fascinating read but not one that the reader could come away from without a recognition of the extent of their unchallenged assumptions about our Kiwi identity.

As a writer and as a Kiwi, I was challenged today, possibly summed up by this passage from Ralph Waldo Emerson (quoted at the front of Encounters).

“Build, therefore, your own world. As fast as you conform your life to the pure idea in your mind, that will unfold its great proportions. A correspondent revolution in things will attend the influx of the spirit.”

by Jeanette Jones

Moments of Too Much Perfection

“We can all do with moments of too much perfection.” (sentiment from Christian Slater in Bed of Roses, not a great movie but like the line). I certainly enjoyed a few of them in my monthly journey over to Hamilton for an Irish music session...


My child, bleary-eyed, running downstairs to find me before I leave, a bedtime promise to be fulfilled. A body wrapping itself around me, tighter than sushi, more delicious.

The sand, cool in the early morning, my jandals softly slapping it up my legs, a deep breath of salt, space, sun over surf.

A friend with whom the walking, sharing, laughing, continues for 9kms.  A cafe, perfectly situated two thirds of the way around Waikareao Estuary.  A usually insensitive nose, anticipating the mocha, suddenly picking up the whiff of double shot delight.

The back seat of the Odyssey, flipped up and over. Guitar, bodhran, diary. Resting in comfort. Looking out to grass, plants, trees, sky. Sparrows peck, chirp, take in the world with their cocked heads. The wind part of my music, or vice versa.

Two feet enter my favourite art gallery and immediately still themselves. Eyes are taken to a sunset photo of Raglan beach, yellow-orange hues rarely caught, a crispness in the waves softened by peripheral toitoi. The stillness spreads up my body as inspiration settles in.

And then, in the zone. Where it is not you or her or him or I connecting the dots and with our mouths and fingers and arms and feet making something that sounds like a tune. It is a group of people listening, feeling, connecting with each other and creating a piece of art with a life of its own – or ours, indistinguishable in the moment, one from the other.

The day ends with Pirongia silhouetted by fire, viewed from the top of the Kaimais.

One last moment of too much perfection, all witnessed in one day.

Back in the water!

After nearly 18 months of the boat on the hard stand, today it went back in the water.  The kind of feeling you want to keep in your handbag, ready for emergencies.  Two years ago flooded back into my consciousness - a summer sprinkled with happy boating memories (see photos).  The two years since seeming drowned in challenges, yet we're afloat again and looking forward to coasting through another beautiful summer.  Thank you, Alan, for your hard work.

The forklifts work the port like ants, seeming to scurry to and from the Mount.  Viewing the Mount across the harbour while being rocked gently in the arms of the sea, I realise how much I have missed this perspective.  I drink in the moment.  My shoulders must have dropped at least an inch.  The mood seems to be spontaneously caught by the girls.  They settle down on the deck and proceed to pause pensively, looking out over the water, pencil poised over paper ready to catch their musings.

Boat berthed, we are graced with a performance of their creativity - Natalia has written a poem and Jasmine dances a jig whilst singing "Mr. Sea, Mr. Sea, Mr. Sea".

Such moments deserve recording.  Jasmine wrote her poem when we got back home.

 

Sailing on Mister Sea Poem

 

It is nice to see the sea

waving in farewell

as I sail across

Mr. Sea.

Boat goes bumping,

wind goes howling,

darkness falls.

A morning of fun awaits me.

It's morning!

I jump out of my PJs,

it's time to go fishing.

Next minute

a beauty king fish strangles

from my line.

Next minute

we're in the harbour

it's time to get out.

I wave farewell to the sea.

The sea waves back.

Next minute

I'm scampering on hot sand

in the hot morning heat.

 

NATALIA McQUARTERS, 8 yrs old.

 

 

 

Mr. Sea

I am on the sea... hooray!

The underwater world

whizzing by.

The fish jumping.

The water splashing.

The next morning

I jump out of bed.

I go to the side

of the boat and jump

out of my PJs.

We're at London!

JASMINE McQUARTERS, 6 yrs old.

 

 

SOME OF OUR MEMORIES FROM THAT SUMMER...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beckoning

The dazzling blue-gold day

reaches down from far, far away

between the forbidding high-rises

amongst the shades of grey.

The warm, slim finger of light

searches the streets still cold with night,

over the heads of down-turned eyes

to find my shoulder – tap, tap, tap...

The down-turned eyes shoot from side to side

around the back but not up high

“Who are you, stranger, where are you?”, say I,

brushing a light speck from my shoulder.

The long blue fingers of warmth

then run to play hide and seek,

shout "Boo!" like playful children
as I turn the corner, blind.

Surrounded by fun-loving laughter of sun

I finally say, “I know you, my friend

for you are the one, who reminds me to stray

far, far away from the dull, dark grey,

into the fields and trees of green,

to drink the fragrances, smell the stream,

yes, you are the one who reminds me to stay

far, far from the blues in a golden day”.

BY JEANETTE JONES

 

Butterflies

Nature's coloured beauty on double wings,
from self-imposed chrysalis
through struggling transformation
it stretches to explore its world.

Free flight on the wings of the wind.
Immaturity believes in the capture
of the creature, in the perfect picture,
and so chases in awed rapture.

Once immature, others have learnt
that what hands can't hold
can be held in the heart
so beauty and butterfly never part.

BY JEANETTE JONES

This Currently Small Thing With No Working Title

With youthful passion

I scattered my heart out, raw,

on the pages of the first volume,

an offering to appease

those who wanted me,

understandable, in one piece.

Actors for my next volume?

Life lands on these pages,

like a reality show, requiring

most of all, a brave voice,

keen observation, thoughtful –

Kim Hill perhaps my choice.

 

“Verbal snapshots of a female Kiwi”

could bring agencies clamouring.

Yeah, right. 

The tui's wings beat in my ears,

my flightless self accepts

the first draft could take years.

I am far from comfortable

in this blinding spotlight,

revealing my blind spot.

It is difficult to find,

in the comfort of my night,

others of my kind.

My senses sustain me,

as I happily poke the dirt,

my vulnerability can reflect

yours in the glass

if you are still long enough

to allow me to pass.

BY JEANETTE JONES

The above poem is my playful (or evasive?) response to the following questions:

1. What's the working title for your book?
2. Where did the idea come from for the book?
3. What category does your book fall under?
4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
6. Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
8. What other books would you compare this to in your genre?
9. What inspired you to write this book?
10. What else about the book might pique the reader's interest?

My book?  Did someone say I was writing a book?  AAARRGH!

 

Dawn Picken, a writer and Mum living in Mount Maunganui who I met at this year's Writers' Retreat, has tagged me and four others to answer these questions in her recent blog titled "The Next Big Thing". I want to bags a copy of Marcel Currin's next collection of poetry on fatherhood and family life - see his response to "The Next Big Thing" nomination here.  Dawn and Marcel would be my first two nominations for "The Next Big Thing" - a kind of (as Marcel puts it) "pay-it-forward online game in which writers nominate other writers as the next big thing".  Yes, I am a fledgling with few contacts.  So 50% of my nominations consist of a tagback and a retag.  :-)

 

The other 50% of my nominations do not have a blog and are not members of Facebook (as far as I know), which makes the nomination a little more difficult for them to respond to, but does not necessarily reflect their potential of being "The Next Big Thing":

Warren Parkinson - just launched his book "101 Hot Tips for Health and Happiness" - Warren, really enjoyed the first one - have you got another one in the making?

Elizabeth Jones - a woman who has my admiration for her life experience and wisdom, Elizabeth is planning to write a book about her father's experiences in World War I. 

(If they have no other publishing medium, I may publish their response here as part of a future blog).

Breast Friends

I take these friends for granted.

 

With me since birth yet

unaware of them for years,

source of embarrassment

while I get used to their ways.

Source of concern.

I am scared of disease.

Source of pleasure

as maturity overcomes me,

source of pain

as child and infection bite.

Source of acceptance

- they shape part of me.

 

I find myself dreaming

as I stand under shower stream

cupping one in each hand.

"It was like losing a good friend",

she said, of cancer,

that took off with

one of hers.

More like losing a family member,

I think, that's how

much I take them

for granted.

 

BY JEANETTE JONES

 

Underground Impressions

Scream of metal on metal,
 

curved track, crowded,

 

enclosed station.

Stale, industrial air makes

nasal excretions black,

aching head pound.

Face shocked,

she double-checks, looks away,

reacts to the smile I give her.

Man playing tube guitar,

asking for small donations,

greeted with stony faces.

Ad encouraging us to

“Do what no-one else does on the tube – talk!”

advertises mobile phones...

This is the London underground.

This is the weekly grind.

This is life, people!

So give us a smile

 

once in a while.

I'll try to smile back.

BY JEANETTE JONES

Changeable Rabbit

My poetry used to be a cave where I would go alone whenever inspiration or emotion urged me to purge my brain and heart. Peering through the dark, I would write furiously on the walls, then tiptoe out and re-stack the rocks at the entrance. I would occasionally let others in (after frisking them at the entrance in case they tried any surreptitious scratching of my works of art). Three weeks ago my cave was bombed. Amazingly, all the writings were more or less recovered. But the sun highlighted a whole lot of improvements I could make. I've scratched a lot of them in one way or another, and no doubt the weather will take its toll. I've even started searching out other people's scratchings...

Well, I made it!  One blog post per day, for ten days, of the poems I wrote in Ohope at the beginning of October (when the bomb struck).  No matter if no-one is listening, reading, watching this space, it will continue, though maybe not at the same pace.  :-)

The last night we had in Ohope, we seven writers (we could call ourselves that for the duration of the week at least!) braved the churning metropolis that is the heart of Ohope and took ourselves out for dinner to what seemed to be the one and only open eaterie, Toi Toi Bar and Brasserie.

Thank you to Bay of Plenty Polytechnic for giving me the opportunity to attend the Writers' Retreat.


Changeable Rabbit

We always gave thanks for what we were given
so I, let's say, at eight
just ate

One of my Mum's delicious stews
I would have asked for more
I'm sure

Until one of us thought to ask aloud
"It tastes a bit different, what is it?"
It's rabbit.

Cries and shrieks and exclamations,
the smirk on my father's face
disgraced him.

Yet then I travelled round the world,
ate snails, frog's legs, curries,
unqueried

And now I find myself in Ohope
trying sweet and sour... rabbit
- I love it!


BY JEANETTE JONES

 

Relationship Tunes

What shall we play?

Perhaps this one?
Years of delight
now neglected.
Everyday flow
now rifted, awkward,
stilted.
Renewable rhythm?
I ask into silence.

Or this one.
I jump at the chance,
levitate in a heaven
of enthralling nuance,
unfolding delight.
I engage, lose myself,
find myself
transformed.

Others, still
repertoire favourites,
rocking-chair rhythms,
well-known comforts
- always a pleasure.

I played my repertoire tonight.
Surprise, sadness.
Those pieces unpractised,
unfeatured.


BY JEANETTE JONES