Tag: copywriting

Rigoletto Redemption 

During the infamous fun that wasn’t the pandemic lockdown, like a lot of other bored people at home I got my ass onto TikTok, not so much for my own personal content, but to scroll endlessly and laugh at all the other far more social media creative types on there. 

But randomly one day a couple of years later, this entirely legit reel appeared (and yes I checked it all out) asking for someone to write to a life sentence prisoner in a jail in California. I can’t say anymore than that for privacy reasons. And no I hadn’t lost my tiny mind, been watching too much OITNB or fancied a bit of rough on a dark jailbreak night. He was about my age and no, zero attraction, I just thought well… I like writing and he said he loved to read and history and stories. Maybe I could do this thing for someone I will never meet. 

And so I wrote to him, no personal details of my address, all through a secure platform set up by the US prison system. Then one day he wrote back and since then we write pretty much every week and I’ve slowly got to know more about him, about his family, his life before he got put away, for now what is over 29 years, and how from the other side of the world we have become sort of friends. 

He tells me about his daily life, his cell mate who is also a Latino, his daughter with whom he has now rekindled his relationship- he did some terrible things when he was much younger for which she rightly struggled to trust him again. His son, who is in the US military and quite high ranking and all the comings and goings of yard life in searing heat and his work in the prison kitchens. He’s told me about the 18 years he spent in a high security solitary cell, with only concrete walls and a small skylight so high he could never even touch it. Those years were in part to segregate him from gang members and the risk to his life, as well as meting out his punishment.

But one day I had an idea as he literally devours books and in particular history. I’m a geographer by qualification and I decided to combine the two subjects, but take him on a mini tour of the world – choosing 30 places I’d been to, telling him the history of each, its geography and also a story to add the personal perspective of my time in those countries. 

I have his prison PO Box address so every other week or so, I’d pepper his prison platform messages with a real bit of snail mail. The stories lit up his life and he saved each one until after work, reading them on his bunk. I sent him a map of the world with each place listed and marked on, so he could see where we were going to visit on his own ‘world tour’. My idea was to take him to all the places he’d never get to see. I had printed around 4 Polaroid style pictures for each place from my own travel photos and so each story could come alive a little with actual pictures.

One of mine from Siena, Tuscany

It took about a year to complete them all and we both had so much fun, both for me writing them and reliving all those years and holidays and adventures, but also for him it became something to look forward to. And you can argue after what he did, he deserves nothing at all, but I don’t judge and I now know some of what went down.  What was also funny was, anything that arrives into the Prison Postal system, as a printed piece of mail, has to be read and approved by someone in the office. Now bear in mind some of these stories were over 4 or 5 pages of A4 long, he one day messaged me to say the most recent letter had been impounded as they said it was printed on cotton. A risk that it could potentially be impregnated with narcotics. We did laugh as it was a bog standard sheet from WH Smiths, but it meant I had to resend it again. This summer I was passing a hand made notepaper shop in Tuscany and started laughing at the shop window… of course I took a photo and sent it to him.

Not to be used for Inmate Correspondence

He told me when he maybe one day leaves, and he’s possibly up for parole in January, as he has done some serious work over many years to get to even being considered, that the letters and photos are one of the only things he will take with him. They’re all now pasted into a notebook and he shares them with his friends. He once told me, ‘we don’t know people like you.’ I sat with that thought for a while, life is full of weirdness and I don’t believe totally in coincidences, people come our way for all kinds of reasons and whether we realise that or even learn from it, is our choice. He even shares my photos with his support groups to illustrate how they have helped him and some of the funny and not so amusing stories we’ve told each other. But also of their importance to him in changing his mindset and perspective on life.  And me, I’ve now got a slightly different friend.

We talk a lot about films, and they are allowed to watch some inside – as a now better prisoner he has a tablet, and providing they aren’t hugely violent etc he can view them. Each story, I tried where possible to reference a film he could later watch to give the story of that place some wider context, give it something to bring it alive. So we went around with so many different ones – from The Flinstones, Almodovar classics through to several Bond films, including Quantum of Solace, Spectre (Siena and Mexico City) and also The Living Daylights, which has its opening sequence in Gibraltar.

Gibraltar in The Living Daylights

It’s theme song is about facing the darkness of the world and trying to cope with insecurity and loss. It tells us that we cannot judge another’s life until you have lived theirs.

Comes the morning, and the headlights fade away

Hundred thousand people, I’m the one to blame

I’ve been waiting long for one of us to say

Save the darkness, let it never fade away

In the living daylights

Lyrics by: Morten Harket ‘The Living Daylights’ Sung by Ah-Ha

We also both love music and when I can, I add a song in too – the Gibraltar one for instance, included the story of my uncle, who was a taxi driver. He was picking up a fare from the docks one day, waiting in a line as passengers disembarked from the QE2. A very beautiful and elegant lady got into his cab. He asked her if she would mind if he listened to a Maria Callas broadcast, as she was his all time favourite. If you’ve been reading my blogs from the start you will know my uncle and I used to listen to her cassette tapes when I rode with him in his old Mercedes around southern Spain and Gib. The beautiful lady said yes and as the music was playing, my uncle realised she was singing in the back, in absolutely perfect unison. Now in those days there was no social media including TikTok (where this all started) and pictures on the news or papers only now and then. But there in the back of his cab singing Rigoletto, Act 1 Gaultier Malde – Caro Nome, was Maria Callas herself.

If you’ve watched the incredible film, The Shawshank Redemption, you will know the scene this made me think of, where Andy locks himself in the governors office, puts on a record of “Sull’aria … che soave zeffiretto” which is a duettino, or a short duet, from act 3, scene X, of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s 1786 opera The Marriage of Figaro, K. 492,

Andy Dufresne played by Tim Robbins

Red (Morgan Freeman), famously narrates; 

“I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don’t want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I’d like to think they were singing about something so beautiful, it can’t be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free.”

The obvious connection and irony between this story, prison life and my friend far across The Pond was not lost on either of us. We had a few laughs in our next messages. 

And so, if you have a minute listen to this, and I hope for a moment it sets you free, as Maria sang like no other beautiful bird; 

https://open.spotify.com/embed/track/5XRuaotyEFWJ36A3V5HscZ?utm_source=generator

Maria Callas

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A Sign of the Times

An Otterly Brilliant Sign

I’ve always loved a good signpost, I think it’s the geographer in me, that loves maps and navigating and they’re all wrapped up together. That and my ironical innate sense of any direction, makes them vital markers in my brain. The word ‘sign’ itself is derived from the Latin signum, meaning “mark” or “signal’. But signs aren’t just about the ones telling you the train is coming, to stick to the footpath, how many miles it is to the next town, or when to turn left. They can be as vital as sign language or even those small things that you see and then interpret; the look on someone’s face, their tone of voice or that they are always late, return your calls on time, always know what to say … the list is endless. We all have our little markers in life those signals, that tell us what we feel we need to know or understand. Star signs, a white feather, road signs, up in the bloody air signs, they are all around us. Hearing your neighbours arguing continually through the walls, can be a sign it’s time to move house, or the summer waft of grilling burgers may be your sign that as a barbecue enthusiast, you have landed on your upturned burger bun-loving feet. 

But what are my signs? Well for one, I’ve been thinking a lot of a friend of mine lately, she died a few years ago of the unmentionable C-word, she was a life force and my lasting memory of her is dancing on the stage at the Breast Cancer fashion show, while Tony Christie belted out “Is this the way to Amarillo.’ But more than that, she loved rainbows, and since she’s gone whenever I see a rainbow I feel she’s here giving me a little sign. She was hugely encouraging, when I first started seriously thinking of moving to Italy, and her fierce bravery for life is one in which I often seek comfort. 

For Rachel

The seasons here in Umbria are shifting, a couple of storms later and while it is still toasty in the high 20’s during the day, the mornings up here in the mountains are swathed in mist, making it seem like I’m living in the clouds. It’s quite beautiful and worth getting up early to witness.

But it’s a sign that winter is coming and cooler nights (hallelujah) and finally I can think about wearing the jeans I brought with me 5 months ago.  But those few rainy days, brought some stunning rainbows, and if I needed it, a sign that I am where I am meant to be.  The fields that were full of sunflowers in June are drying and being harvested, another sign of shifting daylight hours as those golden heads darken and droop. Did you know sunflowers are a sign of our condition of being?

And weirdly for some reason I’ve been feeling more anxious lately, the purchase of the apartment I am buying is seemingly endless with complications. I’ve never moved house, without there being some delay, major stress or nightmare survey, I am sure this has played a part, too many bad experiences. While this one isn’t falling into that pot exactly, I’ve noticed that I’ve begun to check my phone a lot, for any updates or replies, and how that’s been making me feel, tense and worried. Time is ticking along. That was my sign to find a way to relax, so while I still had my phone in my hand, I booked myself into a hot spring spa about an hour away in Tuscany for an afternoon of relaxing. The last few months have been fun but also exhausting; navigating bureaucracy in another language that I am far from fluent in, but also solo. We all need to pay attention to those signs that it’s time to switch off, and I had a super afternoon for the sum total of 29 Euros, floating in hot natural springs. It was fabulous. 

A Sign to Relax

Italians seem to love signs to the point of oblivion and confusion. Pretty much every road junction and bend in the highway is cluttered with a stack of often conflicting signposts, don’t get me started on when there are two facing opposite ways for the same thing. But my point here is don’t let those signs in your head stack up like a mad Italian crossroads, listen to them as they are rarely ever wrong. 

Sign, sign

Everywhere a sign

Blockin out the scenery

Breakin’ my mind

Do this, do that

Can’t you read the sign?

Song and Lyrics by – Five Man Electrical Band

PS If you need a sign to go exploring one night in the dark, drive up to that hilltop and wait for the lunar eclipse to appear through the soft clouds on the horizon. This is my sign to you to not miss those experiences. 

Lunar Eclipse over Perugia

PPS This could be your sign to ask me to do some content writing for you, I can be reached at writeupymystreet@btinternet.com

Follow me on IG: @write.upmystreet

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Augustus, Hot Augustus

The arrival of August in Italy sees the approach of one its biggest holidays, namely, the 15th August, or Ferragosto. The term itself, Ferragosto, comes from the Latin term, Feriae Augusti or Augustus Holidays. Back in 18 BC, the then emperor Augustus, decided to create a public holiday, to not only glorify his name into history, by naming it after himself, but also to give the empire’s workers a well-deserved day off, after months of hard labour in the fields. 

The First Roman Emperor, Augustus.

Back then, people would pass by their patrons houses to greet them, collecting a small tip for their troubles, before heading to one of the many horse races held across the Roman Empire – one of the most famous and indeed oldest, still survives today  – the bi-annual palio in Siena. (James Bond fans will recall the palio featuring at the start of The Quantum of Solace.)

Siena’s Bi-annual Palio

While the empire’s horses didn’t enjoy the day off, its other beasts of burden did. Oxen, donkeys and mules were temporarily relieved from carrying all the heavy shit about, and decorated with flowers and garlands—usually a sign of their imminent sacrifice (this was the start of the Roman Empire, and we all know how things panned out for the Christians a bit later on), but on this occasion donkeys were a welcome addition.

Ferragosto however, was not traditionally held on August 15th but on August 1st (the first day of the month that Augustus himself introduced). It was the Catholic Church that pushed the event back in the calendar so that it coincided with the Assumption of Mary. Assumption Day is now a public holiday in many countries where they have strong roots in Catholic or Orthodox traditions.  But while the Feast of the Assumption was introduced in the 5th century by Bishop Cyril of Alexandria, it was not until the 6th century that the tradition was adopted by the Eastern Church and recognised by the Western Church as a Holy Day of Obligation. I digress a little, but just to wrap that bit of history in an appropriate loin cloth.

Ferragosto during the Fascist Period

It doesn’t end there, Benito Mussolini’s Fascist regime popularised the tradition of travelling during Ferragosto, implementing the idea through corporate ‘associazioni dopolavoristiche’ (‘After-Work Associations’, which controlled the after-work activities of Italy’s workforce).

From 1925 onwards, Mussolini’s regime organised hundreds of trips to Italy’s major cities as well as its coastlines and mountains, facilitating travel for Italy’s working classes through heavily discounted train fares. Valid on the 13th, 14th and 15th of August, the offer consisted of two options: one-day travel within a radius of 100km or three-day travel within a radius of 200km.

The ‘Popular Trains’ of Ferragosto

In terms of kickstarting domestic Italian tourism, the initiative was a roaring success. Many Italian families were able to visit the artistic cities of Venice, Florence, Rome and Naples for the first time while landlocked families were able to visit the coast; and families living on the coast were able to venture into the mountains. It really was a great idea put into practice on a national scale.

Today in true Italian style, and remember this is a nation for whom a 3 hour lunch break is a ‘religion’ not to be tampered with, Ferie as it has now become known, extends for at least half if not all of August. Even the banks are on short hours, I kid you not and many businesses close altogether to give their staff a chance to head to the seaside with their friends and families. If you go to Rome on the 15th August, you will find it as quiet as it can be, as most Romans are out of town, laying on their towels or sun loungers, basking in the cooler mountain air, having a stiff Aperol or chilled glass of wine. 

As this is the first time I have been in Italy for the entire month, I’ve noticed that literally every town and village, no matter how small or large are having parties and festivals. These get advertised, if they are well organised, on Facebook, or even just with a poster papered to lampposts and town notice boards, right next to the funeral and birth notices. Every night the sound of Euro music beats out across the countryside, fireworks blast upwards into the night sky and endless piles of Italian street food are scoffed. Everything from prog rock, 80’s disco to Italian classics are go, vans serving porchetta and torta di testa, (an Umbrian flat bread, filled with pretty much anything) can be found in the hands of hungry locals. 

But for me the atmosphere and the holiday/party vibes of unbelievable conviviality have stuck in my mind for ever, seared in with the heat that has been this summer; which has included fire breathing acrobatics, alongside old-fashioned fairs, parades and food as far as the eye can see. They embrace August, just like the first Roman emperor intended and they’ve rolled out the 15th into the entire month, of their summer holiday season.  

My nearest local hill town is small, around 500 inhabitants, they had a week long festa, with a parade of medieval costumes, music until 1am or later each night and some serious food carts.  They embodied one of the reasons I wanted to move here to live, their passion for fun and celebrations, while respecting history and tradition.  It rained heavily at the weekend, along with a stunning and loud storm, but nothing that would dampen the Italian holiday spirit. Tonight, I am off into town for skewers of fish kebabs, a cup of wine and a band playing into the night. Happy August wherever you are. 

Spegni le luci della città

Cosi che il cielo s’illumina

Balliamo l’ultima volta, ma

Lyrics & Song by Cesare Cremonini

(Turn off the city lights, So that the sky lights up, Let’s dance the last time)

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Famous Last Words

As a creative copy writer, my thoughts always veer towards the opening line – the how you engage, hook, and interest your reader and audience. But recently and for the worst kind of reasons, I’ve started thinking about those last words, their impact, their outpouring of emotions or are they stifled and trapped inside, taken with us and leaving a space of doubt, hope and a helpless void for the one left behind. In whatever form that takes. 

How do we want to end what we say – be it that last sentence in a blog, book, press release, words to our family as we leave in the morning, or those actual very ‘last words.’

A friend of mine is struggling to breathe, cancer is consuming her, and she is giving it her everything to stay here and live. Keeping on talking to our little group of friends in our WhatsApp group. She’s written letters to leave behind and a book of instructions for her funeral. She’s prepared in all the ways she can, apart from the sadness of knowing it is hurtling towards her and what to say, what can you say? But say you must. 

Over the years I have become a firm believer in telling people that you love them, showing them that you care – they are in your thoughts. You don’t always get that other chance to say or show it, when that moment, that breath of tangible air sits between you and the other to speak your truth. And that is how my friend is living, what I hope will be more than her last days, but I’ve told her – in the middle of the night when I know she is awake, IV stuck in her vein; on a card, on a call – I’ve shared how I feel about her. 

When you are writing, recording, filling in those blanks in your email or whatever, think about what you are saying, and not just how it starts, but how it finishes. What will you leave in that space at the end, what do you want to say that counts. 

Then write it down and say it. 

For Jenn.

All our love and all our pain
Will be but a tune
The Sun and the Moon
The wind and the rain
Hand in hand we’ll do and die
Listening to the band that made us cry
We’ll have nothing to lose
We’ll have nothing to gain
Just to stay this real-life situation 
For one last refrain.

Songwriters: Nicky Holland / Roland Orzabal (from Famous Last Words)

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com 

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Hand on Heart

I have a thing about hands, they hold us as humans, tightly together, they reach out for us when we need them most and they can hold a pen to write or type out our thoughts and emotions. They are practical and sensual all at once.

Hands can be delicate and strong all at the same time, yet in the most powerful and emotive ways. You know that sensation, when you stick your hands into a warm sandy beach and all at once you feel the enveloping heat and at the same time, the scouring of the grit, forming a collision of senses. Well, finding what is the beating heart of your brand is often very similar. You need to find what inspired you from the outset – what was your heat, what touched your heart? And then mix that, with the gritty reality of securing your company or your brands future.

Now, if you squeeze your eyes tightly so they are almost completely closed, so that the darkness on the inside of your lids just lets in the smallest slice of light, but yet one that shows you the most beautiful of views, then you are close to where I am going with all of this. 

Umbrian olive trees at sunrise

I was speaking with a client earlier this week, planning and creating a brochure for their Italian home and also their business. It is in the most breathtaking location, surrounded by olive trees, a castle in the distance, and the occasional wandering wild boar. Intrinsically it is immediately, more than just what we regularly think of as a brand product or a price tag. For them it’s about a conversation that opens up their hearts and minds, that will allow you as the reader to dip inside just long enough that you are able to read the words that they are only imagining; then, through that beam of light, you can see when you almost close your eyes, concentrating their vision onto a page so it engages and enthrals the reader, or a potential buyer or investor.

My words as a copywriter, must tread between those two universes, meshing the fingertips together so that as you read, your heart and mind pull tightly close together and as you exhale, know that those words have captured both elements in that enthralling single breath.

And just like that they had their mission statement. 

‘As humans, by sharing our view, we can create a better life‘

What will be yours?

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com 

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