Tag: creative writing

Vivere Senza Paura

(Live without fear) This post has been a very long time in the making, not just typing it out and composing the words but also having it quite certain, or as certain as it can be in my head. I’ll take you back a few years first; About 21 years ago I bought a little apartment in Italy, it’s part of a 12th Century castle and it’s all it should be with beams, tiled floors, a leaky toilet cistern, a fireplace and a view out onto a garden filled with lavender, rosemary and olive trees. I can still remember the first time I saw the place; I was with a friend from work who had come along with me on my viewing trip to Umbria. We drove around some winding mountain roads and as we turned a corner, to one side was a stunning medieval hill town with the valley in the distance, perched on top of a rocky outcrop, like something other worldly, but to the other side, was a tiny bell tower on top of a hill. 

That bell tower, built by Franciscan monks and housing a bell brought from Rhodes (so the story goes) belonged to the castle, and it was a little more than love at first sight (rose tinted specs went right out the window). It all began even further back, following a short lived marriage and once the dust settled on the divorce papers, I realised I needed to make some kind of future proof investment. Or at least buy part of a castle in Italy. I opted for the latter. Every year since, apart from the unmentionable joy that was Covid, I have been over at least once. It was the first place I wanted to be once I’d recovered from breast cancer and not surprisingly after a couple of years of more recent life ups and downs, the place I want to be at most of all. It has something magical about it, it rebalances my brain and rebolsters my supply of shoes. I’ve been there enough now to have chucked the pink tinged glasses in the bin and stopped a long time ago from wondering why the DIY shops are shut on Saturday lunchtimes, when surely that’s when they do most business. I only needed telling once, ‘well they have to eat’ was the stellar reply. A country where they take their food seriously and also use, believe it or not very few fresh ingredients to create some of the best food in the world. Plus also, of course some lyrical inspiration from George.

‘In the absence of security, I made my way into the night’ – George Michael

And so, I made an enormous and life changing decision to move to Italy, for good. I completed on the sale of my house last month, loaded everything apart from a car full of luggage plus my cats, into a lorry and moved myself into a little flat for a couple of weeks while the cats underwent all their EU vaccinations and AHC’s. Then, we boarded LeShuttle and started a 2 ½ day, one way, road trip to Umbria. I had my last hair cut at the salon I’ve been going to for over 20 years, said goodbye to friends and family (who I am fully expecting to visit asap) and we headed into what was to be one of many tunnels. Night one was in Nancy, a fairly basic hotel, I just about fitted my case and two cats in. Zero sleep that night, and the next day dragged into a further series of tunnels as we snaked our way across that corner of France. The Vosges mountains couldn’t be dented by the rain and drizzle as we crossed into Switzerland. Weirdly Switzerland isn’t what I expected, or at least all the bits I saw. More or less every valley was occupied by a pharmaceutical factory, these things are vast and the towns were less than idyllic, that is until we swung through the last of the next batch of (yes, you’ve guess it…) more tunnels.  I also discovered the role of being in the front passenger seat in a RHD vehicle; you’re chief in charge of toll booth tickets and payments. 

Somewhere in Switzerland

Since arriving it has been to say the least a week of unexpected light and the sadness of the death of Pope Francis. Let’s hope the next one fills his well-worn shoes, I won’t say who my Euros are on, in case I jinx it.

Conclave starts on May 7th.

I’ve made a restart (after last summer) on house or flat hunting, seen a few definite no’s and one possible contender. The cats are slowly settling in, although living in a medieval castle is at times quite noisy, all those hard terracotta tiled floors carry every sound from your neighbours. One of the cats keeps hiding in the wardrobe while the other is a little braver and has realised, she can jump off my hand painted cupboard and land squarely on my bladder first thing in the morning. The spring festivals are underway and so far, cheese, tulips and asparagus, plus I found the most amazing fresh pasta shop; waddled home with a bag full. 

They say you should follow your dreams; life is too short, and you only live once… you know all the rest. For most of us we say these things and don’t do it, or at least not in any way that truly constitutes following a dream. But I’ve sailed too close to death myself and lost too many others, wondering what is coming next, to hesitate anymore over what has on one side been a tortuous 10 months of selling, decluttering and getting rid of over half my possessions, not to mention an awful lot of shoes, while on the other looking forward to a life in Umbria.  Time can be a storm in which we allow ourselves to be lost, but it can also be one that brings us joy, gelato, homemade pasta and all the Aperol’s. I’m going with the latter. 

And to end appropriately with a quote from one of my most favourite songs;

Ah, might as well jump (jump!)
Go ahead and jump
Might as well jump (jump!)
Go ahead and jump

By: E & A Van Halen & David Lee Roth

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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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Sing it Back

Someone asked me the other day about what I love most about writing, honestly, I think it is about telling a good story – getting underneath every layer of it, whether that is my story, your story, a brand, a moment in time, an emotion, or a song. 

That got me thinking about the importance of song lyrics and how for many of us we connect to moments in our lives with music; whether we were on holiday, a broken romance, a truest love or a long journey with the window down, rain trickling through the gap while belting out rock n roll, so loud as we stay awake for those last few miles home. 

I was driving around the M25 one evening, heading towards East Sussex, it was the day after Meat Loaf had died, in a year when way too many people had lost their lives to the pandemic that was 2020 and 2021. 

I had remembered when the story broke on the news, about a time when I was singing one of the songs from the Bat out of Hell album, the duet with Marion and Meat, really (really) badly with one of my school friends. It was just after the record first came out; we were all obsessed with it. I even had Bat out of Hell on a 12’’ blood red vinyl special edition. Anyway, I was Meat, as back then I had all the hair. We were appalling, me especially, I have never, ever been able to hold a tune – but we loved the album and the unrelenting passion it had for life, love, and those skin-peeling raw emotions. It was bare your heart out stuff and that’s right where we were as angry teenagers. We were living life loud and with nothing held back, at that moment, dancing on the desks at school.

I think I could genuinely think of a music lyric that connects any emotion to a song, that has in turn meant something to me. It seems completely right when explaining why lyrics and my love of writing are so interconnected as they join those emotions and passions – with barely a visible seam, pressed together sharing words in that moment. I guess, what I want to say more than anything else, is that even when we are at our lowest point, or conversely, even when we think life couldn’t top that precise moment of joy, when telling and living our story, that there will always be so much more. 

You just need to find it and live that second. Like a bat out of hell.

And I think somebody somewhere must be tolling a bell
And the last thing I see is my heart,
Still beating still beating
Still beating still beating
Breaking out of my body, and flying away

Like a bat out of hell

By J. Steinman

With thanks to Marvin Lee Aday, for allowing me to realise what a good story really means.

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com 

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The importance of listening

Listening isn’t just about hearing what the other person is saying, it’s about understanding and interpreting their words accurately, so you can if needed, represent them in a written or spoken piece.

Listening skills are a vital part of good communication. If you have good communication skills, you can start to improve relationships in the workplace as well as in society. Also, you will be able to make decisions more effectively and reach a quicker agreement with others. The person who is speaking will feel appreciated and understood. 

My top seven reasons why listening skills are essential:

  • Reduces misunderstandings – poor communication comes from poor listening. 
  • Builds empathy – being aware of facial expressions, or body positions, can give you a deeper understanding. Do they trust you; do they feel heard – are they in a hurry for example. How can you show your empathy?
  • Poor listening can limit judgement – give your full attention and you will avoid those sticky situations where you might for example misinterpret.
  • It increases your productivity – hearing right, understanding correctly and you can deliver the right words first time around.
  • It makes you a better leader or mentor. You become trusted. 
  • Good feedback – you can only do this well if you are listening, the speaker will feel that you are understanding and actively listening, by giving those verbal and non-verbal cues. Write down what they are saying, don’t be afraid to clarify.
  • It helps build relationships – both business and personal. We all remember that person who listened, understood and did a great job. 

Lastly, I’d like to tell you my story about listening, it was about eight or so years ago, when I was having an ultrasound to locate a tumour in my breast, I had stage 3 cancer. It was in the first few weeks following diagnosis and it was as you can imagine, a stressful and emotionally charged time. The radiologist that day was one of the finest listeners I’ve ever met, he was Persian, and I’ll come to this more in a second. He not only heard what I was saying, but he also saw me, and in a few moments, having asked about and understood my passion for geography and world cultures, he was able to communicate to and interpret my fears. He did this by telling me something that cleverly weaved my articulated pain, emotions and also my interests, but skilfully added something of himself, to reach what he had seen in my face; he told me the following – that the word algebra is from the Arabic word, al-jabr, meaning ‘the reunion of broken parts’. In that moment, I knew he had entirely listened.

So, when you listen to someone’s story, look at them and hear more than just their words, hear and feel what is behind their needs and passions. Only then can you bring them to life. 

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com

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Where do we start?

“The beginning is the most important part of the work.” – Plato

I’ve recently had a new start, of sorts that is. My mother’s side of the family are by and large Maltese, with a bit of Italian, Portuguese and we think North African thrown in somewhere back in the ancestral brew.

My mother died several years ago now, and although she was born in Gibraltar she had a strong connection to her parental line and family in a little village called Zejtun. Her father had smuggled himself on board a ship as a young man to Gibraltar, in search of a better or new life. He was sort of adopted by a Maltese family, they took him under their wing as it were, as a fellow Maltese. He fell in love with one of their daughters, my grandmother and the lady who gave me part of my name.

My mothers’ side of the family.
My grandmother, is back row on the right in front of the tree

Family is also important to me, I have three brothers and a long list of nieces, nephews and a godson. But making that link back to Malta is a thread I began a couple of years ago. I’ve spent hours on-line and scouring microfiched documents of time-faded, priests writing in scribbled ledgers, dating back over 100 years. I needed to find and secure three generations of family certificates to begin my part of this story. Over the course of several months I managed to get all the information and documents I needed. There were some sad stories in there; my great, great grandfather Salvatore, died at Gallipoli, before his daughter my great grandmother was born. The ravages of war never getting any easier. But by way of balance, a funnier tale was that my grandfather was a coal heaver, he carried hefty sacks of coal daily onto the steam ships in Gibraltar dockyard. Years later he was permanently bow-legged from the weight and duration of his job. But back to the here and now, when his marriage certificate came back, a hasty admin clerk had clearly misread his employment and he was down as a goal keeper. Which given the state of his legs, never mind the lack of a football ground in Gibraltar in the early 1900’s made this ironically, very funny. He was a particularly colourful character throughout his life and he would have laughed his head off at this typo.

Coal Heavers in the Gibraltar Dockyard
(Gibraltar History Archives)

But onwards to why I am telling you this story, I wanted to make that connection to my roots, our past weaves it’s way through into who we are today. From the stellar Maltese family eyebrows to an arm full of aunts who hugged you and pinched your cheeks and an uncle who had the most amazing handlebar moustache and would drive me around southern Spain in his taxi, singing while we played his Maria Callas cassettes over and over.

Last year I finally gained my Maltese Citizenship, the next step towards my passport was to go and register my birth in Malta. I made a quick trip over last week, to do just that. Sat in the waiting room with my ticker-tape number in the queue and in scenes not un-reminiscent of the Netherworld waiting room in Beetle Juice, I sat and waited with a folder with my apostille certificates.

Beetlejuice Netherworld Waiting Room

I’ve only ever met one other person with the same name as me, and technically he was a Mario Angel, but the lady who saw me at the registration desk was also a Marie Angela. Then she told me, my birth date was the same as her brothers, and we began chatting like old friends. That’s the Maltese for you, we all make each other feel like family.

Haberdashery in Valetta,
my aunts used to spend hours making lace.

So my point is, there is always a day and a time to start over again, in some way or another. Not just to know who you are and where you are from, which is one thing, but to have that certainty that as Plato once said, ‘the beginning is the most important part of the work‘, and I’ve just had a new one.

As they say in Malta, ‘għandi pjaċir’

(nice to meet you)

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com

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