by Fiona likes to blog | Oct 25, 2023 | WRITING
I’ve been publishing poetry on a secret Instagram account for a while now.
Partly because I’m embarrassed about how new I am to this art form, partly because I feel like an imposter, but mostly, because the idea of showing you my poems is like showing you my innards and asking you to tell me I am beautiful.
I’ve published books about my personal life, and written about being depressed and anxious for national publications. I’ve been honest about not wanting kids, about my tarot obsession and coming out later in life.
But something about turning my thoughts into lyrical creations feels like an emotional challenge. Perhaps it’s because writing from your gut is more than one hurdle.
There’s the initial discomfort of choosing to dig around in your emotional landscape, uncovering joyful moments that have slipped away and experiencing hard times that you’d rather forget.
Then comes the task of shaping those experiences into something that not only feels truthful and authentic but also performs in a way that touches an audience in the way you intend.
But ultimately, for me, I use writing as a way to feel seen. A way to be visible in a world that wants queer women to be quiet.
The final step may be the most painful part: choosing to share those words with others and knowing that not everyone will like it, understand it or even care.
So why publish poetry at all? Why not just write it in my bedroom and keep it safe in the pages of my journal?
I don’t think this is a bad idea actually. There are hundreds of words in my journals and on my laptop that will never see the light of day.
The advice I always give to my mentoring clients is that you can always post your work anonymously. If you’re worried about a friend or family member reading it, or having your boss see you badmouthing your company, there is absolutely no requirement to attach your name to your work. Use a fake name. Create an anonymous instagram account.
But ultimately, for me, I use writing as a way to feel seen. A way to be visible in a world that wants queer women to be quiet.
For that reason, I knew that publishing my poetry was going to be an important part of my journey as a writer as well as an act of acknowledgement of my own creative spirit. A tangible action to prove that my voice matters.
It’s an act of empowerment to have my poems in a digital space instead of hiding in my notebooks.
Around September 2022, I made an instagram account and started posting little poems that were small enough to fit in a square. I tagged them in Spain (wow, really covering my tracks like a spy here) and told one friend that the page existed, because I knew she would think it was cool.
I shared poems intermittently over the last year and the act of posting those poems online has given me the confidence to take poetry more seriously.
I posted online and the world didn’t crumble. I shared my account with my newsletter subscribers and no one took the piss out of me. I look back on the posts now and again and having them collected in one place makes it feel more real.
It’s an act of empowerment to have my poems in a digital space instead of hiding in my notebooks. Just like I struggle everyday to take up space as a queer woman in a world made for cis heterosexual men.
But I know I can’t hide in the shadows forever. I know I need to, for my own well-being, share those words with you to prove to myself that I am allowed to take up space as a person, never mind as a poet.
So here goes, my Instagram account where I post all my poetry. I’d love for you to follow me to keep up to date with my journey and hopefully get inspired to take creative leaps of your own.
by Fiona likes to blog | Oct 18, 2023 | WRITING
When I started sharing my writing on the internet back in 2012, it wasn’t because I’d written anything I was proud of. It was because I had hit rock bottom and had nowhere else to go.
I was too depressed to go to work and too anxious to socialise. My ‘professional working woman’ outer shell, the one I’d spent years creating, had all but disintegrated and I was…. confused.
Writing online was my way of figuring that out and a few years later it turned out rather well. I published two books and was paid to write for magazines. I began to host online writing courses for others, finding satisfaction in pulling others up to where I felt we all deserved to be.
But this time, writing explicitly about the gurglings in my subconscious through personal essays or a memoir hasn’t felt quite right. It hasn’t felt enough.
But over the last few years, amidst coming out as a lesbian and processing a painful divorce, I’ve felt that urge return again. An urge to find myself through writing.
I’ve written a few blogs, regularly written to my newsletter fam (I see you!) but there is something more potent stirring that needs a unique outlet.
Non-fiction has always been my jam.
A true story tugs on my heartstrings everytime, I’m a nosey bugger and I want to know about people’s lives and the stories they survive. But this time, writing explicitly about the gurglings in my subconscious through personal essays or a memoir hasn’t felt quite right. It hasn’t felt enough.
I’m only just finding the courage to really say what is going on in my brain and to shape it into something subjective, something that cannot be bumped up by a clickable headline or polished by a professional editor.
I need a fresh set of paints to create my art.
And I really do mean art, because after writing books as part of the traditional publishing model I feel as though I disregarded myself as an artist completely. I tweaked my words and edited my ideas to make my writing profitable.
Do I regret it? Not necessarily.
It’s a process I had to go through to experience first-hand. I have tangible proof that I can write professionally (which not everyone needs, but I’m insecure so it helps) but now I want to prove to myself that I can write artistically too.
My approach to non-fiction has always been about the internal monologue mixed in with external events. But there aren’t always words that express the wild and unspeakable things that go on in our heads.
So I turned to poetry to figure out what was going on in there with the hope of alchemising it into something that I feel is an artistic representation of who I am.
I’ve been writing poetry for over a year, but more recently something shifted in me. I gave myself permission to really dedicate the time to my craft. To read more poetry, to learn about technique, take part in courses and begin editing and sharing my work.
This is all vulnerable in a way that feels rather dramatic. Who cares if I’m writing poetry? Does anyone care? I have no idea and maybe that’s what I’m finding so unbearably raw. That I’m only just finding the courage to really say what is going on in my brain and to shape it into something subjective, something that cannot be bumped up by a clickable headline or polished by a professional editor. This is all on me now.
I’m writing this because I don’t think enough writers talk about changing lanes. About getting out of a niche they’ve built for themselves and doing the scary thing of trying to break out of it.
Perhaps you’ve told yourself that you could only ever write fiction because your life isn’t interesting enough to be a memoir.
Maybe you’ve stuck to poetry because a novel seems like a mammoth task you’re incapable of completing.
Or perhaps like me, you’ve stuck with the kind of writing that other people said you are good at.
Whatever your writing lane, consider this blog post a flashing green arrow encouraging you to merge into a new one, and allow your inner artist to take the wheel. Read more about my poetry.
