Hi friends,

Summer 2024 proved tempestuous, and I spent it looking for the light in the dark. There was SO much light.

The swell of counter protests in Bristol and around the country, in response to the violent, racist anti-immigration attacks over the past few months, have been a beacon. They shine through hatred that has been stirred up over countless years, systematically, for financial and political gain. In response to this hatred, we’ve seen an outpouring of solidarity and kindness. The staunch refusal to submit to this creeping sickness of “otherism” is something I’ve been trying to keep front and centre in my mind. It’s those who carry baseball bats in our streets and incite violence online who aren’t welcome, not those who came here seeking safety from those same horrors.

For my creative piece today I imagined a world where we’ve moved past the pain. I wanted it to be light-hearted because everything feels so heavy at the moment. It’s based on a real experience I had recently, but thrust forward in time to when my son is a teenager and has all the answers and is inevitably exasperated by everything I do.

What’s on my mind: I don’t like confrontation (flash fiction: 699 words)

Into the kitchen, I brought five bags for life containing the weekly shop, the forgotten rugby kit that had been left in the car boot for the first three weeks of the summer holidays, and the reusable coffee cup that I had finally remembered to take with me for a post-dentist treat (nothing but water before the appointment, I must convince them I am a responsible tooth-caretaker).

A wall of heat and humidity chased me through the door, unaware it was about to clash with a warm front already in the room.

My husband was there, along with his mirror image, our son, both showing their telltale signs of exasperation. I didn’t know what had happened but could safely assume that my son, as the teenager in this situation, would inevitably be the one in the right.

“How was the dentist, love?” my husband begged me to throw him a life raft.

“Yes, fine, just the usual.” I offered. “Funny thing happened on the way back to the car though. I saw some graffitists, or graffitiers-”

Two thirteen-year-old eyes rolled back in their sockets with such revulsion that for a second I mistook them for signs of some kind of seizure.

“They’re artists, Mum. Jeez, you’re as bad as Dad.”

I chose not to take the bait. I’d made that mistake before. My husband was on his own to calm down whatever dragon he’d prodded into a fiery rage before I had opened that door.

“Yep, you’re right bud. Funny thing was, these graffiti artists weren’t at all what I expected, they-”

“They what?! They weren’t all tagged round the ankle and smoking weed and intimidating women as they passed by? They’re artists Mum, they’re not all knife-carrying dregs of society. It’s not like the olden days anymore.”

I had to take a deep breath at that one.

I’d never intentionally assumed the worst of anyone, but there were always certain groups of people I’d have crossed the road to avoid. Those covering their faces with hoodies or balaclavas. The news was full of them. If you looked close enough they were mostly scared little boys, but the older they grew the more often they wore their demons on their skin. Tattoos, snarls, and menacing stares.

It took a lot of healing to get to where we are now; for those boys to rediscover what it truly means to be a man. For the world to laugh, and smile; to let out a collective sigh of relief.

“No, what I meant was, they looked different to what I expected - and before you say it I don’t mean that way. They looked like a really professional outfit, their spray paints were all in these wheeling aluminium caddies, like little spray-paint suitcases. They all had jean shorts on and the radio playing while they worked. They were all middle-aged men.”

I don’t know why, but I started laughing, and couldn’t stop. Fat tears rolled down the lines at the sides of my eyes, carved their way to join the crevices between cheek and mouth. The two warm fronts in the kitchen converged, and the heat rose up. Dissipated. My husband and son started laughing too, at the distinctly un-anarchic vision of these artists, who seemed to be making an official living out of an act once so subversive.

I stilled my hiccupping laughter enough to admit that I was going to say something to them, “only, I was a bit intimidated, if I’m honest.”

Another eye-roll from the teen, but less judgemental this time. Kinder. More understanding.

“Honestly Mum, what are you like? What were you possibly going to say that made you clam up and clutch your pearls for dear life?”

“Well, I just wasn’t sure whether they’d like to know-”

“Come on, out with it love!” These two warring men were now united in the pursuit of making me the butt of a joke, a common deflection tactic by my husband.

“It’s just, I wasn’t sure whether to mention it, because it seemed like they’d put an awful lot of work in already and I didn’t want to ruin their morale.”

“Mu-um!”

“Well, it’s just, they spelled ‘corruption’ wrong…”

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What I’m writing (the accountability bit)

• One of the two short pieces I submitted for Motherlore magazine has been accepted for publication in the upcoming BODIES edition! Head over to my post on Instagram to read why this one in particular means so much to me.

• I didn’t make it through to the final round of NYC Midnight’s short story competition. I knew I was taking a risk with the political nature of my story, but I’m working to hone the skill of subtle social commentary through storytelling, so felt it an important risk to take. I was right, the critical feedback from the judges was fantastic. I’m so glad I pushed outside my comfort zone as I can now apply that to future work. One judge shared an idea that struck such a chord with me I wanted to share it here:

• “Often it feels like readers will not connect to what you're trying to say unless it's framed in a generalized fashion, but there's a theory among some writers that the more specific you get, the more relatable your writing becomes. Irish writer James Joyce said that "In the particular is contained the universal," which is a lovely idea for every writer to sit with a while.”

  I’ve been sitting with it for a few weeks now and I love the idea more with each passing moment. I’d love to hear what you think!

• Though I fell just short of the winning prize, I was thrilled to be listed as a Top-Tier Finalist (top 1.7% of all entries) in the Inspired by Art Flash Fiction 2024 contest run by Globe Soup. Encouraged by the cheerleaders on Globe Soup’s social media channels, I’m going to submit my story for another competition and see how it fares. I’ll definitely take part in this one again in future, the art was such a unique and creative prompt! You can read the well-deserved winning story, The Aweigh Hymn by Jay McKenzie here. I was blown away by the intensity of emotion she managed to squeeze into 500 words!

• Submitted and waiting to hear: My NYC midnight third-round entry “Twenty-two” has been submitted to The Sun magazine as it’s US-centric.

• Still on my list: 1. An essay/ article on social media and the importance of digital boundaries. 2. An essay on all the ways it gets easier as a parent - for anyone currently in survival mode being told “oh, just you wait until X,Y,X”. 3. I’m going to submit my NYC midnight short story round 2 entry, Better Times Ahead, and my Globe Soup flash fiction, The Wish_^, to the Mslexia Women’s Fiction competition closing 23rd September. It will be interesting to see how they fare in a different competition pool. Judging is so subjective, it might just hit the right spot this time!

Building my “village”: events and interactions and real, other people, oh my!

The Motherwords No Book Book Club finally rolled around, after I turned up two months early to the event back in June.

Worth. The. Wait!

As a group, we read and reflected on three varied pieces and it was absolutely wonderful to share thoughts on this writing with an intimate group of mothers at different stages of our journey.

I’m hoping I can join the Musings on Motherhood course starting in September, and I’d recommend you check it out too if you’d like to explore writing on mothering and matrescence. Bonus - no prep work to add to the ongoing life-juggle!

What I’m reading/ newsletters I love

As summer has been more chaotic than I had planned, I’ve found it difficult to squeeze in as much reading as I’d like. That is, with the exception, of absolutely devouring Piranesi by Susanna Clarke.

Have you read it? There’s so little I can say without spoiling it. If you haven’t: run, don’t walk, to your nearest bookshop or library and dive headfirst into the waters without reading anything about it in advance. You won’t regret it!

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Until next time, folks, whenever that will be! (Mum life…)

AmyElise