In this blog I will be looking at a writer’s social media profile.  A perfect example is Anna Beecher. Anna is a former University of Westminster Creative Writing and English Literature student who Matt Morrison organised to talk with us in year one.

Anna’s website is easy to navigate, the ‘Home’ section talks about her debut novel ‘Here Comes the Miracle’ and includes what other writers and newspapers have had to say about the book. It also notes the fact she has been nominated for the ‘Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award’. She then starts a section about herself with the personable phase ‘Hello, I’m Anna’ and details what she does now, including writing, making theatre and teaching. She tells us about where her theatre work has been performed, what she teaches and where she has studied.

In the ‘Writing’ section of her blog, she tells what her debut novel ‘Here comes the Miracle’ is about and where you can find her other writing work and also an option to subscribe to ‘Peachy’ which she describes as her ‘irregular email letter’ in which she states you will find ‘thoughts from me, reading recommendations and creative prompts.’ It is informative and I like the almost ‘scatty’ way she describes her ‘irregular email letter’.

In the ‘Performance’ section she describes the company ‘Akin’ she has co-founded with Rachel Lincoln in 2015 which creates ‘theatrical, sensory experiences for families’. We really get a feel for the show as she provides details of the shows and recommendations and reviews it has received from newspapers and Theatre guides. She goes on to detail other plays she has written, with reviews and details of her ‘Solo Performance and Storytelling’. It is an interesting mix of images and text which really ‘grabs’ the readers interest.

The next section is titled ‘Teaching’. What I really like about this section is includes where Anna has taught, awards she has achieved and what her students have to say about her including one comment in which a student says “This class was phenomenal. Anna is one of the most caring, insightful, and engaging professors I’ve had in my three years at UVA”. Although I have not met Anna in person and only via an online setting, I am inclined to agree. I found her very engaging, captivating and someone that could really get the best out of her students and the people she works with.

Anna’s section on Voice & Presence Coaching is a similar mix of what she offers, a review from a student but also what you would experience in a session with her. I found the last section very informative as it gives you an insight as to what it would be like to work with Anna.

Anna’s Instagram is a mix of personal and professional content, incorporating photographs of her partner, random beautiful flamingos, an image of Anna and a snowman, recommendations of other writer’s work and also details of her book and content about subscribing to ‘Peachy’. I enjoy viewing Anna’s content as you get to view her personal life, it is not just relentless content about her work. You get a sense as of her as a person. From what I can gather Anna is a ‘foodie’ as there are many images of home baking including, biscuits, pastries and pizza. The latter being a nod to the Italian translation of her novel with Edizione di AtlantideE

by Sarah Tooke

A favourite movie franchise of mine is Alien (Ridley Scott) which imagines the creatures in outer space and the possible dangers of messing with them. The suspense and moral aspects of the film excite me a lot. Ripley is a strong female protagonist who embodies the kick-ass attitude we all know and love. It’s both scary and fun to imagine aliens. Saying this, my reading preferences are typically realistic fiction. I enjoy being in the head of a character and watching a pretend situation play out and wondering what I would do in that situation. For example, Jane Fallon’s books let me be in the middle of gossip and revenge without having to actually deal with the consequences. For this, I think escapism is invaluable. As human beings, we typically live through mundane and monotonous routines. For me, most days consist of eating, showering and working. 

Although, humans are complex creatures. All of us have fears and desires which can be tapped into through escapism. The word ‘escapism’  is defined as the ‘tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, especially by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy.’ For me, if I’m having a rough day, switching off and diving into a film, series or book takes my mind off my own problems for a while. I’m sure most of you share my curiosity and desire to observe, learn and grow. Escaping into fiction allows us to do this. The characters live out scenarios so we don’t have to. There is of course a downside to escapism. We can hide in the comfort of our duvet, close the book, switch off the film. In real life situations, we can’t do that as easily but fiction can force us to think and be somewhat prepared.

Escapism is also a temporary cure for loneliness and boredom. In real life, relationships and connection take time but in fiction, we get through the barrier of intimacy quickly. Characters can feel relatable and like friends. Jane Eyre springs to mind for me, with her delicate strength and rebellious nature. Escapism doesn’t just have to mean fantasy. Writing realism and ordinary characters can satisfy our need to connect just as much. Getting into the heads of other people is something we all wish we could do. Another favourite of mine is Austen. Not only do we get an insight into that era and society, but can learn a lot by observing each character’s journey. We might despite such figures as Mr. Collins and therefore be asked why that is – forming our identity and morals.

Though, with genres like sci-fi and dystopia, it can be exciting to imagine what other worlds might be like. Humans are naturally curious and it is both scary and thrilling to dive into an unknown world. An example of this might be Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale which taps into our fears of the future and what a totalitarian state might look like. Our anxieties about politics and power can be trialled through fiction. 

Overall, escapism is very valuable and can fulfil many purposes. It can give a sense of connection and belonging and/or give us a break from everyday life. We might read or watch something that includes magic or monsters which is arguably a lot more exciting than someone going to work five days a week. Escapism is essentially walking in someone else’s shoes for a while or playing out the impossible. 

 
A mother this morning, no title this evening
She screamed “it’s not true, please just come home”.
 
Her father breaks down, there’s nowhere to go,
Did she ever know, she was his home.
 
Her bed lies empty, with unopened presents,
The smell of her perfume, from her last time at home.
 
Could she have seen, how much she was missed  
Would she be gone, or this time come home?
 
That frightful call, still echoes in my head,
“She passed away this morning, she’s not coming home”
 
You never think, it’ll happen to you
‘til you one day come home, to a now empty home.
 
She’ll never get to feel, what it’s like to be free,
To go off to uni and move out of home.
 
She’ll never get the chance, to walk down the aisle,
Have her own children, and build her own home.
 
The pain left behind, will never be healed,
Her separated parents try to build their new homes.
 
Why did you go? Too late to ask,
Life must go on, in a now empty home.
 
My partner in crime, my friend till the end,
I’ll miss your sweet laughter, filling my home.
 
But tonight when I see you, you’ll tell me again
I’m sorry I hurt you, but now I am home.

I remember when needles only grew from pine trees. 
When the scent of the earth was sweet 
and I could taste the dew drops on my tongue 
standing in the backyard
of another house I grew up in. 

I remember when I'd fight sleep. 
When I’d count the fireflies outside my window
begging to stay awake with them
as if i’d miss some firework show 
like the ones we’d watch on the fourth of July. 

I remember when my only scars were from scraped knees and paper cuts. 
Before I felt the bitter hands of wrath
for now I have two
and they remind me everyday
that I am not who I was. 

I remember when I felt something more than this. 

When I felt the warmth of the sun in august.
And lit the last sparklers of the summer. 
When i felt the grass under bare feet 
dancing in the darkness. 

When I felt like I could breathe 
and i didn’t have to heave every time 
I look at what I've become. 

I remember the sky  
the twilight, the dawn, the sunsets, the stars 
before colours faded to grey
to black. 

I remember when I wasn’t like this 
I remember 
when I felt there was something. 

One evening,

After a day of troubled decisions

I awoke to find myself transformed

Into a monstrous dream

I first felt my legs, as they twisted and turned underneath me

Splintering and sprinting

To form the purple nightflesh of my thoughts

A self-evading substrate, brimming with algae and dishwater

Spilling and swilling, as a drunken Danish waiter

My arms grew like roots above me,

And with the disorientating cradle of canopy for my head

I twisted backwards in my bed

And hung wishes

Like stalagmites, like dog teeth

Like swishing sprouting royalty, like floundering crowns foundered and unfound,

And from the caverns of my ears – distant cheers,

a flock of bicycle bells, a thumping heart attack, trees being felled, a traffic jam spreading on the besotted backside of a toasted heel, clapping towards a suicidal walrus with eels for sighs –

A screeching as my eyes melted to letters, posted themselves to minds they found better, and declared –

I was the son, and daughter of a king, and I, find it now appropriate to sing, and die

And from my ribcage, bursting blossoms, my soundless organs long forgotten, and dust playing the chorus to my rotting

My existence twisted and upturned within me, and time found itself rhyme-lessly irrelevant –

I spent 17 years watching through the grime of a window, the movements of a pink elephant

That I had mistaken for a mare

Whinnying and whistling, through the gaps between my hair

To later lose that language up the flaring nostrils, of a stranded, wrecked colossus,

Inhaling his own sand-hidden self-importance

And dissolve with resolute dissolution, stirring myself to a solution, that gave my sinful skin the resolve to revolve in revolution and disappear

And bursting wide, fear came sliding, an invertebrate with glowing eyes, carefully inspecting the holes in – what had been my thighs

The nib of night blinked, blotted and buried and I sank with unhurried acceptance beneath the oblivion of images and phantom senses

–

A pleasurable surrendering, to an unspeaking tide, that bides its time in twilight

–        

And will be banished and unspawned all the same

By the drowning mismemory of the dawn’s waking brain

Amita Murray. Speaker review.
I thoroughly enjoyed listening to this week’s speaker. I found her to be engaging, insightful and very funny. She was very animated as she read her new novel ‘Arya Winters and The Tiramisu of Death’.
Once she went onto to read the book I agreed with the production company who may making the book into a ‘tv option’, opinion that the book is like Fleabag meets Agatha Christie. She went on to explain ‘the inner turmoil of her protagonist’, that she suffers from social anxiety and in the book, she wanted to ‘tackle the problem of loneliness’. I thought this was a very relatable point to make. At some points in our life, we have all felt lonely, in spite our how much we may enjoy our own company. Whether thiscomes at a point when we are not in a romantic relationship or our friends’ lives have moved on in different directions. I liked the fact that however lonely Ayra was, Amita decided her lead character was
‘not willing to compromise on who she spent her time with’.
I also realised I had never thought about the appeal of food when it is applied to literature, she commented it has more of a ‘visual appeal’ which I am inclined to agree with. Particularly as I Love Tiramisu. The Tiramisu makes its way into the title as the lead character Arya’s profession is baking cakes. I found it remarkably interesting the way Amita described her process in relation to character’s backgrounds. She relayed she ‘did not want a detective as an actual detective in profession…. as an amateur detective, she can get away with stuff others cannot’. She relays a scene in which Arya removes
yellow tape from a crime scene and implies she then in fact tampers with the scene. I am sure you are inclined to agree we all love a character who breaks ‘the rules’. We learn Arya turns amateur sleuth as her Aunty Mira and her ex-partner Craig’s Uncle Tobias have both been murdered.
I loved the way she described her writing process, and rather than focusing on plot, she is very ‘character based’. I also really identified with the fact she makes her characters behave in ways she wishes she could. For example, Arya is ‘very forthright’. A trait that Amita ‘admires about her’, she also alluded to the fact she wishes she could be more like this in temperament. I also liked that when asked by Vonder if her writing process was ‘planned or chaotic and feral’, she admitted it was the latter. I agree writing for me is more comparable to this as you write and then realise you missed a pivotal or vital part that could add to the suspense or excitement of your story. Amita encouraged us to do writing exercises and admitted ‘writing doesn’t have to be perfect’ and to do ‘your personal best’. I was
thoroughly captivated by Amita, found her advice insightful and look forward to hopefully hearing her again in the future.

crickets send condolences / mimic the song that played / in the backseat when bedrooms / weren’t private enough / when dirt tracks stretched out / like unspeakable proverbs / as bells chimed blue-movie / melodies / averting their gaze / as we plucked / forget-me-nots with kisses / & sucked honey from the suckle / as if it were our last meal / as if the forest / would swallow us up / crippling us in tremors / of adolescent soil.

Dew moistens our clasp / your roots unknot from mine / I hear the sound of tearing / as the morning dawns red.

^{Image by Addison Williams}