Covid and the evolution of my late life role of full-time carer seemed to generate a long sleep when many important aspects of my life slipped by unnoticed. Before then playing an important part of my writing life were my two website/blogs – Life Twice Tasted and Damselfly Books – which served to illustrate my creative and literary life. Even through this long ‘sleep’ I have managed to keep up with Life Twice Tasted blog but my Damselfly Books blog has fallen by the wayside rather more than I would like.

Let me step aside and indulge in some historical context. In 1972 when my very first book was published I was 31 years old. By then I had taught art in a secondary school, taught children in a primary school, I had, memorably, also home-taught Rose, a girl suffering from spina bifida. I went on to obtain an Advanced Diploma in Primary Education, before finally moving into Higher Education, to teach adults to be good teachers.

 As a background to all this, I had married my husband, had written and published four children’s novels, had two children of my own, and moved house twice. Having completed my Diploma I was asked by my supervisor at the University of Newcastle to move onto a PhD in education. Also for four years during that time I wrote a weekly column for the Northern Echo, the leading regional newspaper.

Deciding not to do that PhD I decided to leave teaching and use my energy and focus it on writing full-blown adult novels. And perhaps do a little bit of teaching on the side.

Now in these slightly brighter, more wide-wake days I have finally decided that I should wake up my two blogs and work on, to allow them to continue mapping out my creative life as they did in earlier days.

Back to the present.  Before the radical dislocation brought about by Covid, good my academic friend Dr Donna Maynard had embarked on the self-created enterprise of creating an archive all my books – cross-referencing them with my hundreds of notebooks from which my long list of published novels and short stories had emerged over the 40 or so years since 1972. I wrote a post on Life Twice Tasted about being contacted by a man who after 50 years. Still treasured that first 1972 book called Theft This has probably kickstarted my new intention about waking up the two blogs and participating in Dr. DM’s project.

So, here on Damselfly Books I will document my conversations with my friend Dr Donna Maynard whose academic expertise is defined by her great insights into the work of George Eliot.

Donna is now proposing to embark on the self-imposed task of reading each of my books in sequence, alongside the notebooks from which they emerged. She will document her observations regarding these books and meet with me on a regular basis with specific questions about each book and how it came to be written. 

So, each post/essay on the newly awakened Damselfly Books blog will be a reflection of this process. with perhaps some discussion about the nature of the creative process that produced each book.

And across on my other blog – Life Twice Tasted – I will continue to document my own and others’ books reflecting on all aspects of the writing process. Currently you may read about my friend Michael Daley and his fascinating new short story collection The Midnight Mannequins.

The next entry over on Life Twice Tasted will be my introduction to the process which led to the writing of my new short story collection Siblings which started life being broadcast on radio during Christmas week 2021.

You can listen to them here.

Like many of us readers these days, my ongoing consumption of fiction combines both my treasured books with their bright covers and my phones and tablet. These are the mechanisms by which people now may  ‘read’ as they are walking, shopping, laying bricks, mending cars, or planting borders. These days our range of literature consumption has broadened in a way unforeseen a couple of decades ago. 

I learnt a lot about this recently when the stories in my collection Siblings were narrated and recorded by Anne Dover and broadcast by my local radio – (Check it out here.) 

Anne has in tha past narrated several of my novels and seemed to be the right person for me to ask to record these stories. Her actor’s skills shone out to me in her audio versions of my novels. I was delighted when she agreed to do this. 

This experience has alerted me again to the fact that no matter how well written good prose may be, in the audio form this writing will be judged by the quality of the narrator. Having listened to dozens of recorded novels in the last two or three years it has come home to me very solidly that however good the text may be  the quality of the narrative skills of the voice actors are crucial to one’s apprehension of any story. This is particularly so when a story is located in particular regions where some narrators assume cod stereotyped accents which ruin the true subtleties of the written fiction.  

This process may be taken for granted unless one has experienced both sides of it.   The subtlety, life and accuracy of all Anne Dover’s narration of the Sibling stories – set in South Durham – seems seemed to me to be outstanding. This is also true of my longer novels such as Sandie Shaw and the Millionth Marvell Cooker and The Woman Who Drew Buildings. 

You can read Anne’s own account of her life as a Voice Actor on my blog on Life Twice Tasted at Life Twice Tasted. In it she outlines the process of becoming a voice actor. 

At last I am beginning to understand how Anne Dover rose to her present level of excellence, recording a thousand novels with an actor’s grasp of subtlety of characterisation and the profound sense of place which she manages to evoke. I’m fascinated by her story of starting out as a preacher’s daughter in a place called Mount Pleasant in South Durham and becoming a professional actor on the national scene. 

So this was why I asked her to write a piece for my blog  Life Twice Tasted . You can hear her interview with Gary Burgham on BishopFM on Friday 19th Jan between 8.30a.m – 9.

Afternote: I am now looking forward to working on the print version of Siblings which Damselfly will publish later this year. Anne’s narrated version is a great foundation for that.  

You will find details of Hugh’s First book, Scenes from a Life, on the tab above here entitled ‘beginning writing in older age‘.

And now we have his new collection:

The Bombed House and other Stories

And here are four heartfelt tributes from people who knew him well.

‘The Funniest Man in Cambridge’: Peter Cook.

My Very Good Friend Hugh Cross.

By his friend Sarah Frances

I first met Hugh 37 years ago when I gate crashed a supper he was hosting for my father and stepmother. I had pitched up from my foster family, somewhat of a surprise as my father had never mentioned having four children to Hugh despite having known him for three years and making Hugh best man at his wedding.

Characteristic of Hugh I was greeted with generous warmth, the supper of fish fingers and chips shared, followed by a great evening playing cards, listening to Roxy Music interspersed with laughter and Hugh’s hallmark mischievous and insightful wit. Hugh never batted any eyelid despite the strangeness of my arrival; this was to prove typical of the grace, humanity and great generosity of spirit that Hugh displayed throughout all the years of our friendship.

Hugh loved reading and over the years introduced me to many of his favourite authors; Hardy, James Baldwin, William Trevor. Hugh had a keen intellect and wry humour; Peter Cook , who was a peer of Hugh’s at Cambridge university, considered Hugh the “funniest man at Cambridge”. Cook invited Hugh to meet him but the recent trauma of having lost both parents and family home within a short period had left its imprint, nerves took hold and Hugh didn’t make the meeting. Hugh always wondered what might have happened if he had met Cook and wrote a very moving poem about this which he shared with me last year.

While undertaking National Service Hugh had played the piano in the Officers Mess to top up his income. He was a great pianist and could play all the lounge bar classics; he had a great love of music which was shared by his sister who had trained at The Royal College of Music. Hugh loved listening to his sister play on her baby Grand when we would visit her at home in rural France. He also loved listening to vinyl records and the radio; evenings spent together would be to a background of music from Streisand through Odyssey, Peter Sellers, Round the Horne and Soft Cell!

When I met Hugh he was living in Spennymoor close to his beloved sister and her family. Times were tough – it was the 1980’s and the North East was scarred by mass unemployment. Hugh always made the most of all situations, despite how hard, and had joined The Settlement, the local Am Dram society. His theatrical exploits lit up many a shared evening; Hugh never failed to make me laugh. Hugh loved the theatre; he subscribed to The Stage and eagerly looked forward to every new opening of a Sondheim in London’s West End. The triple passions of literature, film and theatre stayed with him a lifetime.

As I went to University and moved away Hugh would write wonderful letters to me, which I treasure, letters which sparkled with his literary talent. He could bring humour and lightness to any situation but with warmth and compassion – never cruel or sarcastic. When I would return from my adventures it was to Hugh I would land; he would greet me in a smart pink shirt, bright tie and stripey socks topped with a huge Hughie smile and hug. He made me understand what it meant to be welcomed home.

Over the years Hughie dedicated himself as a carer to a fellow with severe mental health problems. This was an act of extreme kindness which took its toll; Hugh wrote about this experience very movingly in his first book. Hugh always kept learning, kept widening his intellect and never narrowed his vision or capacity to grow as he journeyed through life. He started going to gay clubs with me when he was 60 and those hilarious evenings remain a lasting and precious memory of such happy times together. So it was no surprise to me when Hugh, encouraged by prolific author Wendy Robertson, decided to take up writing “seriously” aged 80.

Hugh visited me in St Leonard’s after the publication of his first book. He described the process of writing and publishing this book as being like a birth of a baby. He felt his book was a legacy and in its writing he had contributed something of value to life. When I introduced Hugh to my friends they were in awe of his talent and literary achievement; Hugh as ever was modest and humble in response.The confidence borne from birthing his first book helped Hugh realise how much more he had to offer as a author so he quickly turned to writing his second book, helped by both his local librarian and writing buddy Donna. This second book would be an adventure into short stories as well as memoir – from here Hugh shared that he wanted to dive deeper into fiction writing, perhaps even a novel. He told me he had written 78 stories which, with Wendy’s help, had to be edited down to produce “ The Bombed House”.

We never know when life shall be full stopped. Just after Christmas, while Hugh was happily awaiting the publication of this second book, we laughed together about the recent diagnosis of arthritis in his neck; Hugh quipped “I’ve always been a pain in the neck”. Little did we know this was something much larger and malevolent: cancer. Hugh had always been very physically strong so the swift rampage of cancer which took him was shocking. We were unprepared for his sudden exit stage left. And he had so much more to write.

Hugh remains an inspiration to me and to all others he met along the way. He was a true gentleman, best friend, creative warrior and “the funniest man in Cambridge”. Hugh gave fully of himself without expecting or demanding anything in return; a precious spirit indeed. In his last long email to me Hugh urged me to listen to Elaine Stritch singing “I’m Still Here”, a classic Sondheim number. I urge you to listen too. Hugh may be gone but his books and his legacy live on

Such a Clever, Funny Man

Wendy Robertson,

Hugh was born in Leicester in 1936. He left school to do his national service in the army before obtaining his MA at Magdalen, College Cambridge. His passions in life proved to be literature, theatre and film. These passions came to full fruition when, in his early 80s he was inspired to write.

Our meeting came at a time when in my own writing I was focusing on the organic relationship between memoir and literary fiction – an interest which culminated in the publication of my short story collection Kaleidoscope.

Through some years Hugh and I had many in-depth conversations about this organic relationship between memoir and literary fiction. Before long –  he began to write his own short stories – built as they are just around elements in his own life – including places, school, family, friendship college, army life, hospital stays, and the day-to-day life in a small north-eastern town.

As a late-coming writer Hugh was unique as in these new writing adventures he was also building on lifelong scholarship and literary insight. We have to admit that this might not be available to many new writers in their eighth or ninth decade. I am always impressed that despite knowing the English literary canon almost off by heart, in his own writing he had never resorted to derivative imitations His writing was fresh and from the heart.  

The fictional structure of Hugh’s stories allowed him to tell some truths of his 20^th century experiences while avoiding the self-indulgence of personal disclosure: in this way he transformed his own personal experience into insights with which many of us can identify.

I should explain here that following a fallow time due to illness, the restrictions and problems of the 2020 lockdown and the national emergency have delayed the publication on Damselfly of Hugh Cross’s new book. Hugh’s writing has been much admired here on Damselfly – see for example his essay on Iris Murdoch.

Sadly Hugh died early 2020 – but not before leaving for us this new collection of his writing.  However, constraints in the last months have prevented me from taking Hugh’s book through last edit to publication. But now here we have it – showcasing Hugh’s insights, sensitivity and real writing talents.

So it is a true delight for me to announce that Hugh’s second book, The Bombed House and Other Stories, is now in paperback and on Kindle and available on Amazon. Here

In the introduction to this new book Hugh says, ‘Last year I published my first book, Scenes From a Life. The positive reaction I have from readers has encouraged me to produce the second book of more recent writing.’

This second volume, The Bombed House and Other Stories, continues with a series of cameos, short stories and reviews that serve to illuminate aspects of 20^th century life with which many people will identify.

So, The Bombed House Another and Other Stories will sit alongside Scenes From a Life as the work of a talented writer. These are two marvellous works from a writer who came late in life to the creative process of writing – in his early 80s – and flourished.

To whet your appetite I have listed here the contents list of this new book.

Growing Up: The Bombed House/ Inspiration/   Politics/ Naivety/ Initiative/ So Proud.

Recovery: Aunt Edie/ A Nightmare/ Sherry With Aunt Maud/ Freddie Gets A Shock/ The Village People/

Living: A New Friend/ Eat Drink And Be Merry/ Opinions/ Company For Visiting: Follies/ Reunion/ Reconnecting

Stories: Encounters/ Who’s Kidding Whom? / Harry’s Story/ Santini’s Ice Cream Parlour

Reading: Breakfast On Pluto/ The Green Knight/ The Book Of Evidence/ Less/ An Englishwoman In France

More tributes from people who accompanied and encouraged Hugh on this late life creative journey.

We Laughed a Lot.

Hannah Shaw, Library Assistant, Spennymoor Library

In his first book, Hugh thanked me for “dragging him into the twenty-first century”! To be honest I don’t remember it quite like that but I do have very fond memories of the two of us discussing how he was going to use his old laptop computer to write his memoires, and the very many one-hour dates we had in Spennymoor Library as he progressed over the following months.

We laughed a lot, and I think he told me much more about his life than ever got to print!! Our sessions soon became my favourite time of the week and, although I was delighted when he finally learned enough about things to work on his own, it did make me sad to know that he wouldn’t be coming in the door every Monday at 2pm.

As well as using the library as a place for learning and borrowing books, Hugh was also a well-liked and respected member of the Spennymoor Library Book Group. It has to be said that his views on the monthly book tended to differ somewhat to other members and he always saw a different side to the story to other book group members – but his notes were always so well written and his point of view so well put across that few could disagree with him for long!

I continue to miss Hugh a great deal, in particular his wonderful sense of humour and the mischievous glint in his eye. But it brings me comfort to be able to read both his books, which I know he was immensely proud of, and hear to his voice in my head as I do so.

‘He was so funny, brave and dear. I miss him.‘

Donna Maynard PhD

Preview (opens in a new tab)

I met Hugh at a memoir writing course led by Wendy Robertson.  Wendy felt that Hugh and I would make good writing buddies and we began to meet fortnightly to discuss writing and books: Our conversations enriched my life.  Hugh was an astute, intelligent reader who absolutely thrived on discussions about literature and writing. His analysis of a book was always sharp and insightful, sometimes scathing, often wickedly funny.

He was always thrilled to be introduced to a book by an author new to him – this, because he was so well-read – was difficult. If attracted by a writer he would digest that writer’s entire body of work.  

I have Hugh’s first book on my bedside table, seeing his name will bring to my mind something clever, well-considered and rational that he said, often rounded-off with a flourish of Pythonesque humour! He was so funny, brave and dear. I miss him.

HUGH CROSS 1937 – 2020

RIP

These two pieces are  my personal celebration of  National Writing Day.

The first piece is  written by S., one of the many talented and interesting women I met when I was working as writer in Residence at a women’s prison. These women later inspired me to write my novel Paulie’s Web.

The second piece – inspired also my prison experience – illustrated my own reflections on the connection between writing with freedom, whatever the confinement.

 

Writing in Jail by S,

When I came into prison I wanted to send a poem to my partner to let him know I was thinking of him and my family. I looked around the library but couldn’t find any poem which suited how I was feeling. I decided to write my own poem and found that word simply spilled onto the paper.

After being here six weeks I now have a varied collection of my own poems which are going into my own little book. Not that I want any kind of souvenirs of my time in prison but this book represents a period of my life. It is also a collection of my thoughts and the feelings I have gone through over this time.

The poems are in order from the first ones I wrote at the beginning of my sentence and through to the end. The beginning has poems that show the love I have for my family members, my mum my daughter. In the middle are poems between confusion and anger about the status of my soon to be ex-partner. The last poems are to friends and family. I found that writing these poems down on paper relieve the stress and anger I was feeling. I also felt proud to have produced an end product which made me feel happy in myself like I’d achieved something for myself

 

Writing is the Sound of the Soul Breathing. WR

Writing is the sound of the soul breathing –
it is measured, shapely, intended;
every breath out predicates every breath in;
each sentence brings forward another one –
every word a platform for the next jump in meaning

We breathe in and out, in and out

in lines, in paragraphs, in pages, in volumes –
the writer’s life laid out  in a million words –
each one separate, elegant, leaping off the page
instinct with meaning

Writing is the notation of the quiet soul –
not blasted out by clarinets and trumpets –
rather it is dark smoke rising in the air;
in the end the words lie there

just waiting for your eye.

They lie on the page in ranks and lines
waiting for you to add your sound
to my notation on the page –
creating a mutual world
new to your soul and mine.

 

Working with Sharon.

It was so  good  to work with  fellow professional –  journalist and novelist Sharon Griffiths,  in developing and publishing her  new novel Amity and the Angel. 

This is Sharon’s third published  novel, It is a marvellously perceptive venture into the exciting field of  future fiction – imagining life in a  future world which has been virtually destroyed after the destructive 21st Century Oil  Wars.

The heroine, teenager Amity, lives on a distant island which – in its own process of survival – has reverted to a restrictive religion-obsessed world. Amity  battles on with the restrictions, trying to assert her right to live a normal life.  Her  childhood sweetheart, who  had left the island, now returns strangely changed. One day on the beach  Amity  comes across a golden haired wounded figure whom she takes to be  an angel.

More about Sharon Griffiths and Amity

Originally from Pembrokeshire, West Wales. Sharon ended up in the North East of England by way of    Bristol  University and Radio Oxford.   For some years she has written regular columns and feature articles for The Northern Echo   (http://tiny.cc/ia6lky)  and  the Eastern Daily Press in Norwich – as well as features for national newspapers.

Sharon’s columns and articles are widely popular for their intelligence, warmth and humour as well as  their insight into domestic, cultural and political life. Her previous novels, The Accidental Time Traveller and The Lost Guide to Life and Love, gained plaudits here and abroad.

With Amity and The Angel Sharon enters new territory. In this novel we flip back what appears to be medieval times in a severe Protestant island sect. However this is the contemporary world, after world-wide oil wars have destroyed much of the planet. (How resonant this is, of present day fears …)

The island is loosely connected to equally isolated mainland communities and is serviced by travelling tradesmen who  bring them news of the wider world. On the island there are no machines, few horses, no dancing, no singing, even in church, where there is much haranguing and instruction and bullying authority, There is  a chilling scene here, of the public shaming of a girl who has had a child out-of-wedlock

Amity does no fit into this oppressive community with is clerical hierarchy and gender based laws. Here own discontent is fed by the memories if the grandmother she takes care of, who has told her tales of times when there was singing and dancing, mobile phones, high heels and lipstick.

After Amity’s friend Finn leaves the island for the mainland, she finds solace in a creature she finds in a cave on the beach. She thinks of him as an Angel . Perhaps he can be a key to change and the restoration of normality both for her and the world community?

A wonderful and thought provoking read. W.R.

]

      

Here she writes about the time she completed her novel The Bad Child.

 The Bad Child is finished.  Now I’m floating free

 I’ve just completed my newest novel The Bad Child, about twelve year old Dee, the misfit in her family, who decides not to speak at all.

Now I’m breathing great sighs of relief and satisfaction. This novel has been a joy to write. To know it has been finished I have to be pleased with it and very sure it’s as perfect as I can make it.

The writing life is cyclic, offering different writing, emotional, inventive challenges at each point in the cycle. Writing a novel is an organic process, born of a glimpse, a thought, a new insight perhaps a year or two before. This could be a line from a book or a newspaper, an overheard conversation, an image that fixes in the mind, a linked memory from childhood. When I have embraced this core idea I cast around start to think, talk, scribble, and dream stories around this core idea in both my waking and sleeping life until it becomes a solid reality in my mind.

At last, into this mass of notes, ideas, research and story-telling, walks a distinctive character with a mind of her own.Then another. And another. These characters begin speaking to each other in different tones and accents, with different agendas and priorities in their lives. At one point I wake up with their conversations in my head.

And somehow out of this inchoate mass of stuff emerges a sense of a beginning, Eventually I manage to write a beginning that locks these characters in their certain time, their certain place, with their certain preoccupations. With my imagination now fully charged, the novel insinuates itself into my daily life, somewhere near the centre. And I write. And write.

Now and then, as I write on, I have to slow down just to check that the story I’m writing today has grown properly out of my yesterday’s prose, and that of the day before, and the week and even the year before.

So, after working for a year or so in this way I find that this self-willed creation begins to move towards  its close and I find myself looking for a sense of an ending. Now is the time to  slow down again to make the best ending that for this particular the story. If – as I do – you write close to real life, then ending a novel is not easy. The ending has to fit the narrative logic bedded in this story’s organic growth. As well as this, the ending has to imply a new logic, a new organic possibility, a spurt of new life – life beyond the story.

Once the end has been written, it’s time to put on my cap and gown and be my own editor – to check every word, every line, every paragraph for correct meaning, syntax, and spelling. I must check that time, place and characterisation serve the consistency and the dynamism of the story. At this point I usually read the prose out loud to check its that the sound flows.

Now the manuscript is as perfect as I can make it.

In the end, like any intelligent writer, I understand that my novel just cannot be perfect. The story has its own existence inside of me and I am not sufficiently objective to catch every flaw. And, like any intelligent writer, I know that my story needs a skilled, outside editor and proof-reader (not a ‘friendly reader’) before it can go out there into the cold world. This wizard of a person will inevitably pick up snags and flaws that I, with the narrative events printed on my soul, will have missed.

I discovered my own eagle-eyed editor/proof-reader  Clive Johnson two books* ago. Since then I’ve realised that once the manuscript been through his capable hands I can proceed with confidence to the further challenges of designing the cover and going through the process onto publication.

Then the book is published and walks out there in the world. For any reader to enjoy

Oh joy!  The time has come for me to start floating free again in the outside world, catching gossamer words and images in my mind that will eventually provide me with an organic core for an exciting new novel which will keep me alive and kicking, thinking, imagining and writing for the next eighteen months.

I am realising now that the nature of my floating-free process ensures that each novel is distinct from the others; a different species perhaps. This difference keeps me fascinated and- I hope – my valued readers intrigued.

Below  the initial  art work in Progress for the cover of  The Bad Child which will be out there walking alone in August.

Links

My regular writer’s life blog Life Twice Tasted

Writing at the Maison Bleue

Kindle version or Paperback version

NB. Scroll down after ‘Editing’ to read  ‘Changing Lives’

‘It is very salutary to address someone else’s deep edit of your work,’ so said my professional proofreader Clive Johnson. I sent my baby away, sure that it would give him  an easy job of proofreading. I have been flattered before when he used the magic phrase ‘this is pretty clean’. Inevitably, after I sent the manuscript away I bit my nails with a degree of uncertainty. Later, reading the returned, proofed manuscript, I felt a slight reproof when he commented that was harder work than usual.

This might be down to the global changes I made when the novel was just about finished.  (I changed the names of two main characters towards the end.  I felt they were begging me to do this.) To do this I applied the useful instruction find and replace.  The old names were found and replaced with the new or modified names.

However,  in the final copy some of the new names were bizarrely buried in surrounding text and had to be disentangled. I thought I had caught all the anomalies in my final run through. But Clive knew better.  I hadn’t caught all of these. But by then I was probably a little bit word-blind. Like any mother, I was blind to even the minor faults in my beloved offspring.

Undaunted,  I settled down to go through Clive’s proofed copy line by line . Alongside my computer I have the notes from   my other first-readers who may or may not altogether agree with the file as it is now. I felt it would be useful us to compare them.

But Clive’s proofing was as near flawless as any piece of work can be.

All these concerns and approaches deepen and extend  the organic process of taking a novel to its final stage -of Making the Book*  the best it can be.

In some ways this has not been  unlike the process I experienced when I used to write for a large publisher. This process has been  equally meticulous but not quite so corporate* where departments as well as individuals combine to do the job

One principle of the processes of editing and proofreading is that the emerging text fully reflects the writer’s intention. It should not reflect the taste or predilection of the editor or proof-reader. One problem here in the more corporate method is that it can reflect the predilection of the market director regarding the taste of the readers.* I have always had rather more confidence than this in the intelligence and the perception of my readers and their ability to encounter and enjoy my story.

I am now looking so forward very soon to Making the Book called Becoming Alice 

 

*Footnote 1. To find out more about my process hit the Private Publishing tab in the header.

*Footnote 2. I did try to resist my publisher’s proposal to include the comparison of my work with that of Catherine Cookson on the cover.  I resisted this strongly  despite the fact that I honour and revere the astonishing ability of this writer to communicate stories across area and national boundaries. As writers we were as alike as trees and mountains. My resistance, because of my lack of power in that corporate situation, was ignored. The case is different now..

 

Changing Lives…

Note from Wendy R. I was talking to my friend H about the impact and function of reading groups and I thought of  the life-changing experience of visiting some reading groups  in Boston USA in 2000 when I was Writer in Residence at a women’s prison here in the UK. This radical experience confirmed my conviction that literature changes lives both in and out of prison.

Extract from Our Report.

‘The face-to-face interaction between the two groups – professionals and offenders, judges and judged – throughout the programme, was the key to its success. It centred on group discussions of literature chosen for its significance for the task at hand. All members of the group read the texts and participate on an equal, mutually respectful footing. The underlying proposition was that such discussion, under such circumstances, evokes such a level of participation, identification of motive and objectification of behaviour, that the lives of all the participants are changed.

I thought you might be interested in  the full report. If so click on the tab above entitled Changing Lives Through Literature.

I wondered if you had  a book or books that changed your life?

Wendy

 

The Challenge of Radical Sentencing:  Erasing the Chasm Between the Bench and the Dock An Experience in Boston, USA  Wendy Robertson & Avril Joy March 2000 Note from Wendy R. I was talking to my friend H about the impact and function of reading groups and I thought of  the life-changing experience of visiting some reading groups  in Boston USA in 2000 when I was Writer in Residence at a women’s prison here in the UK. This radical experience confirmed my conviction that literature changes lives both in and out of prison. I thought you might be interested in my report. Here it is: ‘You have the ability through your own imagination to create your future. Your destiny is not locked in.’ Robert Waxler Professor of English University of Massachusetts Director: Changing Lives Through Literature The Returning Offender, In our work at HMP Low Newton, Durham, which in the case of Avril Joy had at that point gone back fifteen years, we had shared with colleagues our concern for prisoners who re-offend and return again and again to prison. We had also noted prisoners who have benefited from appropriate educative, creative and reflective opportunities in prison, and somehow changed inside themselves, become more capable in dealing with the interior chaos which often led them to offend. We wondered if it were possible for offenders to experience such opportunities outside prison – in the probation situation, for instance – would they make such changes in themselves? In this way, they would avoid the family break-up, social stigma and pariah status endowed by a prison sentence. This in itself can encourage re-offending. The House of Commons Select Committee on Home Affairs Third Report of 1998 addressed, amongst other factors, new disposals for adult offenders in relation to probation . Buried at the back of the report are two allusions that caught our interest. One was the reference to a practice in France where a suspended sentence with supervision can be given to offenders who have committed serious crimes. The prison sentence is suspended on condition that, among numerous restrictions, the offender follows an academic or vocational course of study. The other allusion was to the experiment in Massachusetts called Changing Lives Through Literature. On further investigation, the sheer simplicity and practicality of this model of probation was very appealing and chimed with the values and practices which we had been using inside prison. The Power and the Story In the year 2000  we had the opportunity to visit Boston, USA and experience this ground-breaking approach to probation for ourselves. Within some County Court Districts of Massachusetts, the ‘Changing Lives Through Literature Programme’ was offered as an alternative to ordinary probation orders. Offenders wer sentenced to a period of twelve weeks when they had to  meet every fortnight and to discuss a prescribed piece of literature alongside a professor, a judge and one or more probation officers. The programme was brainchild of Professor Bob Waxler, professor of literature at the University of Massachusetts and Judge Robert Kane, Court Judge in New Bedford’s Third District. It had been operating for nearly ten years and at that point had active programmes across the States. Texas has a programme which uses the writings of Plato as part of its required reading. There are other programmes in Arizona, Maine and New York. The face-to-face interaction between the two groups – professionals and offenders, judges and judged – throughout the programme, was the key to its success. It centred on group discussions of literature chosen for its significance for the task at hand. All members of the group read the texts and participate on an equal, mutually respectful footing. The underlying proposition was that such discussion, under such circumstances, evokes such a level of participation, identification of motive and objectification of behaviour, that the lives of all the participants are changed. Change on the part of judges, professors and probation officers might  lead to a greater insight into their clients. On the part of the offenders, participation was said to lead into greater insight regarding their experiences and motivations, and enable them to change their lives and ultimately, it is hoped, not re-offend. The principle of procedure was this: individuals coming before the courts may, by their own agreement and referral to probation officers, be sentenced to participate in a reading group for twelve weeks. The attendance and participation was obligatory. The incentive for them was reduction of probation for the successful graduate. (The programme needed a strong incentive as it is seen as very challenging: some of these people have never read a whole story, never mind a novel. Inadequate participation on the part of the offenders would lead them back to court for  further   sentencing. This process of incentive was mediated by the probation officers who attend the group This is our report of the experience: We were inspired to find out more about this American project following our fruitful experience at HMP Low Newton in Britain, working with sentenced women inside prison on a project planned along similar lines. In our reading group, the authority figure was the prison governor, rather than a judge. In our work we used a combination of reading high-quality literature and the practice of creative writing to allow the women to objectify and contemplate their own experience and develop the self-esteem and self-worth. We had no incentives to offer except the positive experiences of the process. In our work, in a more modest and limited fashion, we felt that we also had changed lives. Our visit has been fruitful. In our time in Boston we met and talked with five judges, three professors, one teacher and seven probation officers who were involved in the operation of four programmes across the state of Massachusetts. We met twenty-one offenders who had committed a broad range of offences and we participated in two groups in action. We sat with Professor Jean Trounstine and watched videos of her working with her group and listened also to her accounts of teaching Shakespeare behind bars in Boston’s Framingham women’s prison. This report attempts to put impressions of all this together and to propose the value of the use of such approaches in the British system, in the probation setting as well as in prison. By definition this report is illuminative. It is a snapshot of practice which may be inspirational for others.  The Powerhouse In his office at the university Professor Waxler talked enthusiastically of his firm belief that literature, encountered in an appropriate setting could indeed change the lives of offenders. The layers and subtlety of language, the complexity of character and motivation – Waxler asserts that the analysis of these allows an individual to view her or his own life more objectively. This objectification leads to the growth of intellectual and emotional control in lives which are often chaotic. It follows, then, that such experience, if it is sufficiently profound, will help the individuals to organise their lives so that the option of re-offending is less compelling. This is his belief. The context of sharing the stories is a crucial aspect of Waxler’s model. The discussions are at the University and are based on equal discourse, respect, and the presence in the group of a professor, judges, and probation officers, all of whom must have read the prescribed texts.   A Group of Men. The men’s group which we join is in the fine premises of the University of Massachusetts, South Dartmouth, and is the final meeting of the men’s group. It is led by Professor Waxler and attended by Judge Kane and Probation Officer Wayne St Pierre. The girlfriend of one member sits beside him. Here we sit around the table where it all began, where the idea originated with the first group set up by Waxler and Judge Kane. Waxler considers the round table, with its built-in democracy, essential to the process. Tonight’s texts, two Raymond Carver short stories, have been read by Professor Waxler, Judge Kane, Wayne St Pierre, and all the male participants. The contents of these stories, illuminating as they do uncompromising images of men in extremis, reflect the rest of Waxler’s list which includes Jack London, Ernest Hemingway, and Elie Wiesel. In these tough discussions, there is nowhere for any man to hide. The participants, who reflect the broad ethnic mix of the whole Boston community, instantly embark on a vigorous discussion of the various strands of the Carver stories, weaving their own life stories into their elaborations and explanations. Their interpretations have subtlety, a sensitivity to ambiguity. With the Carver story What do We Talk About When We Talk About Love? the topic that emerges is what is love? For more than an hour, we sit and listen as this group of men, operating on various sides of the law, talk expansively about love. The judge sits back listening intently; he says his piece only when a point strikes him in the flow of the discussion. He has obviously appreciated Carver’s story. The probation officer challenges Waxler politely on a point of interpretation. Some of the guys nod. Alternative views are obviously normally accepted. There is no ‘party line’ on fiction. One man in his thirties eloquently pursues the notion of what might constitute bullying of men by women. Another tells the story of his bewilderment when, returning from a fishing trip, he rang his partner for a lift, only to find another man’s voice relaying the message on his answer-phone. Two of the men say they would never lay a hand on a woman. Not ever. The youngest member, aged nineteen, pursues his own theme that there are various kinds of love, not just one. Another describes a couple he knows who were devoted through sixty years of marriage. How do you stay, not just together, but loving people after sixty years of marriage? There was bewilderment all round the table. That was a hard question for all of us. The discussion ranged through dilemmas in relationships, aspects of domestic power, problems with communication leading to expression through violence, verbal and physical. They ranged between significance of aspects of the stories we have read, and elements in their own lives. The intense and developed level of discussion reflects the fact that this is the last meeting of the group. They are used to the process. They all have experience of each other. They have learned to be members of this community round the table. The judge – who might have intimidated the settling-in process – did not join till the third week. By that time the group had welded into a team that respected the text and respected each other, who were keen to get their views out there as well as listen to others. Since then, the comradeship has built up and the group round the table truly is a community. Professor Waxler runs the group with intent, forceful concentration. His attention to the text is close, but his demeanour is something like a football coach enabling his team to participate at their highest, allowing them to play to their strengths. All the stories – Carver’s fine text and the more immediate oral tales of the participants – are woven by the group into a larger meaning. There are no own-goals. The sense of fellowship and community is manifest in this group. Because this was the very last meeting there were some reflections on this. One member said he would miss the group because ‘At first it was just a commitment you had to make, but then I started to enjoy it. I’ve bought all the books myself. I just like talking to you guys about these things. I liked the books but I liked talking to you guys, listening to your experience. I like the books but I liked the talking best. Now when I’m bored, now I know I can just pick up a book and read again.’ At the end, because this is the last meeting, there is a ‘Graduation’ ,complete with certificates emblazoned with the university’s imprimatur and seal. There is a presentation of a fine edition of John Steinbeck’s novels for each member, donated by the National Library of America. The room is filled with a sense of celebration and pride. The members of the group linger after the end. They don’t want to leave. They shake hands with each other, with the professor, the judge, the probation officer, with us. They are sorry there is nothing more, nothing further, no more meetings. A Group of Women This meeting is at the University of Massachusetts’ Boston campus, in a room normally used by the university students. The fourteen women, in the main African-American and Hispanic, arrive quietly. They greet each other, open their folders, peer again at their texts. They hand sheets of writing to Gretchen Hunt their teacher. (Gretchen is a law student who first majored in English literature.) It could be any university group. The two probation officers, Dee Kennedy and Teresa Owens, come in, greeting various women on the way to their seats. Judge Sydney Hanlon (a woman) hurries in. It is her first visit to the group as this is only its third week. The circle here consists of moveable study chairs; a round table (which was used with the men’s group)  is unavailable. The texts are Grace Paley’s short story, An Interest in Life, and an abstract from Roddy Doyle’s The Woman Who Walked into Doors. (Note: Apart from this text, the bias in the lists for the women’s groups is towards literature from women writers. Apart from Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, the list for the men’s groups are all novels and stories by male writers.) Through astute and enabling questioning, Gretchen sets the ball rolling in the discussion. The women begin to unravel the first story and its implications for them. In the process, they begin to put forward questions and their own ideas about Virginia and her life. They ask questions of the tutor and each other. They are appropriately tentative. ‘It seemed like …’, ‘It felt like …’. Respect for each other’s views and opinions is always there, along with a quest for answers and explanations and a lively exploration of motive. There is some exasperation regarding Virginia’s action and the motivations of her ambiguous visitor. There is frustration regarding the ending of the story which may or may not have been A Dream. The Roddy Doyle extract, with its central, brilliantly-written focus on domestic abuse, raises many more powerful reactions as it evidently cuts close to the bone with some of these women. All the women are eventually involved with the discussion, listening to and responding to each other. The level of articulation is always impressive. The women are very able to unpick the complex, deeper levels of meaning in the story. They offer remarkable insight into the process. Of Paula’s story, one woman says, ‘The way she says it and the context she says it in lets the reader know that she knows it is not her fault, but like you said, she is in denial.’ The women start to tell their own stories, to link the narrative to their own lives and histories. Themes of serial- and cycles of abuse are explored. A woman with tight plaits volunteers, ‘This story kicked up a whole bunch of feeling for me. I watched violence. My mom getting beat down, so I was really angry when I read that story. She would say to me don’t ever let a man do this to you. Wait till he’s lay down and asleep, then kill him.’ The women are sitting forward now. There are mutters of agreement, referring back to Grace Paley’s story. ‘She’s gunna be hurt all over again,’ ‘She was happy but for how long?’, ‘She blamed everything on herself, I can relate to that.’ The woman with plaits offers, ‘The first time you are a victim, the second time you’re a volunteer.’ A large woman, who has been silent almost to the end, responds to talk about the character, Charlo, by launching into her own story. ‘What do you do with a man who all the time plots to get you into jail? A man who does things to you, makes you think you’re losing your mind? Moves things in the house and swears they were there before?’ Another woman nods. ‘Yes this happens to me.’ The large woman goes on. ‘He beats up on you and phones the police and tells them some other guy beat you up. He threatens your children and you have to take your children to City Hall and leave them there for protection. This man he gets you into jail for things you ain’t done and the police, they believe him. One day the police they knock on the door and say ‘Are you the woman?’ You say, ‘What woman?’ They say ‘The woman who beats up on the old man?’ That old man, he is my husband. He is old when I marry him when I am a young woman. I say ‘No I beat up on no old man.’ But still they arrest me. Still I go to jail cause he plays his little tricks. He ain’t never been to prison. He black my eyes and break my bones then locks me in and don’t let me get no policeman. He plays tricks so I think I’m losing my mind.’ She responds to further murmurs of sympathy and recognition, and changes gear. ‘But now I got this counsellor. My counsellor I bless the day I met her. I seen her now once a week for two years. Every week I go there and talk. Three weeks, four weeks, all I do is cry. Then after that all I do is talk. So much to say.’ There is a respectful, listening silence in the room. The another woman speaks up.  ‘You know me? I seen my sister shot before my eyes. Shot and I was right beside her, right by her. I throw my body right over her. Blood running out of her. And I see my other sister stabbed twenty times. I come and find her, stabbed twenty times.. She pauses. @I gotta counsellor. And I never tell these things before I talk to this counsellor. Shut down, shut down, see? Then I cry to her and this floods outta me. Before it was shut down, see? But this counsellor she’s some woman. I can give you her name. She can help any woman in this room. Any woman whose story I hear in this room.’ ’She make a difference. Otherwise I couldn’t tell you this here in this room with no tear in my eye. I can tell you this story. I can tell you this story without a tear in my eye. She make a difference. I see my daughter now and she’s helping me get my children together. I can give you this woman’s name. She can help you.’ This is a delicate moment. (As there  was with the point in the men’s group where the man told the tale of returning from the fishing trip.) It is an explicit part of the rules of engagement in this project that the groups are not ‘encounter’ or ‘therapy’ groups, that the discussion of the characters and the action in the fiction must remain at the centre of the discussion. The judge in the women’s group said later she was concerned at this moment. However we, as outsiders, felt that this story earned its place in the discussion. Every one of us, when we read literature, transcribe it through our own story onto our own mental map, whether we tell our story out loud or not. The trust within the group has allowed the woman to voice her story. She is not asking for help. Her story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It is self limiting. The stories we have read have enriched and validated her own, even more dramatic, story. There is dignity and self-knowledge in this. There is no emotional panic. This woman’s story does not lead to a degeneration of the discussion. Teacher Gretchen guides the meeting to a useful conclusion with calls for writing and plans for the next meeting. There is a discussion about the logistics of writing one’s own story. There is a bustle in the room. The probation officers change role and enquire closely about some individuals who have missed a meeting. There is a sense of society here. As with the men’s group, the members linger to talk, unwilling to stop the experience. Professor Taylor Stoehr, who leads the parallel Dorchester men’s group, later says that helping men arrive at a new sense of their own society through the group and their interaction with each other is central to his philosophy. The Judges According to Judge Kane, who founded the project with Professor Waxler, the judges who had become involved were self-selecting in that they all loved literature themselves and welcomed the opportunity to participate in such a project. Judge Joe Dever. Presiding Justice of Lynn District Court, who joined Professor Jean Trounstine’s women’s group at Middlesex Community College, said the group was the joy of his judging, that it erased the chasm between the distance between the bench and the dock. Judge Dever travels to the meeting in the same van as the women. ‘At first there was dead silence in the van. But after a couple of meetings, it buzzed with talk. Now sometimes they talk all the way there and sing all the way back, he says.’ Judge Kane relishes the interplay between men of privilege and men of little power. ‘We become human to each other. We are transformed by the context as are they. In the end we see the man who comes before us as a whole human being. By participating in the process ourselves we see the transformation before our eyes.’ The Dorchester judge, Tom May, says that defendants never speak in court. Their defence lawyer speaks for them. In the traditional situation they are voiceless. ‘It refreshes my soul to hear these men articulate their ideas. I know this is humanity.‘ Judge Hanlon, who already knew about this programme, introduced it in the Dorchester Court District as soon a she became Presiding Justice of this court. With her support there are, in this District, a men’s and a women’s group with numbers of up to twenty. She says, ‘In this business it seems we never get any good news. This programme brings good news.’ Judge Tom May mentions that even if members of the group do come up before him they are more likely to take responsibility for their offence. They are more inclined to say ‘I screwed up’. Professor Stoehr, who runs the Dorchester men’s group, says ‘You need two things to run this programme: someone in power who gives permission, this is the judges, and you need someone who will be there every time, these are the probation officers.’ Probation Officers The probation officers, like the judges, volunteer for the programme. Like the judges, they love literature. The officers at the Dorchester court have their own staff reading group. They have a mixed role in the programme. It is their task to negotiate suitable referrals. Apart from sex offenders, anyone can be referred to the programme as long as they have an appropriate reading level and are clean of all substances during the programme. One of the policy documents of the programme states: ‘Repeat offenders with prior incarcerations and the distinct possibility of re-incarceration are preferred.’ The probation officers read the texts and participate in the discussions. Dee Kennedy, at Dorchester, saw the need sometimes to guide the discussion. As well as this, the probation officers are obliged to change hats and monitor the level of attendance and discussion, and apply the sanction of exclusion for backsliders. If a member does not meet her obligations, in the first place they warn her. If it continues, they return her to the court for further sentencing. Bobby Spencer, an officer attached to the men’s group at Dorchester, does not find his position in the group ambiguous. ‘In that group I am a just member. I am one of the guys.’  Another officer, John Christopher, joined the group because he heard that a white professor was going to follow Huckleberry Finn with Richard Wright’s Black Boy. ‘I wanted to see what he did with that. I saw, and I stayed along with the group. I’m still there.’ Bobby Spencer told the tale of the graduate from one group who started up his own reading group with a few of the guys from the neighbourhood which lasted a year. Professor Stoehr told of the member who joined the group, but hid under his baseball cap and turned off Walkman for the first two weeks. Then Judge May joined the group and was in a small group discussion with this man. After that, Bobby Spencer said the man came out from under his baseball cap and started to participate. It’s not so much what the judge said or did. Just that he survived that session at close quarters with any judge. The probation officers argue that referral to the programme is not a soft option. Dee Kennedy has worked out that although a number of weeks attached to the programme is shorter than the alternative, the actual contact time with probation officers in the series of two-and-a-half hour meetings is longer. On the other hand, because the officer is in contact with several clients at once at the meeting, it can reduce the officer workload. Probation Officer, Bobby Hasset, who works with Professor Trounstine at Middlesex Community College in Lowell, enjoys the optimistic nature of the programme. He has carried out research among their clients which shows a statistical measure of success regarding recidivism. Researcher Roger Jarjoura’s external study seems to support this. (See Waxler & Trounstine 1999). Teresa Owens on the Dorchester project is also embarking on an evaluation and tracking study which may express more graphically the success of their project. John Owens of Dorchester is more laid back about the technicalities of what counts as success: ‘A judge asked me “What if this doesn’t work?” I said, “Judge, I do things every day which don’t work. Don’t you? Aren’t they still worth trying?”’ Bobby Hasset also described for us their post-programme work which builds on the success of the project with work which involved life-skills and job-search skills. The emphasis here is planning for a non-offending future. The Professors The personality and approach of each discussion-group leader – Professors Waxler, Trounstine, and Stoehr, and teacher Gretchen Hunt – inevitably informs both the similarities and differences between programmes. There is individuality in their choice of texts and their understanding of the needs of different groups. Trounstine tends to use a list of women writers whose intense, powerful stories reflect distinctive women’s issues. Hunt uses an adapted version of this list. The Roddy Doyle text, which was particularly successful at the meeting we saw, was a departure from the list. Waxler’s list reflects his concern with male identity and the function of violence in their lives. Stoehr adapts his list according to his perception of the needs of a particular group. The main role of the professors is to facilitate the voicing of members’ responses and stories and mediate the meaning – literary or otherwise – which is made of a particular text. Most importantly, it is they who build the sense of community round the table. They distil the invisible code of listening, reflecting and speaking. This may be the key to changing the interior view of the individual, preparing him or her to take the power to develop themselves, perhaps even to change their own lives. Above all, the professors on this programme do what all good teachers do, in all educational settings, with all categories of student. This is what we try to do in our teaching in prison. It is salutary to think that this might be the first time these offenders have worked intensively with a good teacher. Some might argue that the very compulsion implicit in the programme is the only thing which would impel this encounter. Evaluation One does respect attempts, within and outside the programme, to gain quantitative data on the success of these programmes. Restrained studies seem to indicate a lessening of recidivism. However, by their very dynamism, programmes such as these resist quantification. Not only do situations and personnel change from programme to programme, they change within cohorts of the same programme. The variables are like chimera. Numbers, however comforting or discomforting to the people concerned, may only, in such situations, be illusory. It is necessary to have faith in more qualitative, illuminative material to judge such projects. Some of the material in this report would count as this. So would self-reporting by participants, be they offenders, judges, professors or probation officers. Biographies of alumni and anecdotal material of their lives should be treated with respect. This is, after all, how we have judged the success, and the partial success, of educational processes through the millennia. The great universities, the great teachers, did not in the past have to tailor their mystery to the leaden chastity belt of the input-output model. In the light of this view, the Changing Lives Programme seems to us to have clarified a very successful process which brings distinctive benefits to the people who share the experience. These benefits are much greater than those they would experience in prison or in a more perfunctory probationary experience. Common sense tells you that some of these people will re-offend. From the round-table community and the fine university buildings, they return to the challenge of disadvantaged social settings, and social groupings where crime is the norm. Where the offence is linked, however, to lack of self-knowledge or self-esteem, or where a criminal act is to do with the anger at having ‘no say in society’, one might propose that these people go on from the programme better prepared to meet the challenge, with some tools to make order out of chaos. In this it is to the benefit of the whole society. Of course, one cannot translate processes directly from one judicial system to an other. US District Court judges, for instance, are somewhere between UK judges and senior magistrates. In the US, probation officers are officers of the court working directly with judges. Would the very dignified English judges or magistrates greet the notion of bridging the chasm between the bench and the dock with a shudder? It would be interesting to see such a humane and creative approach tried out here in the English system. Sentencing people to literature might be a good alternative to the ubiquitous ‘community service’, or to suspended sentences where no real change is made in the offender. Our experience of the Massachusetts experiment convinces us that some of the women we have met in prison could have been very much helped by such a project and even perhaps have drawn back from re-offending without further experience of prison. We have created new connections. We have connected them with a world from which they were formerly cut off.  We have given them their voices back.  Professor Robert Waxler © Wendy Robertson, Avril Joy. March 2000

 

You have the ability through your own imagination to create your future. Your destiny is not locked in.’

Robert Waxler
Professor of English
University of Massachusetts
Director: Changing Lives Through Literature

The Returning Offender

 
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