Heather

Biography

I'm 20 years old and I started writing as soon as I was taught how to make the squiggly lines on paper. I'm sure I wasn't much good, in fact, I have evidence for that case; a really bad poem about Popeye. It gave me an escape though, a window into another life as the cliche goes. I'm not entirely sure when I first started to take myself seriously. That's hard to judge. At the age of twelve I joined my first writing site, TYWC. Then at the age of fourteen I went from being a playground poet to keeping an anthology and made a few shabby attempts at novels. That wasn't when I decided to be a writer though. I'd always said I was going to be an actor, a writer or a teacher but until the age of fifteen I was determined it would be the latter. The other two were just dreams and guilty pleasures I indulged in my spare time from running drama club and acting in local plays to the thrill of having my poems published in anthologies and magazines. At about seventeen, several writing sites later (though TYWC was still going strong) I signed up for YWS where I'd be a junior moderator within six months and a full moderator a few months later. Seventeen was a busy year for me. I also finished my first novel. A joint one between my sister and I, written during a wonderful summer when we let our imaginations run wild. That was when my heart decided I was going to write. But by this point I'd got myself tangled up in the law in the worst possible way: I was studying it. I did my A levels in Law, English, History, Maths, Further Maths (a big mistake) and threw in a fast track GCSE Spanish course just for fun. Crazy I know. I spread myself too thin and learned a very important lesson. Quality over quantity. It had never sunk in before then. But anyway, I came out with an A in English, an A for the GCSE, a D for the further maths and B's for everything else. Law seemed like a good option so I started university off on the wrong foot. By some lucky streak though I found myself friends with English students Sandie and Alex. They had the course I wanted and very soon everyone knew it. I frustrated them to no end, scrabbling for answers to their questions. Why the hell are you doing law? I'm good at it. Why not English then? It isn't a stable career. Then why don't you stop writing in class? I can't. And I couldn't. I took on NaNoWriMo and missed the 50k target by a thousand words. Not that I minded. I spent the last three hours of the last day in the pub, reading parts out to Clair and Mike and despairing over the last thousand words that I just wasn't in the mood to write. I chose quality over quantity and it felt great. I had 49,000 words I was reasonably proud of. I didn't do the January exams for law. And here I am, a year and a half later and studying English with Creative Writing. I couldn't be happier. I still worry that I'll never match up to the greats but I'll make a career out of it somehow and maybe, just maybe I'll be a published author one day. How did I come by this place then? It was about a year ago when my sister's boyfriend asked if I wanted to take part in a poetry slam. I signed up to the site, we went down to Bolton and it was awesome. It's currently the only one I've done but I can't wait to try again. And I decided to start posting poetry here because I'm worried that my friends on YWS don't always give me an honest opinion and now that I'm taking writing seriously, I need others to take me seriously. Thank you for being interested, even if you only read a line or two. That means a lot to me, Heather xx

Samples

Orange Peel and Apple Pips There must be more to life than this: a winter wind and withered kiss upon these frozen, sun-parched lips; just orange peel and apple pips. We're living on remains of death with bottle caps, recycled breath, and feeble rays of advent light illuminate brash Beauty's blight. There's less to love than fragile Rose who blooms in seldom summer prose. We're nothing more than drops and blips; just orange peel and apple pips. Finger in the Dust I could close the curtains and they didn't shrivel at my touch or fall, dissolve and split like hair-line fractures of the flesh (and birthday candles). I could hear my children and they didn't lie so still, their faces marked by rose-bud moss that grew and settled in the pores (still beautiful). I could fold their smiles to fit in threads of lullaby dreams that resonated at my touch, my breath. There was a stain, on the carpet (by his chair). I used to wish it gone - oh how it lingered, falsely strong. I hoped their hands would always fit my palm but not like this, reserved in nursery bliss with only smoke to breathe.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Blog entries by Heather

Andromeda (13/06/2011)

Persephone's Creek (06/08/2010)

Orange Peel and Apple Pips (June 2008) (16/07/2010)

Finger in the Dust (11/07/2010)

Billy and the Flowers (09/07/2010)

Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/heather