Zoe Brooks's Blog, page 17
March 7, 2012
A name of my own
It's taken me several years to bite the bullet and seriously consider putting my writing back in to the public arena. When I was younger I didn't have that problem. I happily sent my work out to publishers. I was of course disappointed when I got rejected, but enough said yes to make up for this. Even when I had a run of rejections I brushed them off and sent out the next batch of letters. I defined myself by my writing. Had you asked what I was, I would have answered "I'm a poet." It was that simple: Zoe Brooks was a poet. She was other things of course - a daughter, a student, an Oxford graduate, an arts manager, but above all she was a poet.
That stopped as my other roles took over - mother, wife, heritage professional and then, for the last twenty years, inner city regeneration professional. The only person who still introduced me as Zoe Brooks the poet was my friend Hannah Kodicek. I thought it quaint of her and even a little perverse. I felt sometimes she wasn't valuing me properly. Then about three years ago I started writing once more.
"Will you publish it?" Hannah asked.
"I don't know. I was thinking maybe I'd use a pseudonym."
"Mmm," she said. "Are you sure?"
"Oh yes, I don't think I could do it any other way. I thought maybe Elizabeth Rivers - Elizabeth is my second name and as for Rivers - Brooks/Rivers."
She laughed. "That sounds like a cop out, it's not a real pen-name."
I've thought about it a lot since that conversation. She was right, she usually was. What was I ashamed of? Why was I trying to hide? I decided I would not be ready to publish until I was prepared to use my real name. It's taken me months to start this blog, but I've done it. In a few days I plan to publish my first novel as Zoe Brooks
That stopped as my other roles took over - mother, wife, heritage professional and then, for the last twenty years, inner city regeneration professional. The only person who still introduced me as Zoe Brooks the poet was my friend Hannah Kodicek. I thought it quaint of her and even a little perverse. I felt sometimes she wasn't valuing me properly. Then about three years ago I started writing once more.
"Will you publish it?" Hannah asked.
"I don't know. I was thinking maybe I'd use a pseudonym."
"Mmm," she said. "Are you sure?"
"Oh yes, I don't think I could do it any other way. I thought maybe Elizabeth Rivers - Elizabeth is my second name and as for Rivers - Brooks/Rivers."
She laughed. "That sounds like a cop out, it's not a real pen-name."
I've thought about it a lot since that conversation. She was right, she usually was. What was I ashamed of? Why was I trying to hide? I decided I would not be ready to publish until I was prepared to use my real name. It's taken me months to start this blog, but I've done it. In a few days I plan to publish my first novel as Zoe Brooks
March 4, 2012
A room of one's own
When I was younger (in my teens and 20's) I used to write, a lot. I didn't just write: I was published in poetry anthologies and magazines, but then I stopped. I was too busy with working and being a mum. Maybe the writing abandoned me rather than the other way round. Maybe as Virginia Woolf put it "Every woman needs a room of her own.", not just physically but psychologically - a creative space.And I didn't have one.
I'd always made up stories and composed poetry, even before I was taught how to write them down. And not having a room of my own didn't stop that process, I just didn't write anything down. Somehow it wasn't important enough. I needed to get away. About seven years ago I bought a farmhouse in the Czech Republic. I had intended to buy a little hut, somewhere that didn't need lots doing to it, where I could live in nature for a while and write. Instead I bought a ruined farmhouse, one which would need lots of TLC and work. Talk about sabotaging one's best intentions!
But the Czech house brought one great benefit - I started to blog about my experiences in "Adventures in the Czech Republic." And I loved blogging, the feedback was great and I got to know some really lovely, interesting people in cyberspace.
A few years ago the house, although not finished (I had run out of money), was ready to be used for my orginal purpose. I took a deep breath and sat down with my hands resting on a computer keyboard and a blank screen in front of me.
I'd always made up stories and composed poetry, even before I was taught how to write them down. And not having a room of my own didn't stop that process, I just didn't write anything down. Somehow it wasn't important enough. I needed to get away. About seven years ago I bought a farmhouse in the Czech Republic. I had intended to buy a little hut, somewhere that didn't need lots doing to it, where I could live in nature for a while and write. Instead I bought a ruined farmhouse, one which would need lots of TLC and work. Talk about sabotaging one's best intentions!
But the Czech house brought one great benefit - I started to blog about my experiences in "Adventures in the Czech Republic." And I loved blogging, the feedback was great and I got to know some really lovely, interesting people in cyberspace.
A few years ago the house, although not finished (I had run out of money), was ready to be used for my orginal purpose. I took a deep breath and sat down with my hands resting on a computer keyboard and a blank screen in front of me.
