WORD POWER by Penny Dolan

Today is the first day of Spring, which always feel hopeful. The crocus are already out, and the other spring bulbs are appearing in the tubs and pots in the garden, though I’m not sure what or which they are, and winter has destroyed any labels. The leaves will soon tell tell me which will be bright blue grape hyacinth and which will be King Alfred’s golden trumpets. As long as I am not too distracted.

For - lo! - a new distraction has come to my devices. I can now almost ignore Facebook, with its images and variable information. I can, on Instagram, skip through favourite people’s posts, while Threads and Bluesky were quick pop-in visits. All, mostly, under control.

However, Substack has now appeared on my screens and it is a far worse temptation. Why? Because Substack is made of words, and words have power. Their hypnotic symbols offer such a range of thoughts, ideas, facts, interest, emotions. Words can have the power to simply say anything and everything. When words appear, it’s impossible for me to ignore them!

I began as an early reader. My eyes spied out words everywhere, scouring that familiar litany of domestic texts: the HP sauce bottle, the Weetabix box, the News of the World headlines, the cover of Womans’ Realm, the envelopes on the sideboard, a rare batch of comics from my cousin, and so on. A whole circus of interesting mass communication surrounded me. And, there was school too.

However, along the way I learned there were two kinds of reading. The everyday words around me were Lesser Reading, and, according to home and school, there was Better Reading: real reading, the words set out on a page. Real reading came from books and was definitely more important, and if this kind of reading was good, and if I was reading, I was being good.

So, for a while, the words on the page – any page – gave me permission to escape from the rages and silences going on above my head. Reading was a protection; the words on the page became a security blanket. Nothing bad could happen to you when you were doing something so enjoyable and also so intrinsically good and socially valued – and quiet! - as reading, could it?

All this was a lie, of course, but by then the child was wired to read. I was, and am, drawn to words, totally fixed in the habit and power of print and the printed page. I can't not read a word.

In many ways, this is fine: reading is good and wonderful. The reading process is fascinating from all sides and angles, and a thing of emotion too. I, like others, rage at the lack of understanding within the latest KS2 English tests, at the Govoid curriculum. I am delighted by children responding to a particularly lovely phrase in a picture book read out during Library Storytimes. Reading is never neutral.

Besides, what about the magic way that words work within the brain itself? In bed, here, each morning, we do a pen-and-page puzzle from The Guardian Quick Crossword book. A simple, non-cryptic and often witty one, not a big puzzle from the Times or Telegraph. 

However, I have noticed, in my fresh-from-sleep state, that somehow, the slightest, smallest pattern of the word – the one or two letter symbols visible, their position in the arrangement of the empty ‘boxes’ – often gives me the answer before my bigger brain has grasped it. I find myself saying the word almost before I can think it.

How amazing – in a totally non-personal way – is that? I’m not describing this moment to be all ‘special me’, but in astonishment at the way the alphabet pulls off this trick in our human brains. Reading is a miracle - and this is before we even get to the myriads of meaning, the cultural patterns, the history of the language, the pleasure of fonts and so on. Words are truly magical, irresistible, enticing things, with power for good, and for its opposite, and all between . . .

So back to the start of my post, and my problem: Substack, this orange-label-thingy, is appearing on my screens and the medium is almost nothing but Words and Writing! Pages and pages of words, and often so brilliant!

Remember, a small voice reminds me, words are for reading and reading is good, right? Words are an opportunity not to be missed, right? ‘Real reading’ words too, like pages full of interesting writing by people doing interesting things, brought by algorithmic power.

Just read this, says Substack. What about this person? You remember they used to write for this or that newspaper? Wouldn’t you like to read so and so’s expert and experienced viewpoint? To learn something quickly? Ah, you will, go on, you will, you will . . .

Substack. All of it wrought in words, words, more words. And words are good things, aren’t they? Especially that word I need to remember . . .

Which one? Ah, got it. Willpower! Yes, that’s the one. Good luck with it yourself!


Penny Dolan.

BOOKSHELVING AT HALLOWEEN by Penny Dolan

                         

I write this on Halloween, surrounded by the spirits of the past and the words of the present. I hear their voices all around, reaching out to me: some insistently, some muttering at my neglect and others whispering affection. Each one promises me the safety of an escape from the present, and space and time in another world if I will only stay for a few minutes . . . or hours . . . or days . . .

How has this haunting happened? By my very own deed. The darkening nights have driven me to face, at last, a necessary task, no matter what the reckoning.. I was stirred me to start on an exorcism, to thin out some of the voices that have now grown so loud. I am the one who resurrected these presences, these spirits that sense their own disturbance. 

 A simple decision, I thought: the time had come to reduce the books on the shelves in my workroom. Right now, there are more authors around me, more muttering presences on pages than I can ever read or re-read. There are titles spread across the desk, the spare pasting table, the filing cabinet and any other spare surface available. So many! Certainly signs of a serious book addiction.

I have real attachment issues with books, knowing them as the safe and secure space of my childhood and, at times, ever since. Being able to buy books and having the space for them all my life has been both a need and a great privilege.

                            

Now some of them must go. Where to, though? A few places will accept discarded books - the Oxfam bookshop in town, an active local church, a National Trust Book Barn and Freecycle - so the books won’t, yet, go for pulping, This makes me much happier about the Big Sorting Out that has to be done, for all sorts of practical reasons. Yet having to choose makes me feel emotionally uncomfortable.                            

Some books remind me of my past, recalling a gift given, a special person or even the age I was when I first met the book. Some have mattered because of a particular character or a compelling landscape or setting. Some books I value because of the patterns of their language or a particular phrasing or vocabulary – and some of just fun. Some I have because they taught me about a certain place or community, near or far away. 

Others titles are simply there for security, containing facts and details that make you think you understand how to do x or y, or know why and what a certain happened. Even with the internet, I cling on to old non-fiction books just in case there is a need to check the fact a decade or so later. And all this without mentioning the satisfying power of design or illustration and the very feel in the hand or the lap of the three-dimensional object.

The books on my shelves have brought so much to my life that I am reluctant to trust in my own too-poor memor by casting the magic within the pages aside,  and set the books free in the world. 

                 

Today, with the daylight fading and All Hallow's Eve at my door, I shift the volumes along the shelves or place them in useful groupings. A gentle dust rises up, like the spells cast by all the many, many voices.  

I feel uncertain about which ghosts I am releasing . . . and whether I will still be able to hear their voices when the books are gone.

 

                                             

Penny Dolan

@pennydolan1

Words, ideas and the EU referendum... by Cecilia Busby

It's a mere two weeks to the EU referendum, and although you have probably had enough of discussing it, and might wonder what it has to do with a blog on writing anyway, I'm uncomfortably aware that by the time I write my next blog, we may already be committed to leaving the EU. Which, for myself, I would be very sad about, but which I am increasingly beginning to think might be the outcome of the vote.  And my reasons for thinking that are reasons that relate to being a writer. They are about words. Specifically, the words available to each side of this increasingly toxic debate. Consider the following two sets of words and phrases:

Set One: independent, great, standing on our own two feet, making our own decisions, standing alone, standing tall, forging our own way, getting rid of bureaucracy, taking control, not being bossed about by others, not having to do what other people say, freedom, self-respect, adventure

Set Two: caution, fear, economic crash, need for alliances in a larger world, being able to argue our points from within, protecting ourselves, keeping jobs, not losing trade, listening to people who know better, being sensible, having more of a voice as part of a bigger group

If these two sets of words were associated with characters in a children's book, the first set would be the hero. The second set would be the parent trying to hold the hero back from his foolhardy assault on the dystopian system - or the Mayor of the village, trying to persuade him not to disturb the dragon up in its mountain lair.

Set Two haven't really managed to rewrite the story; all they are doing is wringing their hands and saying, No - don't go and fight that dragon! For the sake of the village! And that means Set One have all the good lines.

This matters, because in this referendum, facts have lost all traction, and narrative is going to be paramount. The reason for this is that both sides bandy about 'facts' which almost always turn out not to be facts, or to be distorted facts - and while Set One's 'facts' are considerably more distorted and untrue than Set Two's 'facts', this generally gets lost in the shouting match. Set Two, the establishment side, as a result of selective fiddling of facts and progressively greater amounts of spin over the last ten to twenty years has only themselves to blame for the way the public now wearily discounts anything they say. They decided that facts didn't matter, that words could be twisted to their purposes, and ended up with a kind of Orwellian doublespeak which, far from fooling everyone, means people mostly consider the word of the Bank of England Governor as worth no more respect than the latest Facebook meme doing the rounds.

They should have got an author to run the campaign. Then maybe we'd have seen a different set of words. Maybe Set Two would have read something like;

solidarity, cooperation, kindness, openness, loyalty, leadership, hospitality, friendship, diversity, working together, aspiration, being part of something bigger, freedom to travel, freedom to engage, hope, aspiration, idealism, looking forward, togetherness

Now that sounds more like a complex, interesting character, and one I'd figure as a more likeable hero than the independent go-it-alone Boy's Own adventure hero of Set One. It's a shame we haven't heard more of those words in the campaign.



Cecilia Busby writes humorous fantasy adventures for ages 7-12 as C.J. Busby. Her latest book, The Amber Crown, was published last year by Templar.

www.cjbusby.co.uk

@ceciliabusby

"Great fun - made me chortle!" (Diana Wynne Jones on Frogspell)

"A rift-hoping romp with great wit, charm and pace" (Frances Hardinge on Deep Amber)