Posts tagged “people


Writers make words their own. Most things have been said before and need to be said again and again. Most writers climb the same cerebral hill many times, each time using a different path; a different approach, often discovering something new.

Can we sperate an author from their words? Post structuralists say that an author is lost from his/her text; that the reader becomes more important than the writer. Is the interpreter more important than the thing being interpreted for which the writer is not only its vehicle but also its voice?

A writer is their words.

Does this mean that a writer is alone in the world of their words? We all are. Writers are inviting readers in through open doors. They do this not so that their words can be appropriated by another’s mind but so that they can be used to share an experience: a particular experience of a moment had by the writer whose living, loves and laughter has shaped the way they experience the world.

Of course, a reader will never truly know what a writer intended. We are, after all, islands in a big sea of outsideness. An outsideness that is populated by so many weird and wonderful things including other people’s minds. Entering the open door of an author’s mind is like being invited into a stranger’s house and given the chance to explore the furniture and ornaments that make a stone-shell of a house into an individual’s home.

Writers make words their own.

People make words their own because we all tell our lives in narrative. We tell stories about ourselves. Nobody likes to be misunderstood. We tell our lives in objects to, in the furniture we buy and the ornaments we collect. The unique way an individual uses words leads words to become ornaments for them.

We share experiences, we hold hands, we share what is said and unsaid and yet mystery always remains and thank goodness for that. An author’s work is never a closed door; there is always room for the reader to reside for a while in the text. But even when the author is long gone, the text will never belong to the reader. The reader is not the most important part of a text. Neither are they the least important. Words will always be the home of the speaker or writer.

Stone Cottage

Who lives at our Stone Cottage?

Firstly, there’s a man who sometimes writes poetry and sometimes prose-fiction. He is greying. Likes walking and photography. Likes to cook, has a penfriend in Poland and is known, on this website, as Fender (that’s me – goodness knows why I am writing in third person!). I am keeping the blog and will write most of the posts. Here is a sample of my poetry:

Our Love

our love was built in the sixties
hit ice on its maiden voyage
and sank without a trace

sex is not easy to endure
when the fridge is left open

cold words lose their fire
in the empty moments
of everyday

a few more flowers in the vase
would have been nice
another joint
might have done the trick

remember how your legs
squeezed my love
into our soul

remember how we cried
when cupid sewed
our hearts together

remember the time
you threw our song
out of the window

that’s when I realised
love is vinyl
breaks too easy

sometimes I want your legs
around me again sometimes

I just want to know
why cupid continues to live
in the ice box
of our fridge

And then there is Sarah. She likes walking too (and photography), has a whippet and plays the cornet. She is a Counsellor training in psychology, a Buddhist-Pagan (or Pagan-Buddhist) and enjoys relaxing on the PlayStation. Sarah was once a Christian but lost her belief in a personal, all-powerful God. She bakes – bread and cakes (which is why I have joined the gym).

Finally, there is Margaret. She is Sarah’s mother and has been living with us for seven years. She is quite a personality. She has had a lot of health problems – a diagnoses of inoperable cancer most recently – but she does not let it get her down. She lost her Christian faith several years ago but continues to believe that the universe is meaningful. Her hobbies, at the moment, are: shopping and puzzles.