Let's Talk | Communication, Community, Creativity

I find it particularly interesting that these two articles, both appearing in The Guardian were published this week within a couple of days of each other:

Life is richer when we talk to strangers (David Ferguson) complete with a photograph of commuters in a packed tube/subway train

Author Kio Stark’s new book When Strangers Meet: How People You Don’t Know Can Transform You is about her seven-year personal study of her interactions with strangers in New York City. She believes that reaching across the gulf of silence that normally stands between ourselves and the people we encounter on a daily basis is not just essential, but transformative.

. . .  Stark said: “When you talk to strangers, you’re making beautiful interruptions into the expected narrative of your daily life – and theirs.”

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/sep/27/when-strangers-meet-life-is-richer-kio-stark

'Tube-Chat' campaign promotes horror amongst London commuters (Jamie Grierson)

Badges from mystery source encouraging passengers to talk elicit calls for ‘do not disturb’ signs – but not everyone is against. . . 

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/sep/29/tube-chat-campaign-provokes-horror-among-london-commuters

I have lots I want to write about at the moment. In fact I have several part completed pieces on such topics as hope, fear and (party) politics; the non/motherhood debate and its particular twist this summer; various isms (not least ageism here); media bias and so on and so on. But last night I slept better than I have for many nights, today the sun is shining and I had scrambled egg sandwiches for lunch (my comfort food of choice). I feel sure the significant discomfort and distress (see previous post) I've felt over the past weeks will return but for now I'm feeling a little positivity and have decided to make the most of it. Hence this blog entry on the importance, and joy, of talk and other forms of communication.

First a couple of personal tube tales. I lived in Wimbledon and Walthamstow for a few years in my twenties and for some of this time travelled to and from work on the London underground, I remember these journeys as solitary ones. I'd meet the same people day in, day out but never went beyond a nod or a smile with anyone. One memorable morning I was sent home from work feeling poorly and whilst on the journey I began to feel much worse. Knowing I was going to throw up I left the tube train at a stop before mine and made my way as close to the end of the platform as I could before losing much of my stomach contents. Unfortunately for me there was a blockage on the line and instead of promptly leaving the train  remained in the station for several minutes during which, after extensive vomiting, I leaned against the wall and shivered. No one, either on the platform or from the tube train, came to help me. I got home eventually and recovered in bed over a couple of days. I travel to and through London a lot at the moment for various work commitments so once again I'm a regular London underground user. A few months ago whilst approaching a short set of stairs at Kings Cross complete with pack-pack and small wheelie case I was approached by a man saying 'Hi, let me carry your case'. I smiled and said 'It's OK thanks, I can manage'. 'No, let me', he replied 'It will be my good deed for the day.' I gave him my bag. I hope he felt pleased with our encounter, I did.

Although I have spent all my working life in people-focused jobs, much of which involves me standing up in front of people and talking I am in fact rather shy. I find conferences where I know no one scary and when teaching big groups find the first encounters hard going. I prefer evenings with friends in small groups to big parties.  I'm not alone I know.  And yet, I enjoy brief communications with  acquaintances and strangers. One of the many good things about moving back (a few years ago) to the small seaside town I grew up in is how hard it is to walk along the main street or to the beach without meeting someone I'm acquainted with. Maybe an old friend from school, or a more recent acquaintance to share a smile, an hello or an exchange about the weather with. I have a couple of very good friends who always stop to talk to dogs and their owners. I too like dogs (and cats) myself and will sometimes stop to stroke one whilst out. I'm much more likely though, as one friend pointed out to me recently, to chat to children, on the train, in a shop or a cafe. I also quite regularly compliment people - usually women, sometimes men - on something they are wearing and experience pleasure when strangers do the same to me.

Much of our communication takes place online nowadays and this of course has both positive and negative consequences which has been starkly highlighted during this summer's Labour leadership election. But, but, my good mood in mind, I'm trying to focus more on the positive here. In the last few years I have become concerned in my academic work in how to present research and scholarly messages in different ways (beyond the traditional academic article or report). So, I am interested in, and attempt to contribute to, the creative telling of academic 'findings' in different ways - through songs, fiction, theatre - and in different outlets - in blogs and non-academic publications. The numerous songs, poems, videos and blog entries written and performed in support of Jeremy Corbyn, his team and his policies (put any of these words into Google or YouTube or see this for an example https://www.youtube.com/user/chunkymark) demonstrates that creativity and politics clearly go together also.

And yet, it's still important to talk, even those of us who feel a little shy on occasion. As many, many commentators have said (and written), including over the last few weeks, if the dominant messages we receive are not as we would wish, are not complete or accurate, it is the responsibility of all of us to join with others to challenge these. And not just on paper or online but face-to-face out and about in the world. With this in mind members of my local Labour Party CLP, as part of Labour's Campaign Day: Education not Segregation,  are frequenting  a stall in the centre of town tomorrow. As a fairly new member of the LP I've not been able to attend a meeting as yet (not least due to the summer suspension of meetings) so I'm planning to go along and say 'hello'.

With thanks and apologies to David Bowie I'd like to end this post with a song - just substitute 'dance' with 'talk' and off you go.

https://www.bing.com/search?q=bowie+let%27s+dance&form=EDGHPC&qs=AS&cvid=94f4c962ccb44ffc90ff9e618b9ec4de&pq=bowie+let%27s+dance

Stomach Churns and Chewed Nails | A Summer of Discomfort

I have spent much of the summer feeling what my mum would have described as ‘churned up’. My finger nails are the most chewed they have been for years. My usual irregular midlife sleeping patterns are more disturbed than ever and I’m crying rather more than I usually do. Recently I took part in one of the social media polls that most of us come across every day. I answered the ‘Has the current Labour leadership election affected your mental health?’  honestly opting for ‘A lot’. Although, like many others, I get angry and upset by what I see as private and public injustices I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly anxious person. The almost constant mental and physical unease I have experienced for the last couple of months or so is very new to me.

As I sociologist I could write about (and support with references) the current misunderstanding of the ideas of Marx and Trotsky or the misappropriation of feminist agendas and anti-racist debates in attempts to score political points. I could also draw on social science discussions (some of which have become mainstream, others less so) concerning ‘media socialisation’, ‘false consciousness’, ‘emotional labour’ and so on. But I’m not going to do any of that for now.  Instead, a little more about me, my feelings and concerns.

I care about current and future generations. For example, although sadly I have no biological children of my own,  I care for and support, in various ways, the children and grandchildren of others in my personal life and through my work. Having had a father who died nearly 38 years ago of a heart attack and a mother and husband (plus several very good friends) who died four and six years ago respectively of cancer I care about the health and care needs of others, my own as I age, and of those that follow me. 

The majority of my working life has been spent with young children whilst working as a nursery nurse and youth worker and young (and not so young) adults as a teacher, researcher, mentor and manager in higher education (following a late degree supported by a grant). Currently, alongside continued academic work and some newer types of writing (including fiction and memoir) I also work as a civil celebrant (qualified to conduct non and semi-religious funerals, weddings, and other commitment and naming ceremonies). All my people focused work (which also included a number of jobs in the tourist industry) has been significant in my personal political education both experientially and through the related reading I have done. This week I have read two articles highlighting worrying concerns at both ends of the lifecourse:

Midwife crisis will 'let down' a whole generation of new mothers (written in 2013)

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2013/aug/18/midwife-crisis-lets-down-mothers

The NHS's chronic shortage of midwives will last into the mid-2020s, despite ministerial pledges to improve maternity care amid a continuing baby boom, according to new figures.

The calculations, by the Royal College of Midwives (RCM), suggest that the gap between the number of midwives the NHS in England needs and the number it now has will not be closed until 2026. The shortage is certain to force maternity units to close suddenly and lead to some mothers receiving inadequate care before, during or after giving birth.

The ‘cost of dying’ outstrips inflation as funeral costs increase 5.5% in a year year

/http://www.mindfulmoney.co.uk/mindful-news/the-cost-of-dying-outstrips-inflation-as-funeral-costs-increase-5-5-in-a-year/

Insurer SunLife’s annual Cost of Dying research shows that the cost of dying is the fastest rising of any fixed cost in the UK – rising much faster than any cost of living such as rent, food, utilities, insurance or clothing.

The overall cost of dying which includes death-related costs such as probate, headstones and flowers in addition to the basic cost of a funeral – has risen by 8.3% to £8,802.

The funeral – which makes up 44% of the cost of dying – has soared by 5.5% in a single year, a rise more than 10 times the increase in the cost of living.

The average funeral in the UK now costs £3,897 which is more than double what it was when SunLife first started tracking funeral prices in 2004.

***

I worry about these issues. I care about the people affected. I worry and care about prejudice, in/equality, safety, peace and more. Don’t we all? Maybe, maybe not? 

***

My recent reading has also included the following two pieces just this morning. 

The first: The fall of Labour’s golden generation

http://www.newstatesman.com/politics/uk/2016/09/fall-labour-s-golden-generation

Seems to me to be a lot about politics as a career.

The second: Jeremy Corbyn: ‘People say I should be tougher. But it’s not my style’

http://www.theguardian.com/politics/2016/sep/17/jeremy-corbyn-should-be-tougher-not-my-style 

Highlights (again in my opinion) that for some politics is a vocation.  

Of course my analysis here is simplistic and there is much more that can be said about each article but with the focus of this piece in mind it was the second one that prompted tears today. Following weeks (and of course it's not over yet) of mainstream and social media programmes, articles, posts and tweets full of misunderstanding, misrepresentation, personal attacks, bile; to read something so human disarmed me for a little while.

From the reading I have done and my social media presence I know that my own feelings are anything but unique and in concentrating on myself I make no claim to be any more, or even as, affected as many others. But still my stomach misbehaves. Will it steady following next weekend’s announcement? I doubt it. There’ll be more to worry and care about, more to challenge, much more to work for and on. 

Despite the last almost 1000 words in the great scheme of things me and my feelings are of little consequence. For as someone recently said:

Real pressure - real pressure - is when you don't have enough money to feed your kids, when you don't have a roof over your head, when you are wondering if you are going to be cared for, when you are wondering how you can survive, you are wondering how you are going to cope with the debts you have incurred, you are wondering if your lovely employer is going to give you a call to give you a couple of hours work or not bother, or change their mind when you are on the bus on the way to do that job.  

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/jeremy-corbyn-says-he-is-under-no-pressure-whatsoever-hours-after-angela-eagle-announces-leadership-a7128926.html

And, if I may add, real pressure is when midwife shortages negatively impact on birth experiences for all concerned and when people are literally too poor to die.

Let's Pretend it's the Ritz | A short story and some reflections on it

Us on holiday in Rhyl

I wrote the short story that follows some time ago. When I posted it on ABC Tales     http://www.abctales.com/story/gletherby/lets-pretend-its-ritz  some of the comments I received noted the relevance to today's society. I agree. However, this story - although it contains much fictional detail - closely relates to something that happened to my parents and I close to 50 years ago. If I had to describe in one word how I felt during my childhood it was cherished. Yet there were times when materially we didn't have very much and for a while in my first decade we were very dependent on the generosity of others for shelter. The one memorable night when we didn't have anywhere to stay prompted me to write this: 

Let's Pretend it's the Ritz 

It’s after 11 o'clock before we find somewhere to stay. 

I’m seven and three quarters and most of the time I’m excited when I’m allowed to stay up late but tonight I’m cold and I’m tired. My feet hurt too. I was already in bed when mum woke me and said that we were going out. I was cozy and didn't want to get up. We've been staying with Auntie Sue (she’s my mum's sister) and her boyfriend David, for a couple of months now. Their flat is nice, painted in blues and greens with squashy sofas and cushions and a glass table where we sit to eat. But it's small and mum and dad and I have to sleep in the same bed. I'm usually in the middle. Auntie Sue tuts when I leave stuff on the table or watch my TV programmes. And she got cross when I ate my tea from a tray. It was only a little mark on the cushions. There was no one around when we left but there was shouting coming from the kitchen.

 I didn't hear much.

 Auntie Sue said, 'the place just doesn't feel like ours anymore, it's such a mess all the time.'

Then David said, 'have a heart Suze it's your sister and your niece.'

We left then. I don't think we'll be going back.

Things started going wrong last summer. Dad lost his job and every time I came home from school something else was missing. First it was dad's car, then some of mum's jewellery and loads of other things, even the telly and the computer. I didn't mind that as much as I minded mum crying all the time. The more she cried the more dad moaned about the 'bloody government.' Maybe they've got all our best stuff. At Christmas mum and dad had no presents at all and I only got a book and some Lego.

After the school holidays mum stopped crying and was very busy packing up what we have left. We had to leave the house I've always lived in and my cat Bingo went to live with my best friend Beth. She says I can visit whenever I like but it upsets me so I've not been much. Our furniture and most of my books and clothes are in a garage somewhere. We won't get them back until we get another house and I don't know when that will be.

I'm in my pyjamas and feeling very sleepy. Mum and dad are still dressed.

Mum rubs my back.

"Let's pretend it's the Ritz," she says.

We've played the let’s pretend game a lot lately.

"Let's pretend we're eating turkey,” instead of corned beef, for Christmas dinner.

"Let's pretend we're on a day trip to Paris," and not in the library because it’s so cold at home.

"Let's pretend we're watching our favourite film,” rather than playing in the park (AGAIN) to give Auntie Sue and David some space. They should have gone to the park, there's loads of space there.

I wasn't sure where we would end up tonight but I didn't expect it to be a train. The seats are a bit scratchy and make me itch and we are all bunched up together but I don't mind. Dad has his arm around mum and I haven't seen him do that for a while. They used to cuddle all the time which was kind of embarrassing but I miss it now they don't. Maybe the train will take us somewhere nice and mum and dad will be happy again.

I start to doze as mum talks to me about snow white sheets and gold taps, free food and drinks, breakfast in bed and sweets left on pillows. Whatever this Ritz place is it must be posh. I fall asleep and dream of hot chocolate with marshmallows. It's stuffy. I wake up hot. Mum and dad are talking. I listen.

"I'm so sorry that it's come to this," says dad.

"It's not your fault, it's no one’s fault Pete. We'll get through it. Together." That's mum.

Then it's quiet. I guess they're looking into each other's eyes and maybe, I hope, kissing because there is a bit of a slurpy noise.

"Let's go to Frank’s," my mum says after a while. She sounds kind of bossy.

"But..." I think dad wants to say more but mum butts in.

"He's your father and he’ll help us Pete. He won't get tired of having Janie around." She’s stroking my hair.

"I know your pride is hurting but put up with his advice. It's our best chance to get on our feet again. Please darling. You know I'm right," she says.

"Yes. Yes, I do," says dad after a while. "Ok, we'll go tomorrow."

"Good," says mum. She sounds pleased.

It's quiet.

I sleep again.

Mum wakes me early and helps me get washed and dressed. The water is cold and the mirror above the wash basin is dirty. There's a bit of poo on the floor in front of the loo. Mum shudders. I close my eyes and pretend. . .

"Breakfast at Maccy Ds?" asks dad as he packs my night stuff and the others things we have used.

"YES," I say. "And we don't need to pretend we're anywhere else cos MacDonald's IS THE BEST.'

Mum and dad laugh and smile at each other. Dad touches mum’s face and she kisses his cheek. Now I know that everything’s going to be ok.

We leave the train hand-in-hand and skip down the platform. Dad waves at the night watchman who opened up the carriage for us and put the heating on. I'm a bit disappointed that the train isn't taking us anywhere but I'm looking forward to my breakfast and to seeing my grandpa.

Sticks and Stones | A Short Story

Once, not that long ago, in a land, not that far away, there lived a man, who worked very hard. He dedicated his life to fighting injustice and was always the first to stand with those suffering discrimination or oppression. He travelled far and wide offering support to people who needed it and challenging those who put the wants of the few before the needs of the many. Unwavering in his principles the man’s views were not always popular although his good heart and his steadfastness became legendary across the kingdom. More often than not his beliefs and predictions proved to be grounded in good sense. When not at work the man lived a simple life, his lack of interest in material things unusual for the time.  

And so the man’s life continued for many years. Quietly spoken and physically unassuming the most powerful people saw the man as little threat to their position of privilege. For a long time this was the case. Despite the man’s efforts and those of a few others like him the kingdom, and other lands around it, became dark and dangerous places to live in. More and more people were reduced to existing in sorry conditions. At its worst this meant that some had no access to adequate food and shelter, or to good education and health care. Inequality sometimes led to prejudice and often the most powerless were unfairly blamed for social evils well beyond their control. Then came an opportunity when the man put himself forward for a more powerful position amongst those responsible for governing the kingdom. Slowly, but with gathering momentum, ordinary people throughout the land began to listen more closely to what the man had to say, and to join him in his commitment to social justice for all. In short they began to hope.

Watching the growing interest in and acceptance of the man’s message the rulers and those who would be rulers began to fear. Having greater access to the kingdom’s Magic Streaming Mirror (popularly known as the MSM) than the man and his supporters they began to spread false tales about him. Aware of the people’s regard for the man and his work they began by criticising his ability; ‘he is a good person but not strong enough to lead us’. When this didn’t work they moved to an attack on his ideas; ‘he’s talking rubbish, don’t listen to him’. Then, not surprisingly given the increasing obvious acceptance of them, they began to adopt, even to claim as their own, the man’s suggestions for action. At the same time they argued; ‘nobody likes him, he can’t deliver his promises, don’t trust him, trust us instead’. The critical messages were personal as well as political; indeed the personal is always political. So the man’s long-time principles were questioned, his character besmirched, and his lifestyle, choices, appearance and general self-presentation insulted. Through it all the man stood tall and got stronger, supported by the people who believed in him: young people and older ones, workers and those unable to work, those with enough to live a good life, others much more disadvantaged. They didn’t all agree with everything the man said, just as no one should, unthinkingly, uncritically, accept what they are told by others. But what all these people shared was a respect for the man’s obvious principles and they believed, like him, that the kingdom could be a better, fairer, brighter, happier place, if everyone worked together to make it so. And hence the Magic Streaming Mirror responded branding these people as naïve, as stupid, as wicked and worse . . . Its magic power was strong as it twisted the words of those who spoke in support of the man and magnified the voices of those that didn’t. And yet, many were able to question the dominant and dominating bewitching messages emanating from the Magic Streaming Mirror which championed the proclamations of those who wished to dispose of the man and take power for themselves. The people who resisted took comfort in, and drew strength from, communication and comradery relationships with each other. So much so that even when they were told, repeatedly, in various different ways, that they were not ‘real’ they knew that this was a lie.

***

The end of this story is yet to be told. The man and the people who accept and help to promote what he stands for remain under attack. The often confused and confusing negative stories continue to fester. But the resistance of many continues also. Although the kingdom is in many ways rotten, and there is a real danger that things could get even worse, there is also much hope for a better world. Many more people believe in fighting for a more positive future. Many more people believe in the power of community and the value of people powered politics. What is clear is that whatever happens next things will never be the same again. 

From Animal Farm to Finding Dory Part 1 | Reflections on Politics, Paranoia and Community

I am feeling the need to add some of my own thoughts to a current political discussion. 

I appreciate it's Saturday so if you're tired of it all or need a break please ignore. 

Recently I received an email from the Labour Party confirming my vote in the current leadership election,  as long as I continue to support the aims and values of the party. I have voted Labour at least since my personal political awakening in my mid-twenties prompted by an A Level evening-class in Sociology taken at my local FE college (I’m ashamed to say I can’t remember if I voted at all before then). An undergraduate and postgraduate qualification in Sociology plus 25+ years of teaching, researching and writing have only strengthened by concerns about in/equality and in/justice.

My email reminds me that ‘The Labour Party will not tolerate abusive or threatening behaviour by supporters or members'.  I would never abuse in person or via social media anyone for their political beliefs. I have and will continue to disagree, debate, argue, protest and (attempt to) persuade. Between signing up to be a registered supporter in the 48 hour window the NEC provided and the time of receiving my email I stopped liking or sharing anything on Facebook or Twitter that was supportive of my preferred candidate and what he stands for and/or challenging of the behaviour of the PLP or NEC. Paranoia reminiscent of the fear of Big Brother in Orwell’s 1984 possibly. But the recent challenge to the elected leader by the PLP, the changes imposed by the NEC on who can vote, who can attend meetings and other such restrictions and developments leaves me, and I know others, thinking that, to paraphrase Orwell (Animal Farm 1945) ‘All Labour Party members and supporters are equal but some are more equal than others’.

My discipline training and research experience has resulted in, I think, a healthy questioning of what main stream media (MSM) news tell us is so which just now is bordering on incredulity. Recent academic studies highlight the scale of the anti-Corbyn media bias. https://www.rt.com/uk/353891-bbc-media-bias-corbyn/. So the reproduction of obvious untruths alongside selective and clearly biased representation are endemic. Worse still are the blatant attempts to apportion inappropriate blame (e.g. 65% of Labour voters voted to remain whereas only 39% of Conservative voters did https://yougov.co.uk/news/2016/06/27/how-britain-voted/ and voting intention polls indicated that Labour and the Conservatives were neck and neck before the Labour coup) and or to discredit and deride. There are many, many examples here but I’ll point out two recent ones both from The Telegraph:

•  The title says it all for this article by Tom Harris published online on the 26^th July 2016: ‘The cold place in hell reserved for Labour MPs who back Jeremy Corbyn knowing he is a disaster’

•  In an article entitled ‘Jeremy Corbyn is divisive, deluded and dangerous . . .’, published online on the 27^th July 2016 Neil Midgley describes Corbyn’s views as ‘odious’.

Reflecting on Corbyn’s long-term commitment to human, animal and environment rights, and on issues such as democracy, enfranchisement and political debate all of this makes me want to weep.

If you’ve read this far I guess by now you might be wondering how Finding Dory fits in. In the film's predecessor; Finding Nemo, Dory, the Blue Tang fish who encouraged the Clown fish Marlin to carry on in his quest to find his son Nemo, entreats him to ‘just keep swimming’. I’ve written before about the significance of this advice and how it has been useful to me personally, not least with reference to loss and grief:

• I am aware that just keep swimming could be perceived to be and/or experienced as a platitude . . . And yet to me Dory’s words feel more like a metaphor; more than a metaphor, as I swim my way to emotional and physical wellbeing. More evidence I guess of how grief is a unique experience for all of us.  http://www.arwenack.co.uk/2015/04/bereavement-and-grief-3-more-swimming.html

Recently, I read a response to a post on a Corbyn supporting Facebook page which included an image from the scene in FN when a shoal of fish caught in a fishing boat net ‘all swim together’ at Nemo’s urging in order to break free. Clearly then I’m not the only one who thinks this film also highlights the value of working together, community and comradeship. You can see the clip here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sUTt0LMhyas

I’m off to see Finding Dory later today . . . more soon. 

All Hail the Stereotype: ‘left wing’ beards and non/motherhood

Like many of us my life in the last two weeks has been largely dominated with the news. What with keeping up with accounts of the UK referendum fallout and hate-related violence here and elsewhere, trying to make sense of the claims and counter claims and work out the significance and influence of the possible truths and obvious lies there is little time for other cultural consumption. Indeed, it’s become something of an addiction for me resulting in more than one late night watching, listening and reading.

Earlier in the week I found one piece (dated a few months ago so to some this might be old news), admittedly written in a newspaper known for its vulgarity, claiming that Jeremy Corbyn has a ‘left wing beard’. I’ve been married twice and for much of our respective years together each of my husbands favoured facial hair rather than the clean shaven look. Their politics were different, but despite the colour (one was a brunette, the other a red-head) their beards looked much the same. I imagine a project in the making but it’s already been done and there are articles and blogs on such issues as ‘the politics of male grooming’ and ‘the philosophy of shaving’. There’s always room for more work of course and I wonder if any of my friends have any ‘data’ to share? A short internet search and I found another, equally ludicrous article, describing Corbyn as a ‘joyless vegetarian’ in need of a few good steaks. And just this week yet another implying that it was inappropriate of him to attend his allotment association annual general meeting given the current situation within the PLP. The leader of the opposition, the article states, likes to make ‘jam for friends and family’ with some of the produce he grows. So, this is where he’s going wrong:  doesn’t he know that it’s women who are closer to nature, women who nurture and care, because, and only because, they give birth? . . . . Enter Andrea Leadsom, Conservative leadership candidate, who feels that, as a mother, she has a ‘real stake in the future’ and thus an advantage over her childless and obviously ‘really sad’ opponent Theresa May. There have already been responses to this, including from Leadsom herself, to which I add the following. 

Across a large body of academic publications, and personal writings, based not only on my own experience but on a significant number of research projects with different groups of people who do and do not parent I have argued (amongst other things) that:

-        Whether biological or social parents OR not, few adults lead ‘childfree’ lives and most of us interact with, work with and for, support and are supported by, individuals from across the generations.

-        The experience of parenthood is joyful and difficult and therefore an ambivalent experience. Similarly, nonparents are aware of the ambivalences - the positives and negatives -  of childlessness. So, despite regular suggestions that they are the involuntarily childless are not ‘desperate’ individuals (although they may feel desperation about this aspect of their lives) as other experiences, achievements, relationships are also relevant to their identity and sense of self. Additionally, the stereotype of the ‘selfish’ voluntary childless is just that a stereotype. Of course there are people without children who we might feel are selfish but having children is not a cure for selfishness and there are parents who are egocentric, self-interested and lack consideration for others.

-        Although motherhood, is still thought by some to be women’s ultimate fulfilment, motherhood and mothering is defined as an inappropriate choice for women if not achieved in the so-called ‘right’ social, material, sexual and so on circumstances. I’m thinking here of criticisms of those who mother too young, or too late, or within same sex relationships, or alone and of those who combine motherhood with paid work outside the home or those who stay-at-home and ‘smother’ their children, etc. etc. Basically it’s much easier to get it wrong than to get it right.

-         Men provide care too. They can and do nurture  –  children, partners, friends. . . vegetables and fruit – and yet although we insist we want them to do more of this they are sometimes disadvantaged, even ridiculed, when they do.

      I could go on . . .

      To suggest that a woman, or a man, who does not have any (biological) children has no understanding of or interest in the next generation(s) is ridiculous, to imply that they are less concerned about local and global in/equality and in/justice offensive. Thirty years ago when my (to my knowledge) one and only pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at 16 weeks I felt bereft and less than a woman. Now closer to 60 than 50 I no longer feel this way. My life has been and remains (on the whole) full and rewarding. It is further enriched by the children of others: students, younger colleagues, the children and grandchildren of family members and friends. And yet I am regularly reminded, in casual conversation, by the media, as well as in my daily life experiences of what I do not have. I cannot claim to know how May reacted when she read the article in The Times. I do know how I felt. 

Thinking about Creativity

In my work as a feminist sociologist I'm concerned to always try to write in an accessible way. I'm gratified that, from the feedback I've received, it seems that I (usually) manage to achieve this. I'm also pleased and grateful to be told that my academic writing is sometimes emotionally (as well as intellectually) meaningful for those who read it. My more recent fiction and memoir writing (links to some recent online publications below) provide, for me, additional tools to explore the complexity of life/lives in a way that I hope others find interesting. In reflecting on and researching how best to describe some of my most personal pieces I recently found this definition on Wikepedia:

For a text to be considered creative nonfiction, it must be factually accurate, and written with attention to literary style and technique. "Ultimately, the primary goal of the creative nonfiction writer is to communicate information, just like a reporter, but to shape it in a way that reads like fiction." Forms within this genre include biography, autobiography, memoir, diary, travel writing, food writing,literary journalism, chronicle, personal essays and other hybridized essays. 

This leaves me confused. Fiction often contains some fact and we can never be sure (not least because of its reliance on memory and the likelihood of the self desire to protect the positive status of our moral identity) just how 'true' a piece of factual personal writing is. Thus, surely any claim that 'creative nonfiction' is 'factually accurate' is problematic in several ways. To me, at least then, the term creative nonfiction feels not only inaccurate but an over complication. . .

Having said this I'm drawn to the word CREATIVE, associated as it is with energy - 'relating to or involving the use of the imagination or original ideas to create something' - and enjoy nothing more than being at the receiving end of the creativity (via reading, watching, looking, listening) of others. So then, whether I'm writing fiction, autobiography (or sociologically speaking auto/biography), memoir, reporting research findings or suggesting a theoretical or methodological development in my work if, in some way, my writing is creative then I'll be happy.

I've published a couple of fictional stories (one which relates in some ways to some experiences earlier in my life and the other to issues close to my research interests) and a short piece of memoir on ABCtales.com recently. Here are the links if you are interested:

Addicted to . . . Love
http://www.abctales.com/story/gletherby/addicted-love

Wish You Were Here

http://www.abctales.com/story/gletherby/wish-you-were-here-yma-whans-dhym-ty-dhe-vos-omma

Holding Hands With Number One
http://www.abctales.com/story/gletherby/holding-hands-number-one