I’ve just spent the last six days cycling 500km for the annual Rapha Festive 500: that, for me, was about eighteen hours on a bike where I had a lot of spare thinking time. Last year, when the event was completed for the first time, no spare brain capacity existed, so hard was it that my whole was totally wiped for about a week afterwards. The difference between 2020 and now is considerable, remaining testament to where I am in terms of progress that there has been writing done between those sessions. It’s also been a period when future plans have begun to coalesce.
It continues to bother me how much of progress we decide to mark against other people, and never in relation to ourselves. If you’ve not got the badge, the leaderboard placement or the acceptance of your peers, have you even done anything worthwhile at all? Exercise, with its undoubtedly obsessive business of recording statistical achievement, has taught me a lot about how people define their success over the last few years. Selling your progress is a business too, and it’s been really insightful when I’ve begun to critically assess my place in the writing world.
… but actually, *did you*…?
All of this navel-gazing is as a direct result of having pulled something together for a Poetry Contest. I’ve discovered of late that if the subject of the submission or money making affair is anything other than ‘write what you want’ I tend to struggle, because the neurodiverse in my brain will undoubtedly fixate on a very, VERY specific part of the larger whole. Therefore, undoubtedly I’m setting myself up for failure, and becoming poorer for it as a result… except that’s not the entire story. Every contest entry is the literal equivalent of sticking a donation in the regional poetry charity donation box, and in the current climate, helping people across the country should be a priority for everyone.
When it fails in contest, I will be comfortable that it was, and still is, a mark of progress.
— Another 🗨️ Reeson 💭 to start 2021 💬 STRONGER (@InternetofWords) December 30, 2021
I was on a writing course last year when the facilitator suggested that we all like the idea that just one poem could change our lives. It’s that whole ‘rags to riches’ mentality that does seem to fuel the majority of people’s aspirations: after all, were I to win the National Poetry Contest, it would mean that more people than the 600 or so currently following me on social media might have an interest in my fortunes long term. The problem with such manifestations however is the statistical likelihood that you’ll win anything to begin with. Except, as it transpires, my first publication was a contest win. No, really, go read it now.
As a result of this life-changing event in 2018 (and it totally was, make absolutely no mistake about it) I am about to hit Year Five of this particular endeavour. When I look back on the past half decade of attempting to get words to accurately represent what I am, The Beast in Cyberspace still shines bright as an example of me, doing what I do best. I’ve always been a mimic, and most of my life is inextricably linked with computing and the virtual world. As a calling card, it remains a perfect descriptor for my strengths and ability. I worked that out on a bike this week, and going forward there needs to be less worrying about what other people are producing, and more focus on personal strengths.
Needless to say, this is a Resolution I’m already working on ahead of time…
I’m supposed to be having a couple of weeks off, but instead there is a compulsion to write here for the first time in a while. The reasons are complex, and will be discussed in other places as time goes on, but for now, this is the moment to start laying foundations down for new ventures. As that happens, it is also the moment to consider how far I have come.
So, for a few years now, I've written a poem for that national poetry thingy and know, deep down, it's not good enough. I have seen, every year, how I have slowly moved towards the standard that I know is required.
This year, I am happy I've written something that might work.
— 🗨️ S Reeson 💭 Glorious Purpose for Hire 💬 (@InternetofWords) August 14, 2021
Stories that make a person whole…
For the last thirty-nine weeks, I’ve captured myself on video explaining my plans going forward, and this undoubtedly has contributed to an ability to rationalize beyond what was there to begin with. The fortieth video will launch on a new platform, having finally removed myself from Patreon. Ironically, it was their own fault it happened. I was given the opportunity to join a marketing course, which showed me how to sell the ‘brand’ better.
This is not a brand, and never will be. I am a perennial work in progress, and trying to promote that on a platform which only sees fulfilment and cash as success really was doomed to failure. As a transactional person at heart, there needs to be a balance between what is truth and what is the line that won’t be crossed. It was therefore inevitable the relationship would end after it was obvious the company’s values and mine did not align.
I was sent a brand survey last week that was the last straw, and I made my displeasure known. Also, I didn’t sign up to win the $100 gift card because the exchange rate is woeful, part of a far bigger issue.
This week I’m going out with the youngest, will be taking photos everywhere, and hope to get some back end work fixed in an environment which is considerably more conducive than it was. Mostly, I need to be organized better, which is the perennial demon to appease. At least now that’s grasped, there are other things to talk about.
#Instaverse will be back in September, but so will occasional posting here too on personal issues.
I’ll be taking a break from the blog here, starting today. I expect this to last until such times as I can finally get everything in my life into some kind of order. It’s been a fairly brutal couple of months, and this place has been somewhere that has really not been getting the kind of love that I feel is required. However, there’s a real difference now between life now and life three months ago, and that’s Patron, where people are paying me to make content.
I fully intend to be back here for August 3rd. By then the work/life imbalance I have to fix will hopefully be more manageable. I’m going to organise a bunch of goals to achieve by that time, which will finally include filling in missing content to my satisfaction, and streamlining my output here to more accurately reflect what matters, and not what I think needs to be done. It transpires that there’s a significant gulf currently between those two places.
If you subscribe to my monthly newsletter, I’ll be using July’s to outline what is going to change, and then August’s to officially move back into production. In the meantime, I have a pile of laundry the size of Everest to sort, and some penance to serve for my family. It makes sense stop now, and not keep carrying on until the work/life balance can be organised better, because this may work on one side of the equation but isn’t currently on the other.
I will therefore see you again on Monday, August 3rd, all things willing.
The last seven days have been hugely significant for my personal development: on Friday I finally completed the first draft of a project that wasn’t initially part of my ‘Experimental’ work but has grown from the need to be able to produce to deadlines. It has been created for a very specific submission window, pushing brain into a different working mindset. However, that won’t be why it will be remembered, celebrated and ultimately published regardless of submission success.
Occasionally, it is necessary to go back to the past in order to continue an unimpeded journey through the present. On the weekend when history was remembered in this country for very different reasons, I was able to finally leave some of my regrets where they belong. Moving on will be slow, painful work but with this line on the ground, I can mark realistic progress away. Having these benchmarks is incredibly important for me in exercise, even more so as an indicator of personal progress.
This new work therefore is hugely important for therapy.
I hope to have some content on YouTube for Wednesday, but this will be largely dependent on getting the backlog here organized. The first two Drabbles will be with you later today (right now it is graphics holding me back, not words) and on days like this I wish all there was to worry about was writing and not all the other elements needed to make a website work to my liking. However, these are the challenges, self set, and which will all be eventually overcome.
My progress as a writer, increasingly, is measured by notional progress in organization. This is undoubtedly a huge step forward in those terms, quite apart from the quality of work I have managed to produce since Lockdown. To expand as a person is not just about success, or validation. It is vital I am honest to my own integrity, that how I act and conduct myself on wider stages is done with respect for the beliefs of others.
These are interesting and educational times for us all.
At the end of last week, I applied for an opportunity that a year ago wouldn’t even have been considered as a possibility. It doesn’t matter, now it’s done, whether I’m successful or not. For the first time in probably two plus years, that process wasn’t about wanting to be chosen, but simple satisfaction at taking part. Somewhere between then and now, a fundamental part of my psyche has changed.
The portion of me that thought success only came from other people’s validation has finally realised this is the biggest lie in existence. If that kind of assuagement is what I seek, there are better, far less stressful means by which it can be achieved. They emerge from moments of kindness, helping other people get what they want and achieve their dreams and aspirations. I don’t need to write to do that.
Writing has become expression of moments I’ve been too scared to share until now.
Validation is achieved by the completion of projects, working to the timescales I impose. It will be when I choose to create and sell my own things and not be reliant on others. Poetry will combine with pictures, video with sound, and everything stops being a race or a contest. It is a freedom I realise only comes in the quiet moments when all the critics, both external and internal, are silenced.
It is the moments when you believe anything is possible, if the means can be located within yourself to release fear and uncertainty. It was one of those moments, a week ago, when I ran for three lots of four minutes without stopping on a treadmill and grasped that if I could knit those fragments together, pieces became a proper run. The confidence gained here combined with new found physical strength made impossible, real.
Understanding how to write without fear taught me how to run.
In turn, running gives back to mental strength and creativity. The body self-sustains, creating calm where previously only chaos existed and those difficult tasks finally appear easy, academic. The freedom of expression that only previously took place after long periods of self-imposed reflection spring forth unprompted, with new enthusiasm and joy attached. Creativity really is in a new, exciting place.
However, I was the one who had to change, needs to keep altering myself. If the door’s not kept open to this new place in my mind, if change cannot be embraced and then directed elsewhere, all this good work can still be lost. The task now is not to lose sight of direction, focus or possibilities. With mental and physical strength, anything is and will be possible.
After I failed to get a residency at the local arts collective in March, the idea I’d wanted to work on became End of the Fear. That is the gift that keeps on giving, and it has taught me the value of not assuming that success equals a book deal or a winning submission. Success is not about what other people consider as worthy, it’s your happiness above everything else.
However, my submission did get me noticed enough to win a meeting with the head of the Southend facility (is that the right word, I wonder… hub, perhaps? Community centre?) and a promise I could appear as part of their ‘Future Park’ events: three minutes to sell yourself to the audience, using anything you want as content. In my case, I picked a poem written in January which remains the strongest piece I’ve written all year, ironically submitted for a major prize last week.
That means there will eventually be some pictures of the evening. For now, I am reminded that although using Social media has its own pitfalls, if I wanna be seen in the world, this is the way to do it. With Inktober coming up, there’s a strong temptation to do haiku again, because that was huge fun and I’ve come a long way in two years. My home town is an amazing backdrop for so many things, after all…
— 🗨️ S Reeson 💭 Digital, Physical, Fractal 💬 (@InternetofWords) September 20, 2019
There’s a lot to consider on the back of this performance, and next week is an important deadline for a collection I’ve been playing with for over a year now. Today, however, is taking things easy. The stress and adrenaline are still very much in evidence, and so that means no exercise as well as no worrying over what happens next. For now, I celebrate what’s been achieved this year, and what might yet be to come.
It’s odd, sitting here, realising that the way in which I write is altering every time fingers are placed to keys. It’s become easier over time, noticing how other not writing-related stuff is evolving: grip strength, breathing, lifting skills. It never really occurred that in the process of redefinition, the same might happen with words, spaces and punctuation. The economy of process is producing some really quite startling revelations.
One of the most important things learnt in the process of the last six months came from, of all places, a random tweet. Those of us who hang so many hopes on ‘that one piece’ whether it be novel, poem or article, that if we can get just one thing to be successful, everything will fall into a place. It is the hugest of fallacies, of course: once you’ve done it once, it’s an expectation it will happen again.
The tyranny of progression, ultimately, is your own expectation.
My mental Angry Mob still exists, of course, instant indignation at the latest rejection to arrive, but with meditation, cake and belief, it’s progressively easier to rationalise the lottery, for that is what this will always remain. Every time I write a post like this, situation improves: less stressed over failure, not bothered with validation: what matters most of all is happiness. Is this good? If not, how do I make it better?
Perfection presents itself in odd ways: phrases of poetry, means by which voice and feeling seamlessly combine, memory sparking creativity. The pictures really, really help too as my work becomes less about words alone and more the two things together. This might be a way forward worth examining in more detail too. There is such joy in creating my own backdrops, and this is not diminishing.
May this enthusiasm never end, and may I have the opportunity, for many years to come, to create my own words and pictures for many more projects such as #EndoftheFear.
Tomorrow, we’re back to poetry after what was a scheduled break for real life and May Day bank holiday. I’m off to sit in the Jazz Centre tomorrow and write a poem, plus spend some time re-organising the game plan. You see, on Thursday night there was a bit of an epiphany about how the poetry’s picked and chosen going forward.
I need to write an #EndofTheFear poem about my exercise class. They are hugely inspirational and thoroughly brilliant people. They deserve to be both celebrated and recorded, and so they will get a poem.
It will be called BLAZING SQUAD.
— 🗨️ S Reeson 💭 Digital, Physical, Fractal 💬 (@InternetofWords) May 2, 2019
There needs to be a bigger human angle than was initially planned: initial selection of places was purely planned on geography. Sure these spots all have personal relevance, but what matters more, it is now apparent, is emotional resonance that specific spaces throw up. This became apparent last week in town, in a spot that didn’t previously merit a mark on the map but now does.
— 🗨️ S Reeson 💭 Digital, Physical, Fractal 💬 (@InternetofWords) May 4, 2019
The poetic voice has most definitely altered during this planning progress. Doing counselling simultaneously is undoubtedly altering my mental landscape: this weekend proves that to be true beyond doubt. Therefore, tomorrow is a refocus of goals and objectives, where I need to go and take pictures, plus what the remainder of my locations will give in terms of emotional resonance.
Listing to a poetic voice that is altering on an almost daily basis is an odd experience, but the process is a natural progression from the space this journey originally begin in. I am not afraid of change, and never have been, and am confident everything will eventually find a level that is right and proper.
The goal, while this happens, is to keep on writing.
This year, poetry for me became something more than dusty pages and old blokes in church halls. When terror ripped through the lives of people who never asked for a war, killing the truest, most innocent lives, poetry galvanised an entire Community. One bloke stood up and, for a moment, everybody listened to his words and were moved to tears.
Except the smart people know that poetry has never just been for books and schools, it’s for everybody. It is the blood that drives every song on the radio, from manufactured pop to the anthems of a generation. Revolution is everywhere, and in every syllable, even now. When I was young it was Pink Floyd and Bowie sewing the seeds of diversity, swinging at authority. Now there is a new generation of poets, whose words have such strength as to stop even this cynical old woman in her tracks. I defy anyone with a soul to really listen to Tunnel Vision and not think, at least for a second, of the legacy the actions of a few have wrought on our Planet.
The greatest agent of collective human advancement is not free markets, despite what our leaders might have us believe. It is the ability to express ourselves without fear of attack or reprisal, of thinking beyond ourselves and collective greed to something better, nobler than wealth as aspiration. It is the means by which the World exists together, side by side and stronger, living longer, place where nobody is persecuted for being different. Poetry has always given a voice to the darkest recesses of the human condition: that window on our souls is never more needed than now, this moment, every second.
Poetry is freedom, and expression to believe in ourselves.
It is a persistence of memory, growing old and looking backwards, looking forward with optimism to what yet might be achievable. It groans with angst and moans with pleasure and without it, I realise now, I was less of a writer. This year, I started writing poetry not as a chore, but with tentative ardour, and now my love affair is in full, glorious flow. It gives metaphors chances to illuminate unexpected corners. It has allowed a woman who was afraid of her own voice to once more stand upright, inhale and then speak her words with pride. It has transformed my existence, and there will never be the right couplet to express how grateful that makes me.
Never believe you’re incapable of change. I’m almost 51 and my poetic journey has only just begun: maybe if I’d started earlier… but there is no time for regret anymore. It is time to live each day as it comes and realise that it is us that makes life better not just for ourselves but the people around us. This day has given me the opportunity to share what I think and feel about a concept I hated as a kid, tolerated in my teens and then ignored for decades because I’d forgotten how to listen. Now ears and mind are open again, I can’t get enough of it. Poetry has transformed the course of my writing, and I’m grateful for one day where I can proudly stand up and admit that it will always be a part of my life until I die.
Poetry is worth all the effort. Take the first step into a wider Universe, and you may yet be surprised at what you discover not only about the world, but within yourself.
Freakonomics is, undoubtedly, a brilliant book of essays which almost effortlessly uses causality to knit together seemingly disparate truths. However, for me at times it was a hard set of scenarios to grasp. The problem is not the details, but numbers. Economics, as is the case with so many branches of the sciences, relies on a strong mathematical base: understanding how figures interact and create the foundations of this and other scientific disciplines is pretty much essential. I have always struggled with maths, for as long as memory exists: words are natural, almost fluid but the same has never been true with calculations or equations.
In fact, I have nightmares sometimes over the basic inability to cope with mental arithmetic. If there is homework that involves the discipline, I’ll politely remind either son or daughter that dad’s the better person to ask. ‘In mathematics, something must be invested before anything is gained,’ writes David Berlinski in his book ‘One, Two Three’, a study of the basics of mathematical principle: ‘what is gained is never quite so palpable as what has been invested.’ Once I realised that my mind was the problem and not complexity of equations, it began a train of thought that seemed worth sharing.
When asking the question ‘Why am I terrible at maths?’ there were a lot of possible solutions, including the possibility that I might suffer from dyscalculia, which is a form of dyslexia. It is considered a specific developmental disorder, with an estimate that up to 6% of the population could suffer from some form of number ‘blindness.’ This ties in with the inability to read musical notation (despite having been taught to) and my total inability to remember people’s names, which has caused me issues for decades.
However, over time, and with practice, mathematical competence has improved. What normally tends to happen, and this was most definitely the case whenever Levitt and Dubner used numbers to make a point, I’d simply switch off and skip the sections which asked for specific concentration. This had become the way I dealt with other issues too, even when sitting and listening to mathematical discussions. Was it really my brain at fault? In the spirit of using causality to look beyond the obvious, I sought answers from my past. When did the issues with maths truly begin, and could a mental disorder be the cause?
In the early 1960’s Sir James Pitman (grandson of Sir Isaac Pitman, inventor of a shorthand system) created the Initial Teaching Alphabet (or ITA for short) which was meant to help children learn to read. It meant that, as a child, I was taught two alphabets for basic comprehension and not one: for instance, I will when tired still spell like as liek (with that middle vowel sound part of the ITA ‘phonics’ system, as you can see on the end of the third line of the picture above.) This same confusion remains after decades: I’d not linked this with possible mathematical shortcomings until very recently.
Enter RadioLab, ‘where sound illuminates ideas, and the boundaries blur between science, philosophy, and human experience.’ This WNYC podcast is much beloved by my husband, and I’ve begun to become a fan myself over time. In this case, Season 6 Episode 5 [Numbers] was the causal link required to jump from one point in a personal chronology to another. In the segment ‘Innate Numbers’ comes explanation and understanding that, as children, we have no concept of numbers whatsoever, and the strict linear progression from 1-10 has to be quite vigorously reinforced before cognition occurs.
Suddenly, I appear to have discovered a causal connection that not only makes sense, but that feels innately correct. However, thoughts are not facts, and if I want to know the real truth over whether my struggles with ITA as a child really have contributed to a disconnect with maths in subsequent decades, there are other possibilities to consider. I won’t win prizes for mental arithmetic speed any time soon: however from these initial issues, a fear and general lack of interest in mathematics no longer exists.
As I push myself into learning more about my own body, challenging how problems are dealt with, comes a deeper awareness of how reaction to stimulus occurs, using the mental tools I wield with most comfort. It is why, I suspect, poetry rhyming feels far more comfortable than the dissonance of imagery and metaphor: those things work better as prose, and poems are more fluid and natural when flowing almost as music. Then, looking at how my mind now reacts to music, there is no longer simply the enjoyment of lyrics or melody, but a rediscovery of how numbers dictate rhythm.
In this regard, mathematics is the most natural thing in the world: chord progressions and key changes are inherently built into my make-up: at 10 I was a fairly prodigious recorder player, and it was suggested I might take up the clarinet or oboe as a way not only to help with asthma, but to develop the ability… yet issues reading music effectively scuppered the dream. The bigger problem however wasn’t a technical glitch in processes, but a deeper set issue, which only now is being actively addressed.
My biggest single issue with an inability to grasp mathematics is fear.
For a very long time, exercise was the same. Intimidated by others, there was no desire to make an effort, coupled with the belief I simply wasn’t good enough. That changed when knees began to hurt not because of exertion, but simply lack of use. An exercise regime then began with thirty minutes of walking a day, and would extend after taking daughter to school, just around the corner. As the walks got longer I used maths to measure progress, thanks to the Fitbit tracker on my wrist.
That journey now means my own body weight can be lifted, that stamina and strength have been built where none existed before. I’ve lost six inches around my waist, yet weight has remained pretty much static in the last ten months. Here’s another mathematical conundrum: counting calories since the start of the year, I am undoubtedly fitter and slimmer than was the case when this began, yet the numbers say I should be thinner. If I’m being accurate with the reporting of calorie intake, who is to blame?
Well, that’s simple. All those cups of tea have a calorific content. Each snack that wasn’t recorded eventually adds up. Food dropped on the floor and then eaten does not have no calorific value, despite what your brain might try and argue as otherwise. I might be able to fool myself, but the truth remains constant and intractable. Mathematics relies on everybody playing by a very specific set of unmalleable rules. You cannot be creative and hope nobody notices. Even high profile politicians can’t do that and expect to escape scot free.
Understanding yourself is an exercise in causality. What Freakonomics has done for me is open the door into a world I knew existed, but was too afraid to explore in detail. The final piece in that puzzle has been a course in Mindfulness that was begun (and abandoned) earlier in the year, but restarted a few weeks ago. Thanks to meditation there is now an ability to quieten my mind sufficiently to eliminate everything except coping with the moment. This has busted that door to my mind off its hinges, forcing the reassessment of a ton of stuff that has tumbled out.
Only by putting all the pieces of a puzzle together will one be able to understand the picture presented. For me, mathematics was always boring, pointless and ultimately something little cared for. After reading Freakonomics, there’s no instant desire to go solve complex equations, but I did make myself go back and read anything again I glossed over due to complexity. There’s now an enthusiasm to grasp the stuff that doesn’t make sense on the first read, rather than walking away and this is most definitely a step in the right direction.
When I began the Internet of Words project, this was one of the overriding objectives: make people think. What is now apparent is that it wasn’t just a desire that could benefit other people: this is becoming a deeply personal journey into past, present and future. By challenging our shortcomings, there can often come revelations about the reasons why individuals think and act as they do. It is often the most difficult task to do so, because of the fear of so many things: rejection, disappointment and unhappiness. Except, sometimes by embracing these feelings, comes a deeper understanding of what matters most.
Mathematics no longer scares me, and its comprehension is a shortcoming I’ll work to improve upon. Like everything else, it forms a complex and unique part of what is my whole. Understanding that is never likely to happen overnight, and becomes as much a part of life as clothing choices and dinner contents. However, if there’s never the desire to think past the basic life decisions made, true development as a person is a long way off. In this regard I am more than grateful to Messrs Levitt and Dubner, for helping me take a step into a far more interesting and challenging Universe.
The Internet of Words 
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