Lovely Girls is a story about the dismal and abusive life of a woman admitted as a young girl to a large institution in the early 20th century. It was first published in 2011 by The Other Room Journal which has now ceased operations and finally removed its archives. Here it is re homed to This Personal Space.
Another little dose of weird:
After a while, with the streets and parks getting less cluttered, it started to look as if some cosmic recycler had dropped by to tidy us up. So then people stopped using the bins and just hung about with their cameras waiting for their banana skin or whatever to take off.
Zouche has been away for a while but now it’s back with its lovely graphics and varied content and I’m delighted to be back too [see A Tale of Two Sixties 2011].
This has been a hoot – a new prompt every day and a right old clamour to get something out. Getting on the selected list – and who knows how these were picked but if you’ve been to a festival you’ll be thinking drink must surely have been involved – was a bonus, especially for those of us stretching our necks to for a sniff at that rarefied air! Where mine made it to the list, I shamelessly took screen shots (well wouldn’t you, really?) so here they are:
- Edinburgh Book fest marks 30th with bumper sales (scotsman.com)
That brave lady, Folly Blaine, is wrestling most expertly with a canny orange tabby and a maverick veterinary ‘researcher’ in ‘Cat Nav’. Up in podcast so you don’t have to try to pronounce ‘prestidigitator’ even in your head.
‘Oars for Legs’:
It’s very embarrassing to have a spasm in the middle of a – how shall we say – romantic interlude. Even more so when you have succeeded in trapping your paramour by the genitals and pinned him up against the wall. Cerebral palsy can be a bugger sometimes.
Out on Full of Crow: disability positive with a giggle and a smidgen of nearly-there science.
I am not a neuropsychologist so I’ve let the left brain-logic/right brain-creative issue ride. After all, that sort of simplification is not going to kill anyone and it might just help sometimes. But with the increase in focus – via everything from apps and exercises to meditation – on hauling your right brain out from under its mossy rock to perform in public, I’m pleased to see a nice clear and competent article that puts the matter straight.
Christian Jarrett is editor of The Psychologist - the professional magazine outlet for the British Psychological Society – and he busts the myth, critically without destroying hope. While the left and right hemispheres can certainly be shown to do different things – particularly when surgically separated – they are actually designed to work together and the right brain may not have the edge on its partner for creativity:
One of the most fascinating insights from the split-brain studies was the way the left hemisphere made up stories to explain what the right hemisphere was up to.
This is a short, easy read with no complex neuro-babble and it might just make it easier to give your right brain a break. A longer article might have discussed how left handers – some of whom have left/right brain functional reversal – fit into the picture. For instance, while language is largely represented in the left hemisphere in right handers, it is often located in the right for lefties, or even bi laterally represented. And visual stimuli aimed at the left occipital (visual) cortex and that right handers are unable to name, can often be identified by left handers. I found that out by messing up someone’s study as an undergraduate – reading words with my supposedly non verbal right brain and identifying images with my pictorially illiterate left.
The article also doesn’t discuss the role of unconscious processing. Ever wondered how it is you arrive, when speaking, at the end of a sentence with all the words in more or less the right grammatical order even though you hadn’t planned out the sentence before you began speaking? That’s your unconscious doing its stuff.
Abandoning the notion that only one side of the brain has anything to do with creativity frees us up to consider the value of the whole engine with its millions (maybe billions) of connections, all of which contribute to creative output. To me, that feels better than thinking I have to coax a shy genius out from under a blanket to make it dance.
I wonder if the person who arrived here by entering this search term found what they were looking for. Maybe it was ‘If It Ain’t Broke …‘: Robert is a man with Down’s who has to make a choice when he’s offered a chance to go back in time and change his DNA, and he’s here on Ether for download to iPhone or Android devices, or here for on-screen reading. I’ve known a lot of Roberts over the years and I think many of them would recognise the dialogue. For quite a few, the framework for any conversation was a superhero or Dr Who but always with a wry twinkle!
Do you remember ‘No Arrests in 2039′ on Every Day Fiction? No? Great – it’ll be all fresh when you listen to the podcast then! And you might think twice about falling crime statistics …
‘When Izzy’s eyelids got burned off, she had to watch all the time without blinking – apart from the frog-lick that slides across side-to-side, but you can see through that so there’s no escape and she’s been watching since Jinty started making the dance. ‘ In Lancaster university’s 2013 anthology of MA creative writing. Contributors are part time and distance students. ‘Dance to the Wild Ice’ is set in the same world as ‘All the Birthdays‘ and it’s on P5. Go on, unsettle yourself!
Speckles in the Sky is a tiny piece of magical realism I wrote for a friend’s retirement, because, obviously, I’ll do anything to get out of trying to think of something witty to say in three square millimetres on a card. It starts like this:
‘Coming on nicely,’ said the man jogging by. ‘Nearly there.’
Lynda turned to check out the source of this odd intrusion. Her heels spun and she almost lost her balance; damn council, leaving the pavements in disrepair. She twisted back again and found herself rotating the other way, like a rapper’s disc on a concrete turntable. Maybe it wasn’t the pavement, maybe it was the wine …
And it finishes over on TPS.