A dollop of nouns: magical realism, owls, plays, spiders, books, thunderstorms, knee-high boots, stockings, fire, music, real ale, novels, hats, trees, truth, motorbikes, people, the sea, the desert, magic, gigs, flash fiction, spoken word, love, freedom, psychology, films and Yorkshire…
And because I prefer doing to things, a sprinkling of verbs: writing, swimming, reading, dreaming, cooking, flirting, playing, performing, walking, talking, listening, dancing - just discovered 5 Rhythms, learning- currently finding out loads about my voice, and laughing...lots. Also, watching people - who are good at what they do - at work.
Music
New Order, Joy Division, Rolling Stones, Willy Mason, God Speed You Black Emperor, The Levellers, The Smiths, Anne Briggs, The White Stripes, Placebo, Ben Harper, Elbow, Jason Feddy, Vatican Jet, Zuko, The Smokestacks, Benjamin Wetherill, Serious Sam Barrett, Fran Rodgers, Billingham Forehead, The Smiths, Joan Baez, Nina Simone, Frank Sinatra, The Strokes, The Killers, Bob Marley, Jeff Buckley, Guns n Roses, Metallica, Sisters of Mercy, Janis Joplin, Kristin Hersh, Tori Amos, Suzanne Vega, Billie Holiday, Joni Mitchell, Far From the Dance, The Smiths, The Sunshine Underground, Depeche Mode, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Dusty Springfield, Franz Ferdinand, The Raveonettes, The Doors, Johnny Cash and my versatlie and talented musical partner Jonnie Khan.
Movies
Being John Malchovitch, Donnie Darko, Fight Club, Barbarella, Amelie, Edward Scissorhands, Pump Up the Volume, Motorcycle Diaries, The Libertine, A Scanner Darkly, anything David Lynch.
Television
Trying to give it up but occasionally I slip and watch Heroes or Dr Who with my boy.
Books
Myriad including Sula, Beloved, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, The Duchess of Malfi, Ana Historic, Man and His Symbols, Eleven Minutes, If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, The Blue Hotel, Autumn Journal, 1984, Brave New World, Swastika Nights, anything by Angela Carter, Doris Lessing, Dylan Thomas or Shakespeare.
Heroes
Alice Herz, Martin Luther King, Carl Rogers, Jung, Maslow, Joan Baez, Socrates, Fred Lamond, all the unsung women.
I am happy to read my short stories for adults and/or children in a variety of settings. See www.beckycherriman.com and my blog for examples of my work. Please contact me if you are an event organiser or a fellow performer.
I'd like to hear from anyone who might be interested in taking on my recently completed rite of passage novel 'Jigsaw', which is narrated by a female protagonist and set in the north during the 1990s.
I facilitate creative writing workshops for divergent groups thoroughout Yorkshire and beyond. Please check out my website www.beckycherriman.com for further details.
Ms Writer's Companies
Becky Cherriman Leeds, Yorkshire UK Freelance Creative Writing Facilitator www.beckycherriman.com
From 2003
Ms Writer going solo. Posted at 10:51 PM Nov 13 view more
About me: Once upon a time there was a quiet young girl called Becky. Becky played away her youngest years with her best friend Snogglepuss. Snogglepuss had purple skin with yellow spots and a fluff of blue hair. He was even taller than a grown-up and had a beautifully crooked nose. Snogglepuss lived in a hole in the big old oak tree at the bottom of Becky’s garden. For many happy years the two friends climbed trees, played Tig, and made up stories about faraway lands.
Then one day, someone (she can’t remember who) told Becky that Snogglepuss was an imaginary friend. Becky felt very cross that Snogglepuss had kept his imaginariness a secret for all these years and ran to the bottom of the garden to find him. There he was, in his favourite place, sitting with his back pressed-up against the ancient oak.
“Hello,” he said in his funny party whistle voice, like nothing at all had changed.
That made Becky even crosser and she shook her fists all the way from her eyebrows to the tops of her thighs. Her face swelled up like a red balloon and she took a really big deep breath.
“You are not real, you are not real, you are not real,” she shouted (because she’d heard that saying it three times gets rid of fairies and thought it might work with imaginary friends too). And, right before her eyes, Snogglepuss faded, spot by spot, until he disappeared altogether.
A few days passed when every time she thought about Snogglepuss, she felt
angry. But after a few weeks, Becky forgot that she was cross. Becky was bigger now and didn’t have time to waste being angry with imaginary friends. In fact after a few weeks, Becky didn’t think much about her friend at all and soon Snogglepuss slipped out of her thoughts altogether.
Now Becky was bigger, she had friends who were little girls like her, not enormous purple friends with strange noses. Now Becky was bigger, she talked to her friends on the phone about important things like ballet and football results. Now Becky was bigger, she and her friends went to each other’s houses and dressed up in their mums’ going out clothes.
But then one day Mummy shouted at her, really loud so it hurt her ears. More than anything, Becky wanted to cuddle Snogglepuss and tell him how mean her mother had been. She wanted him to pull silly faces until he made her laugh. She didn’t want to talk to her silly giggling friends in their silly high heels. She wanted her friend Snogglepuss.
Becky ran away from Mummy’s angry face, tears splashing her cheeks, to the bottom of the garden. She reached the big old oak and looked around… But of course Snogglepuss wasn’t there. She had sent him away. She had made him disappear. And who knew where he was now? How could she have been so horrid? Poor, poor Snogglepuss. Becky sat at the bottom of the tree and sobbed. Snogglepuss wasn’t there and what was worse, she knew in her heart she would never see him again.
AS WITH ALL STORIES, THERE ARE ALTERNATIVE ENDINGS TO THIS TALE. HERE IS ONE OF THEM.
But as Becky sat there, eyes tight shut with crying, she heard a tiny little sound. “Hello,” someone said, in a funny party whistle voice.
“You are real, you are real, you are real,” Becky cried and before her eyes, Snogglepuss appeared spot by spot, until his fluff of blue hair grazed the branch above him.
Snogglepuss flung his arms around her and in that moment Becky knew he was her very best friend of all.
AND THIS IS WHERE THAT STORY ENDS AND ANOTHER BEGINS. YOU ARE INVITED TO BE A PART OF MY STORY. WELCOME.
N.B. I'm not blogging as much at the moment but if you want to read more of my writing, you might like to look at my blog on here or at http://mswriter.blogspot.com/. Some of the Myspace posts are unsuitable for young people so they are set to 'private'. If you are over 18 and want to access all of my blogs, message me with a request telling me your age and your email address (so I can find you on myspace) and I will add you to my preferred list.
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Who I'd like to meet: I'd like to meet an agent for my gritty realist novel 'Jigsaw'.
Event organisers and theatres who may be interested in me performing my stories, either as Frayed Edges with my musical partner Jonnie Khan or acapella.
Publishers.
Writers.
Performers.
Readers.
Anyone who believes they can change things for the better.
Anyone who makes me laugh or has something to teach me.
“Remember, people will judge you by your actions, not your intentions. You may have a heart of gold -- but so does a hard-boiled egg.”
“An inch of time is an inch of gold, but you can't buy that inch of time with an inch of gold” (ChineseProverb)
“For in the true nature of things, if we rightly consider, every green tree is far more glorious than if it were made of gold and silver" (Martin Luther)
Dear Ms Writer hope yer well and the world is treatin' ye good, here's tae a treble braw krimbo and a hale and hearty 2009. Stay forever free with lotsa love, cochon de monsieur X ;@)
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“Nothing exists without music, for the universe itself is said to have been framed by a kind of harmony of sounds, and the heaven itself revolves under the tones of that harmony”
“He who lives in harmony with himself lives in harmony with the universe.” (Marcus Aurelius)
“An optimist is a person who sees a green light everywhere, while a pessimist sees only the red stoplight. . . The truly wise person is colorblind. ” (Albert Schweitzer)
'Why are violence and the sacred so intertwined? Why is death seen as necessary to renew life? ... To us the Aztec universe may appear irrational, terrifying, murderous in its brutality; and yet it is a mirror held up to our humanity which we ignore at our cost. For in the name of other ideals and other gods Western culture has been no less addicted to killing, even in our own century.' - Michael Wood
"I drink cocoa: with it I am glad -Aya!- my heart takes pleasure, my heart is happy, Ohuaya Ohuaya."(Aztec song) Julian.. xx
