One of the reasons I write is to share my work with others, especially those with whom my characters and themes will resonate.

But I’ve also found that I enjoy writing invisible words. They are invisible to others but not invisible to me. I pen them in a Cath Kidston journal a friend gave me. It has different coloured birds sitting on branches that have blossoms on them on the cover. But you can’t hear these birds (obviously). Only I can hear what’s inside. This is writing I love to do. Writing that isn’t necessarily trying to say anything deep. Writing that isn’t for anyone else to judge. Writing that is just for me. Poetry. Sometimes it’s a haiku. Sometimes its free verse. I want to experiment with other forms – maybe I’ll do some concrete poetry soon. But one thing I know is I don’t always have to follow the rules.

I have a wonderful book titled “Finding What You Didn’t Lose: Expressing Your Truth and Creativity Through Poem-Making” by John Fox. It is “dedicated to the voice of poetry within us all.” In it, Fox shares a story about a young man called Jeremy who is a scientist who enjoys poetry. He thought of joining a creative writing course at his university but failed to make it in. Reflecting on it, his mother said this was probably a good thing.

She recalled a time when he was younger and used to make “potions” and have a great time. “Jeremy’s experiments became something that his friends wanted to be involved with and they would all do experiments for entire afternoons.” Seeing the enjoyment they derived, his aunt decided to buy him a chemistry set. “That was the end of the potion era in our household. I think it came to a premature end because an experience that had been happily unfettered and free came up against all of these well-intentioned rules that left him with the fear of being wrong.” (P xii)

And so I do my invisible writing.