For many of us, there is much in the world to be afraid of as 2024 stumbles to a close.
War – genocide – mutating viruses – religious fundamentalism – fascism – rampant capitalism – misogyny – racism – trans & homophobia – exploitation – climate change.
Then there’s the environment…our air, oceans, rivers, land and biota are being polluted, exploited, destroyed and rendered extinct.
It’s a lot.
It’s too much and it’s understandable to feel paralysed and overwhelmed. I faltered and came close to crumbling a month ago. I’m just one person, after all, and I couldn’t see how anything I did could make a difference.
Then somewhere, I forget where, I read the three words that entitle this blog. Storytelling as resistance. Those three words sparked a realisation that in dark times, we need stories that challenge the darkness. I hunted for support to fuel my tiny spluttering spark, and I found it from two writers — both women of colour. This came as no surprise, as women of colour face additional layers of overt oppression, discrimination and violence.
A quote from Toni Morrison reminded me not to fall into the trap of doomscrolling and constantly following the news headlines. “I know the world is bruised and bleeding and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence.” I’m not always good at this, but I try to limit my exposure.
I don’t watch televised news broadcasts, except under exceptional circumstances. It reminds me too much of the Romans in their amphitheatres, revelling in the gore of gladiator against gladiator, animal slayings and human executions. I do not wish to revel in human misery and disaster presented to me in bite-sized packages by a media who seeks ratings at the cost of dignity and the truth.
Toni Morrison also offered a call to action. “There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.” Writing is something I can do.
The real inspiration for me to keep writing came from Edwidge Danticat, who added fuel to my flame. She reminded me that stories are powerful, and can change lives. She said, “Create dangerously, for people who read dangerously…knowing in part that no matter how trivial your words may seem, someday, somewhere, someone may risk his or her life to read them.” I love this.
We never know who will need the words we write. While I might write words as an act of rebellion, someone, somewhere, sometime might read those words to survive. Writing rebellious stories is a thing I can and must do — it’s my human obligation.
So, with renewed vigour and fire in my belly, I am writing. And, in the words of Margaret Atwood, “A word, after a word, after a word is power.” But I also want to say, this is me and my way of coping. We all have to find our own way forward, there is no right or wrong path. So, you do what you need to do.
When I wrote the first Ghost Assassins of Bijou novella in 2023, I wanted to write a commentary on the invisibility of older women in society. Through 2024, I’ve written a further four novellas in the intertwined collection and the themes have expanded.
Written from a very solid feminist perspective, the collection challenges the rise of fundamentalism, extremism and misogyny, it explores self-determination, otherness, PTSD in women and colonialism and addresses the impact of sexual and physical violation.
I believe that what I’ve written is more important now than when I started it. It's my sincere hope that in these dark times, readers will find hope within the pages of the Ghost Assassins of Bijou. Well, when the collection is published of course — but that’s a story for another day!
War – genocide – mutating viruses – religious fundamentalism – fascism – rampant capitalism – misogyny – racism – trans & homophobia – exploitation – climate change.
Then there’s the environment…our air, oceans, rivers, land and biota are being polluted, exploited, destroyed and rendered extinct.
It’s a lot.
It’s too much and it’s understandable to feel paralysed and overwhelmed. I faltered and came close to crumbling a month ago. I’m just one person, after all, and I couldn’t see how anything I did could make a difference.
Then somewhere, I forget where, I read the three words that entitle this blog. Storytelling as resistance. Those three words sparked a realisation that in dark times, we need stories that challenge the darkness. I hunted for support to fuel my tiny spluttering spark, and I found it from two writers — both women of colour. This came as no surprise, as women of colour face additional layers of overt oppression, discrimination and violence.
A quote from Toni Morrison reminded me not to fall into the trap of doomscrolling and constantly following the news headlines. “I know the world is bruised and bleeding and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence.” I’m not always good at this, but I try to limit my exposure.
I don’t watch televised news broadcasts, except under exceptional circumstances. It reminds me too much of the Romans in their amphitheatres, revelling in the gore of gladiator against gladiator, animal slayings and human executions. I do not wish to revel in human misery and disaster presented to me in bite-sized packages by a media who seeks ratings at the cost of dignity and the truth.
Toni Morrison also offered a call to action. “There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.” Writing is something I can do.
The real inspiration for me to keep writing came from Edwidge Danticat, who added fuel to my flame. She reminded me that stories are powerful, and can change lives. She said, “Create dangerously, for people who read dangerously…knowing in part that no matter how trivial your words may seem, someday, somewhere, someone may risk his or her life to read them.” I love this.
We never know who will need the words we write. While I might write words as an act of rebellion, someone, somewhere, sometime might read those words to survive. Writing rebellious stories is a thing I can and must do — it’s my human obligation.
So, with renewed vigour and fire in my belly, I am writing. And, in the words of Margaret Atwood, “A word, after a word, after a word is power.” But I also want to say, this is me and my way of coping. We all have to find our own way forward, there is no right or wrong path. So, you do what you need to do.
When I wrote the first Ghost Assassins of Bijou novella in 2023, I wanted to write a commentary on the invisibility of older women in society. Through 2024, I’ve written a further four novellas in the intertwined collection and the themes have expanded.
Written from a very solid feminist perspective, the collection challenges the rise of fundamentalism, extremism and misogyny, it explores self-determination, otherness, PTSD in women and colonialism and addresses the impact of sexual and physical violation.
I believe that what I’ve written is more important now than when I started it. It's my sincere hope that in these dark times, readers will find hope within the pages of the Ghost Assassins of Bijou. Well, when the collection is published of course — but that’s a story for another day!
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