The 7 ways of the tale teller
May 23, 2013

sevenDid you think there were more? Well of course there are as many ways as people but a little bit of delving around reveals a strange and perplexing truth about storytelling – all the stories anyone ever writes are based around one or the other of the following seven themes:

1.       Overcoming the monster :dagger

Think of St George and the dragon, The War of the Worlds – and so topical now – Dracula and his gluttonous vampire army. Monsters represent our fears – dark and dank, and that we have to beat to achieve happiness. So of course that is why we are buried under a ton of vampire and werewolves  YA (young adult) fiction at the moment. What more dank and drear source of fear is there than adolescence?

 colours2. Rags to riches:

Oh easy, I hear you say – I’m getting the hang of this now. Cinderella, right? Well, yes, of course – and The Ugly Duckling, Jane Eyre, Slum Dog … it crosses all genre, cultures and  centuries. It gives credence to our belief in ourselves – we may start out mundane, poor, struggling, but we can – through hardship and trial, achieve the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and return home – bad boy done good etc. It may sound trite, but seeing the underdog triumph does us all good and gives us hope – so we love to read about it too.

feet 2

3. The quest:

Another very topical one here – Lord of the Rings is the best and most spectacular example of this – and it’s an epic journey too, but you could go for Watership Down, or Raiders of the Lost Ark as well. There must be a hero, a lure or pull to an all-important goal and thrills, spills and almost death along the way before success brings the conquering hero home again with their spoils. Uplifting, inspiring, escapism – wonderful!

4. Voyage and return:

The Wizard of Ox  – I had to have that one as it is the production my daughter is dancing in this summer, Alice in Wonderland, The Time Machine … Traveling out of everyday surroundings, the hero(ine) and the group of people traveling with them have to cope with the strangeness of another world, face shadowy threats  and make a thrilling escape back to a normality they now appreciate where they had found it boring and mundane before  – ‘there’s no place like home…’ (And of course there isn’t!)

5. Comedy:shoes too big man

Bridget Jones had us laughing all the way here and back with her, and then – if you’re a Shakespeare fan, so does The taming of the Shrew, A Midsummer Night’s Dream etc . It’s all good clean fun where the central character is blinded to the reality of things by their ego, short-sightedness, one track mind, whereas the reader/audience sees the wider picture and the humour lies in seeing the two juxtaposed. Of course our hero(ine) sees the error of their ways and All’s Well that Ends Well but not before they’ve been led a merry dance along the way. The end result is self-knowledge and reconciliation where there was harmony and unrest.

6. Tragedy:

Ironically the same as comedy – and essentially the same as all the other story lines ultimately, where there is a problem to solve, ordeals to overcome and a journey in search of the goal – but rather sadly, the outcome will involve – for some of the characters, at least – death, destruction or disaster. And if you’re watching  a Jacobean tragedy the body count on  stage will probably be higher than the numbers in the audience (I love a bit of blood and guts!).

And finally there is…

daffodils7.  Rebirth (as one would expect after death, destruction and disaster):

Again a journey to achieve self-realisation, but the enemy is often – at least in part – from within. Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, The Secret Garden are all based on rebirth. Often there is a direct confrontation between dark and light to achieve self-understanding and healing.

So let me think which of these I have written so far.

front cover CM

Chained Melody has to be rebirth, with an element of tragedy involved too. Someone or something has to fail, suffer or be lost in order for self-knowledge to enable the two main characters to achieve their form of happiness.

Web Web cover design - draftis dark and dire at times, and funny and lighthearted at others, but its message is all about seeing oneself and others clearly and putting that understanding together to create a whole. Two of the characters are so immersed in their own machinations they fail to see the most dangerous aspects of the whole until it is almost too late, and the other character is dark, dark, dark – confronting themself, and allowing the darkness to take over… It has elements of a tragedy too but is again a journey towards rebirth for my two dipsy daisies in it.

Then I have left to consider Falling Awake Falling awake draft cover design 2– which is definitely all about overcoming a monster – but defining the monster is as intriguing as finding out how it is overcome – or is it? And Patchwork People, which I have just started, is a quest, pure and simple.

Job done.

Web will be released in the Autumn, Falling Awake Spring 2014 and Patchwork People towards the end of 2014 (unless I get lost on the quest).

Which one of the 7 are you working on?

Follow me on twitter @Storytellerdeb

On Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DeborahMartin.Author

Or find me on my website: www.debbiemartin.co.uk

Protected: One for the guys
March 6, 2013

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Protected: Confident dating
February 28, 2013

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Protected: A love tale come true
February 20, 2013

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In a box
February 12, 2013

I’m enjoying poetry at the moment – challenging to write about ideas and emotions, but truly satisfying when you manage to capture them in words. I’ve just finished editing Courting the Dark – the very first novel I wrote and which I have now reached version 4 with – that’s how many times I’ve changed it! I plan this to be the last time and in doing so, I added quite a bit more of the inner workings of my wicked teenage character Lily, who drives the plot and the narrative forward in the acerbic way only a sixteen year old could.

Having two teenage daughters myself – both with quick, brains, quick wits and even quicker tongues, I’ve been on the receiving end of the acid many times – but teenagers also have a pure and true vision of themselves and life unaffected by the ‘baggage’ older adults collect en route to enlightenment (or not). If one could distill this clarity of thought in amongst their confusion with growing up and learning how to live life, I think their vision of the world would be pure poetry, so I gave Lily a voice to make some. Here are her thoughts on her unrequited love for Matt.

 

walking legs lonely I watch you walk.

I hear you talk.

You walk and talk with others, not me.

It hurts.

I sense your presence.

I watch you listen.

You share your presence and your attention with others, not me.

It hurts.

I look into your world from the outside,closed window

Like a tramp looking through a window.

You’re inside, warm and loved.

I’m outside, cold and lonely.

It hurts.

dropped rose I put my feelings in a box –

A box full of darkness,

Because along with the love and the longing and the wishing,

There’s pain too, and pain is dark.

Pain, and anger and rejection.

They hurt.

Valentine’s Day is here, and lost love – or lack of love, will affect many people on the 14th February. Life isn’t all about romantic love, it’s about the love between all people, so smile at that stranger as they pass by, in case they have some hurts tucked away in a box too. Smiles have a way of opening doors – and boxes …

Follow me on Twitter: @Storytellerdeb

On Facebook: www.facebook.com/DebbieMartin.Author

And have a look at what’s happening next on my website : www.debbiemartin.co.uk 

A writers group is hopefully underway shortly so let me know if you’re interested in getting your ideas into words too.

When I was out walking the other day
January 22, 2013

feet 1  When I was out walking the other day,

I met a woman along the way.

I smiled and nodded and asked how she did.

She smiled and nodded and said she was good.

She told me she’d been happy and smiled in her past,

She told me she cried and been sad, but that had passed.

She told me she’d learnt how to lose and still smile –

As you don’t lose at all, it comes back after a while.

She said she’d learned how to let go;

how to grow;

how to go…

She said she’d learnt how to say no – and mean it, also.feet 2

She said she’d learnt how to receive as well as give,

she said she’d learnt to let others live, live, let live!

She said she’d learnt the measure of control,

and how she’d learnt how to love from her soul.

She said she’d learnt how ‘I love you’ meant all,

but only if said with no expectation to pall.

She now understood the seasons’ ebb and flow,

and despite  being autumn,  there was still much, much more to know.

Nothing she’d lost was ever a waste,

because the fruit of her future was still there to taste.

feet 3

I smiled and thanked her, and said I was glad, at last,

the me from the future had met the me from the past.

Join in the chat on Twitter: @Storytellerdeb

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DebbieMartin.Author

And on my website: http://www.debbiemartin.co.uk    

My Family – a poem
January 7, 2013

One of my poems – read out as a runner up in a local competition last year – and about my own family:

My family_

I see my family in colours…

red lipsMy older daughter is red, ruby red.

She flicks the crimson tip

of a wicked tongue across each lip.

Vamp, harlot, studious geek,

‘call me ‘Scarlet’,’ she will cheek!

And yet sweet sixteen is as wholesome too

as a red summer apple that is crisp and new.

Deep aqua, and moody.ballerina

My younger daughter,

inscrutable as China, mutable as water.

Like the pile on velvet, she’s deep like a sigh,

silk to the touch when her spirits are high.

Yet again then abrasive and contrary

When the adolescent nap is brushed the wrong way.

dog   My yellow dog,

a golden blur

of tail and fur.

Lolling tongue – a smiley face,

Smiles aren’t just for the human race!

Stretched out like a long yellow rug,

‘rub my tummy, give me a hug…’

Deep brown, my husband that was.                         2 leaves

Deep as the brown of the earth

the dust to dust, the dearth.

A warm autumn brown as the leaves’ hues turn deeper,

not harvested by the seasons, but by the reaper.

But always steady and solid in our past.

Love may die, but it will always last.

colours                  And finally me? What colour do I see?

The colour blue? Reflective, sad?

Deep as the sea, it’s good and it’s bad.

I’ve watched my family grow and evolve,

childhood’s have passed, and death’s forced its resolve.

Our lives continue, ebbing, flowing, like the sea.

I can only look forward to the colours still to be.

My first novel is released on Friday 18th January 2013. Chained Melody is possibly the most unusual love story you will read this year. You can find out more about it on my website and buy/pre-order here

Debbie Martin

debbie@debbiemartin.co.uk

www.debbiemartin.co.uk

also on:

Twitter @Storytellerdeb

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/DebbieMartin.Author?ref=hl

Linked In: http://uk.linkedin.com/pub/debbie-martin/21/27b/3b4?trk=shareTw    

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6588010.Debbie_Martin

The digital Christmas story
December 16, 2012

star (2)What was that phrase I heard once ? ‘Christ on a bike’ – yes that was it. Well this may not quite the same but I found this last year and it is THE most fun way of retelling the Christmas story I’ve come across yet, and makes fun of our wired up wizard way of doing anything the easiest way possible by using the internet.

More news about Chained Melody and the launch in the New Year, but in the meantime, ‘enjoy’ and a happy digital Christmas to everyone…

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZrf0PbAGSk

 

Twitter @Storytellerdeb

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/debbiemartin.author

Website: www.debbiemartin.co.uk

The Dinner Party
December 6, 2012

Christmas ain’t Christmas without a bit of a spooky tale, so here’s mine …

tableware for dinner party‘A dinner party? Can I bring a plus one?’ A frisson of something trembled in my soul.

‘Of course – do we know them?’ He just laughed. We were on the phone so I couldn’t see his expression.

‘See you later then.’ He sounded happy – certainly not how I’d expected him to be after Clem, but he’d gone and I was left wondering.

‘Was that who I thought it was?’ The voice was muffled from under the table. The owner’s prone legs were splayed across the floor, extending oddly from under the table cloth, as if a murder victim had just been hastily stuffed out of sight.

‘Yes, and he’s coming tonight.’

‘That’ll be interesting after all this time.’ The tone was sarcastic.

‘With someone.’

‘Oh.’ Silence, then more curiously, ‘who?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘In that case it’s going to be really interesting.’ The table shook as if the murder victim’s spirit was attacking it and then both table and legs settled into stillness. I waited for the body to rise from its last resting place, but table and legs remained motionless. It made me feel queasy but I didn’t know why.

‘Are you ok under there Alex?’ I asked, suddenly worried.

‘Yeah, just thinking.’

‘Thinking?’

‘About Jay and Clem and the way they just went – you know.’ Alex didn’t need to say any more. I did know. More than Alex did, in fact; but I was keeping that to myself.

‘Yes, well if you’re done under there, we should lay up now.’

‘Yep, all done, I’ve tightened up all the screws so it shouldn’t collapse under the weight of the food – or the conversation.’ The comment ended in muffled laughter and the table shook again. The legs wriggled out from underneath it, bringing the rest of the body with them.

‘Haha! Very funny.’ I turned away and went back to the kitchen to find the wine. Tuneless whistling floated in from the dining room and I guessed the table top was being transformed for the dinner party now it was safe to sit at again. I ignored the annoying whistling and turned my attention to the wine rack. I usually relished choosing exactly the right wine but my head wasn’t on it tonight. All I could think about was the plus one Jay was bringing – and what about Clem? I checked the clock. It was already seven-thirty. They were all due at eight. I called to the table and its legs.

‘If you’re done there, can you check the oven? I’m sorting the wine.’

‘OK.’ It was louder than expected and I turned in surprise as Alex appeared in the kitchen doorway, flushed and dishevelled from the table wrestling.

‘Maybe have a bit of a tidy up too?’ I added pointedly. Good humoured laughter bubbled around the hallway.

‘Um, I see what you mean.’ The reappearing vision was sleek and immaculate. I felt imperfect and uneasy. I pushed past into the cool of the hallway, assessing which me I saw in the mirror. I wondered what Jay would make of me, five years on. Five years – had it really been so long; since Clem had happened? I was startled out of my reverie by the doorbell jangling insistently.

‘It’s for you-oo,’ came light-heartedly from the kitchen, along with the smell of perfectly cooked Beef Wellington.

‘I’ve got it,’ I called back impatiently. I opened the door, the angry angst-ridden me well hidden under the hosts charming bonhomie. ‘Ange, Mike – how are you?  Ange enveloped me in a cloud of too-strong perfume and billowing chiffon.

‘Darrrling, how are you – it’s been ages.’ She was right – for all the overdone lovey-ness, it had been the same five years of ages as since I’d seen Jay or Clem.

‘We’re good, thanks Ange.’ I disentangled myself and Mike’s less flowery and more business-like hug was a relief. ‘Come on in.’ I turned to call out to the kitchen, but Alex arrived with drinks right on cue. Eventually the storm of hello’s, hugs and darrrrlings dissipated and we moved into the warmth of the lounge, warily convivial. The bell went again and I rushed to answer it, trying to quell the jitters that it would be Jay this time. It wasn’t. Agitation overcame courtesy with the Betterware woman collecting the catalogue she’d left earlier. I flung the unwanted package at her and slammed the door in her face. Belatedly a wave of shame made me redden. I re-joined the forced conversation in the lounge, knowing the only conversationalist I wanted to bandy words with was yet to arrive, but God knew who with. Unbidden, the old jealousy consumed me. I wondered if I could even be civil to Jay’s plus one. Trying too hard to concentrate on Ange’s gushing, I almost missed the third ring, but in the visceral depths of my gut, I heard it instinctively. I was beaten to the door. Momentarily I hated Alex with a hatred I’d felt only once before but I didn’t have time to dwell on when. The lounge door burst open and before I could prepare myself, Jay was standing in front of me.

‘Hey,’ he was embracing me and I was drowning in his sharp-spiced smell, his proximity, his warmth and the desperate yearning I still felt for him. My head spun and I held onto him tightly. ‘Such a long time.’ He breathed the words into my ear and they spiralled round my head like a tornado funnelling into oblivion. In the eye of the storm, was his plus one. As my head cleared and my vision settled, she stood quietly and ominously behind him in the dark hallway. I pulled away sharply, waves of fear travelling up and down my body like electricity, sparking, shorting, sparking; killing.  Clem from Dinner party

‘Clem!’ My exclamation killed all talk in the lounge. I sensed something behind me and found the lounge conversationalists had clustered there, mixing their sweat and perfume with my dismay. Jay smiled at Clem and beckoned her in. The clamouring bodies behind me parted like the red sea for the unexpected, and mysteriously, very alive, plus one.

She passed through us, as if we didn’t exist; or maybe she didn’t exist? I was starting to doubt my own senses and sanity now. Jay just smiled enigmatically, and followed her. From my vantage point obliquely opposite I observed her apprehensively. Exactly the same as the last time I’d seen that elongated bony face, with its too large eyes, black, black hair and white skin. Now if possible, the pale complexion had become almost translucent; unhealthily waxen, as if she really wasn’t there at all – the way I’d thought it was.

‘Who’s hungry? Shall we sit for dinner?’ The jovial enquiry broke the tense silence, and the buzz of who was sitting where eased us round the table. Legs sticking angularly out from a lifeless body as it sprawled out from under the table. I found myself directly opposite Clem and Jay; the last place I wanted to be.

‘Clemmie, darrrling; where have you been hiding yourself?’ Ange didn’t wait for a reply. She rounded straight on Jay. ‘We thought it must have been a crime passionelle when she just disappeared and then you went persona non grata too.’ I watched Ange preen herself for what she considered wit. Mike wriggled further back in his seat beside her, face closed, but body expressing his discomfort. I knew what was going on behind those blank grey eyes. I’d heard him explode at her once after she’d been particularly pretentious at one of our dinner parties long ago – Christ why were we having this one?

‘Crime passionelle and Jay? Oh, Jay would never hurt a fly. He wouldn’t be the one to be involved in a crime passionelle.’ Clem smiled icily and everyone froze a degree colder. Her eyes slid back to me. Jay interjected quickly.

‘We’ve been on a bit of a tour.’ Four pairs of eyes trained on Jay and waited for more. Clem remained supremely aloof, face shadowed, tensed, dangerous; in control. ‘Clem was a little unwell so we went some places to make her better.’ He flashed a brilliant smile at her and then at me, as if including me in the secret of the places they’d been to make Clem better. That last time, I’d left her, the skin had been pale as death, the face a mask, blood pooling stickily under her head.

‘You’re looking well now.’ Mike offered it up dubiously, and Clem nodded graciously at him. Ange looked at him as if he was mad – a green-eyed stare like a cat would give its enemy. Clem looked quiet and serious. A far cry from the lascivious woman who’d tried to steal greedy kisses from me just before I’d left her broken and lifeless.

‘The starter’s mushroom pate. I hope you all like mushrooms?’ Alex was valiantly trying to break the ice patina rapidly spreading over us.

‘Magic mushrooms, darrrling?’ Ange’s trill made the rest of us cringe.

‘Oh Ange, really …’ Jay patted her arm as if she was a naughty but delightful child. She tittered and combed her hair flirtatiously at him. Clem’s eyes swivelled back to her and the dark lights in their depths terrified me. Where had they been to make her better? How could you make a dead body better? 

‘How’s things in the psycho industry then Maz?’ He was talking directly to me. I pulled myself together enough to reply.

‘Oh, mad as ever.’ The laughter was appreciative and I breathed out, avoiding Clem’s black-eyed stare, wishing I’d never visited their house that day. ‘I dream about you day and night, Maz. I want you. I know why you are always round here, always offering to help, always checking in on Jay … ’ Her hands were clawing at me, grasping, squeezing, her mouth almost on mine, her heavy breath hot on my face, stealing my own away from me… ‘You know what they say about psychiatrists don’t you?’ I might as well play my audience for all I could if it would deflect that hateful stare from me. ‘You can’t tell them from the patients …’ Raucous laughter showed it had been well received and the wine choice I’d made had been a good one – one of the highest alcohol volumes I had, and chosen specifically for that reason, but not to promote gaiety, to promote softening. Jay’s softening, Jay staying, Jay, Jay, Jay. I tried to shut down the insistent voice in my head, but it was replaced instead by Clem’s,‘Maz, Maz, Maz.’ …

The memory of that last time I’d seen her couldn’t be ejected from my thoughts now. It had taken me over body and soul. She wouldn’t leave me alone; I couldn’t wipe the slimy disgust of her saliva from my lips or escape from her burning eyes, or the threat she posed … ‘Maz, Maz, Maz.’ … ‘Get off me you stupid bitch. It’s not you I come here for, but Jay.’ I flung her forcefully away from me and her head cracked against the table edge…

‘Do psychiatrists live in the real world, or their imagination, do you think, Maz?’ Clem was coolly vicious. The conversation around us flowed on, witticism, quip, joke, flirt, ‘more wine?’ No-one else heard her low-voiced question. They weren’t meant to. Only she and I were in this discussion.

‘This is real, so of course the real world.’

‘Is it?’

‘Is it what?’

‘Is it real?’

‘Of course it is.’ I looked at the exaggerated expressions on the other dinner party guests; wide-eyed, laughing, bored, polite, exasperated. I realised they weren’t talking to us and we weren’t talking to them. There was an invisible barrier between us – like we were in another world, alongside but not touching. Clem smiled mysteriously. ‘Are you dead, or alive?’ She tilted her head quizzically and my mind rushed back to that day again. Her face collapsed in on itself as if life had imploded as her head struck the table; first the surprised look, then the blankness of death. She tumbled awkwardly to the floor and lay there. The table wobbled and then was still. Her legs stuck out angularly from the lifeless body as it sprawled half under the table. Shock turned to nausea as I turned to see Jay coming through the door to the room. Could he forgive me?

‘What do you want me to be?’ I considered the question. The real answer was neither. Alive meant either I was going insane or she was some awful thing from beyond the grave. Dead meant she was some awful thing from beyond the grave or I was already insane. ‘Or more to the point, why am I here with you, and they can’t see me?’ I looked around at the four other faces. They seemed even more distant than before.

‘What is going on?’ I hated her. Now I remembered that hatred in fine detail where I’d only remembered it dimly earlier. I wanted to address Jay, but he was across the divide with the other dinner guests. It was only Clem and me here.

‘It’s confession time, my dear. Just tell them what really happened and we’ll leave you in peace.’ I didn’t want Jay to go, but I wanted Clem to. Greedy, demanding, disgusting, hateful Clem, who’d taken my Jay and made him infatuated with her. Greedy, demanding, disgusting, hateful Clem, who’d tried to kiss and paw me when the only one I wanted to do that was Jay. Greedy, demanding, disgusting, hateful Clem, who had Jay, and didn’t even want him. ‘I won’t go away until you admit you killed me.’

‘You fell.’

‘Fell?’ Clem’s voice was sinuous like a python coiling round me.

‘You fell.’

‘Why did I fall?’

‘You just fell.’

‘I didn’t just fall. Tell them, tell them!’ Her voice rose from its soft sibilance to a harpies’ shriek. I covered my ears in agony as her banshee wail made my head split apart and the blood pooled stickily under it.

‘I pushed you, OK? I pushed you off of me, you slut, and you hit your head on the table.’ My voice reverberated around the room as the dinner party froze, forks in mid-air, glasses poised to clink, heads’ thrown back in surprise. I catapulted back through the eerie barrier from Clem’s world to my own.

‘We said to absent friends, Maz.’ Alex touched me lightly on the arm, ‘and how sad it is Clem isn’t here anymore, but we’ll toast her anyway – across the ether.’ She turned to the rest of faces round the table, all looking oddly at me, and added, ‘to Clem – RIP.’ I breathed in the smell of fruity red wine and Beef Wellington, over-perfumed women and after-shaved men. Maz from the dinner party

I looked gratefully at my wife Alex. Jay and his new girlfriend looked back.

To me she still looked exactly like Clem.

Enjoy.

I’m @StorytellerDeb on Twitter

and http://www.facebook.com/DebbieMartin.Author on Facebook.

Chained melody final cover

If you fancy longer reading in 2013, my new novel ‘Chained Melody is out on 18th January and will be available then on Amazon.

Bold, Beautiful and Brave
November 28, 2012

I have just watched the BBC 3 Documentary ‘Transsexual Teen, Beauty Queen ‘ on i-player. For those of you interested in seeing it for yourself, you have five days and counting – and it’s worth the rush because this lady is exactly the way I describe her in the title.

Watch it here whilst you can:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p00w09yg

At eighteen, Jackie Green has seen more trauma, confusion, bullying and torment than most see in a life time and yet she emerges from thirteen years of nightmare confident, serene and undoubtedly beautiful. Jackie is a new generation of transgender people, although she had to make a bit of history herself to pave the way for others. She went to America to obtain hormone blockers below the age they would be prescribed in the UK, which then enabled her to make her so successful transition to a young woman. Sadly, such treatment is far more difficult to obtain in the UK, meaning that for many the onset of puberty has already allowed the bodily changes that make authenticity difficult for them as transgender people. Jackie ‘passes’ perfectly for female – no it’s not a  derogatory term, it’s a phrase many trans people use to denote someone who is so authentic in their gender role, no observer would know there had ever been an issue – and it is what all aspire to, but not so many achieve.

But Jackie is more than that, she is a real girl and that became very obvious when, on her final attempt to make it into the Miss England beauty pageant finals, she specifically didn’t tell her interviewers in the ‘personality’ round that she was transgender and give them the benefit of her back story. She was just Jackie, and judged purely as a girl against other girls in the contest.

In my research into transgender issues and whilst writing my novel following the life and transition of Will – Billie, I read many things, spoke to various people in various stages of transition and came to understand some, but barely enough of what it is to deal with this complex, challenging – and for those of us who don’t know what it feels like – confusing, condition; gender disphoria.

  Some information from the NHS website is here:

  http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/Gender-dysphoria/Pages/Introduction.aspx

watch the whole video of boy to girl here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upPpNb846JE

and I have included parts of a moving plea from a US transgender website in the novel (Chained Melody – out January 18th 2013), which says this:

‘…I have had to surrender much of my life to the brutality and incomprehension of societal ignorance surrounding the phenomenon of transsexualism. That ignorance and prejudice costs lives is no new discovery, it is the bane of every age whether it shows up in war or in civil violence or in silent hatred and misunderstanding. In this case though it was my own life that has been bled away year by year in my efforts to correspond to what body may have indicated but my soul knew to be an alien fabric out of which I could never hope to weave a complete or a happy life. The only comfort I have for those lost days and years during which I was a stranger to myself frantically seeking to garb my soul in the personalities and expectations of others, is that I might be the last generation to know such pointless suffering. That is why I am writing today, to spare others lost years, lost hopes, lost lives…’

http://www.susans.org/reference/gfam3.html

What I have learned – and Jackie, and recently also Juliet Jacques, in her Guardian blog, have confirmed for me – is that anyone living through and coming out the other side of being transgender is certainly bold, beautiful and brave – whatever they look like.  Jackie, if you do compete in Miss England again next year, you have my vote!But one word of caution. Don’t think you are unfairly trading on your back story. It is what makes you a girl, but a very special girl and that story is part of what makes you special. Not because you are transgender, but because you’ve lived through the transition from male to female with grit, determination and dignity. You’ve risen above prejudice and openly been true to yourself in the face of opposition. That’s a story all in itself…

Some links of interest for anyone involved with this issue themselves or wishing to be supportive of those still struggling with it:

www.mermaidsuk.org.uk

http://www.gires.org.uk/transbullying.php (Guidance to Combating Transphobic Bullying in Schools is a publication from GIRES, the Gender Identity Research and Education Society, whose aim is to create supportive attitudes among those who can influence improvements in the lives of trans people and how they are perceived in society).

http://www.gires.org.uk/

http://www.beaumontsociety.org.uk/

http://gendertrust.org.uk/

More information about Chained Melody, it’s publication date and the location of book signings as they are agreed can be found on my website:

http://www.debbiemartin.co.uk/novels/

It is launching concurrently, and with the arrival of the ‘Living my Life’ exhibition in Bournemouth. Come and see the portraits, meet the people and chat to the author – 18th to 25th January. All details will be on the website shortly.

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