I chose the theme of Broken things for our last Island Writers meeting. I was feeling a bit broken myself, so it seemed appropriate.
We talked about people’s negative attitudes to broken things – I suggested that we see them as not important enough to bother keeping safe, or we feel disgust that they are now useless and only worth throwing away. They can be a visible expression of violent activity, or of a lack of care.
Some of you argued that shabby old broken items can be loved more for sentimental reasons because of their condition, and that a broken item might be kept as a reminder that we have survived bad times.
In creative writing, broken things can be used to show violent behaviour or strong emotions, such as in a TV scene where an angry or frightened character clutches a wine glass so tightly that it shatters. This particular trope is over-used, but the writing principle is sound.
The inclusion of something broken can also be used to represent an abstract concept, such as a broken relationship or psychological damage. A cracked mirror could stand for bad luck, or a broken window could be a metaphor for breaking the boundaries of normal social behaviour.
Something breaking in a story can be a turning point, representing a moment of change or a break in the cycle of events, so I asked you all to write a piece where the act of something being broken created a significant turning point in someone’s life.
I think most of you will agree that the standard of writing this topic produced was particularly high, and it was interesting that the breakage didn’t always represent a negative idea – notably, Katie’s idea of an egg breaking because a chick is hatching.
Continuing the theme, our assignment for next time is Breaking the chain.
Samuel Johnson once said, “The chains of habit are too weak to be felt until they are too strong to be broken.” He was right. We don’t always realise our patterns of behaviour until things change.
I was always the quiet, studious one of the family. Since we were children, my sister Lucy has been my opposite self: the wacky, confident, popular person I wish I could be.
As most of you will be aware, shortly after reaching home after our meeting, I heard that she had died after a long illness.
I never made friends before I learned she was dying, because I didn’t need any – she was my best friend. She was always my go-to person, as I was hers, to discuss life decisions and creative projects: weddings, child care, jobs, cooking, holidays, home décor, crazy themed parties, family problems, business ventures and writing ideas.
Now the chain that bound us together is broken after 53 years, and I am having to reach out to new people and teach myself new habits.
I won’t try to be Lucy, and I will always miss her terribly. But perhaps in having to stand alone at last, I will make the effort and find the confidence to be the lively, sociable, interesting person who was always there inside my head.
Lucy’s son James asked me to write the last post on her blog, Lucy’s Last Post. I so wish I could tell her: she would have enjoyed the irony.
