And watch out for information on Tinsel Tales, an online festive reading 17th December 2pm
an anthology of poetry and prose by FWS members
New Makar and Scriver Announced
A message from our chair Jenifer Harley
I’m delighted to tell you that the votes have been cast and their inauguration will be at Tinsel Tales (via Zoom) on 17 December 2020
Our new Makar will be Jim C Mackintosh
Our new Scriever will be Leela Soma.
Watch the virtual launch of the latest FWS anthology Saturday 7th November 2020. Congratulations to all contributors.
Congratulations to the winners of the Scriever’s Challenge. Watch an interview with Charlie Gracie, the FWS Scriever and Ricky Monahan Brown, in which Ricky discusses his successful piece Black Heart and other aspects of his work.
The videoed interviews with other winners to be posted in coming weeks.
Finola Scott, our Makar, held the latest of her enjoyable poetry workshops as part of her virtual tour on Thursday 22 October 2020. Finola inspired and led the group to tap into their emotions and memories. Some lively discussion resulted with folk sharing their ideas. By the end of the workshop every poet attending had developed their own personal poem or reflection, one to read in the workshop and another to be developed in the future. Subjects ranged greatly from comfort, love, embarrassment, disappointment, reminiscence, wrong choices and even humour, involving all of the senses. What an abundance of talent we have amongst our members. Finola, thank you for providing such inspiration, the time flew by. And thank you to the contributors who brought so much to the event.
Here is the 2020 Patchwork Poem created by Andy Jackson, our 2017 Makar, from lines sent in by members.
A Federation of Writers Scotland Patchwork Poem for National Poetry Day 2020
See Andy’s reading of the poem at our Youtube Channel
Or you can download a copy here patchwork-poem-fws-2020-final-version-a3
I had no idea what to expect when I looked at the submissions – all with pseudonyms so identities were concealed. I was delighted by the diversity of petitioners. A great deal of wit was on display, but many heartfelt and poignant pieces too. I greatly enjoyed reading them, and I hope you do too. Thanks to all who sent submissions. Don’t forget if you are a FWS member you have a right of reply – see below.
The forty-fifth and last, but by no means least, is Martin Stepek with a humorous but sincere petition to the Almighty Himself (not the only time God was a recipient of Arbroath anthology petitions!). Feeling that God may not take much notice of a ‘heathen like me’ on the big issues of the day his plea is for the beautiful old buildings of Hamilton, demolished to make way for modern developments, to be restored in all their glory. There’s a PS ‘If you do this I’ll definitely believe in you!’
Martin says of himself and his poem (link below): ‘Martin Stepek is an author of five volumes of poetry, and six books on mindfulness.
He wrote Hamilton Palace Please as a gentle criticism of decades of local authority planning decisions which have resulted in the unnecessary loss of many beautiful older buildings and the consequent uglification of scores of fine streets in Scotland. Living in Hamilton, he focussed on lost buildings there.’
I’m delighted too to be able to bring you contributions from our current Makar Finola Scott and our current Scriever Charlie Gracie. These will remain accessible on the web-site until all the posts from contributors have been displayed and will of course appear also in the printed version of the anthology.
You can read Finola’s rousing call to all ‘Braw Lassies’, originally written for a Stellar Quines project, at https://federationofwritersscotland.files.wordpress.com/2020/10/braw-lassies.pdf
You can read Charlie’s letter to Mother Earth, a masterly deployment of Swiftian irony (think ‘A Modest Proposal’) at
Any comments on any of the pieces published should be sent direct to me at firstname.lastname@example.org Don’t forget if you are a Federation member not already accepted for the Arbroath anthology you can write a response to the poems posted. Email me at the above address for details.
We are delighted to welcome Pippa Little as this month’s Featured Writer. Pippa is a poet of distinction who a few years ago, as many of us will remember, read at the Centre Stage event, the highlight of each day of poetry readings at the StAnza poetry festival. She says that her poem, Gathering, which you can read below, and which expresses in lovingly observed detail the sense of calm reflection and companionship with the dead that old churchyards induce, is ‘about (partly) the Howff in Dundee, which I loved when living nearby there, also the beautiful Victorian churchyard across the road from my house now which I visit every day.’.
Pippa Little is a Scots poet living in Northumberland where she is a Royal Literary Fund Fellow at Newcastle University. Her two full collections, Overwintering (Carcanet) and Twist (Arc) were both shortlisted for major prizes. A third, Time Begins To Hurt, is forthcoming. She runs writing workshops, mentors and belongs to two women’s poetry groups. She has been published in many magazines/online including Glasgow Review of Books, Gutter, Dreich (see below under Members’ News), Chapman, Poetry Review, The Rialto. Two proud moments: a haiku beamed on to the wall of the National Gallery in Edinburgh and organising a Poem-A-Thon for refugees.
Surrounded by slanting walls rose-red
and tappy-lappy tenements
this churchyard sits in its own secrets
known only to locals and lone cats.
Slip through its fronded gate
and city roar turns to murmuration,
known names sea-weathered in stone
warm to my hands’ touch.
Grace who died at five days old
Laura Marley, delivered
into the Lord’s care 1869,
Until The Shadows Flee Away.
When time and the heart make heavy
I go with nothing more than need
to be among them, in their fern, bramble, dog rose
where they listen to my thoughts
the old sun shawls our shoulders
and we are companionable with one another.
© Pippa Little 2020
Our Scriever Charlie Gracie challenged our Facebook members to write a story in blocks of nine words on Saturday 16th May 2020.
You had to be think on your feet to take part! If the segment didn’t follow on from the previous one, if it was just posted to the page, if comments were just made in threads or weren’t nine words, your contribution would be deleted. Caroline Johnstone our social media manager managed this over the six hours of the challenge.
At 10 a.m. Charlie started us off with the words, “Polly opened her front door. First time in weeks,” thinking that might start things off an escape from Coronavirus story. We had an immediate plot twist from one of the contributors – and over the next six hours, 24 contributors provided 44 different elements, with Charlie keeping the story moving and providing the unexpected ending we’ve come to know him for at 4 p.m.
Everyone who took part enjoyed it and those who were late to the party still enjoyed reading the end result:
Polly opened her front door. First time in weeks. She sniffed the air; the stench of blood unmistakable. Well, lambing season was here. Polly pulled on wellies. She looked down, too scared to look up again.
Picking up the delivery from the butcher’s, she noticed it. “Here this isnae funny, I’m no easy scared”. The pack of sausages had a finger in them. Polly eased the bloody note away from the digit; that ring looked oddly familiar, the small ruby glistening.
‘Come in quick,’ shouted an angry voice from inside. She slid the ring into her pocket, and turned in time to see the maid glaring from the window above, had she seen her take the ring?
Stifling a sense of guilt, she turned to see the four digit hand of god ; pointing at her. She shivered in blind terror as salt tears stung. ‘Damn, Evan. I’ll never lose another night drinking absinthe.
Polly remembered the bloody note, crumpled in her hand. After carefully sanitising the bag and note she returned…her thoughts toward her secret. She must hide the evidence of her foul misdeed but where was safe?
She remembered the place where she’d hidden other treasures; it was lambing season and the sheep wouldn’t mind.
Her secret buried in earthy pastures. But why now? The reverend was on her case; he also knew! She had to end this. Once and for all… She grabbed her shotgun, loaded it and strode outside. The shriek rang out before she fired her gun. Who was screaming?
Then she realised it was her. The scarecrow wearing the Reverend’s hat rotated anti- clockwise. Reality was disintegrating in front of her eyes, what had that note said? I HAVE FOUND YOU. RUN.
A kaleidoscope of jewels flashed from knarled taunting hands… Polly woke in a sweat. Never. Taking. LSD. Again. Somebody chapped the door loudly. It was the Reverend, his black crow clothes torn. Eyes full of fury, the shotgun in his hand betraying his priestly calling.
She placed the ruby finger on the trigger and turned the gun’s barrels towards his drawn pale face. “Forgive me father, for I know what I do…Would you care to join me for some sausages?”
No more. Tell everyone the truth or I’ll shoot. “No chance – it’s sausages and beans or nothing pal.”
And Charlie’s verdict:
“That was a great day today. Big thanks to Caroline for putting it all together and keeping things going.
I’d really no idea at all what Polly was going to get up to when she opened that door at 10 o’clock in the morning. It was some day, all those writers taking her in and out of crazy danger. Inevitable, I suppose, that she ended up frying sausages for a man of the cloth who bore her little but Ill. It was a pleasure to be part of the joint imagination of the Federation of Writers. What a wonderful collection of skill and creativity. I hope we can do it again sometime. “