Hello, everyone. I’m Clare Cooper, your Showcase editor for this festive month of December. I live on the South West London/Surrey borders with my long-term partner and I’m a freelance editor and writer, having previously worked on Woman’s Weekly magazine for many years, where I was Deputy Fiction Editor.

Our current theme of ‘Difference’ coincides with the start of the season for feasting and frivolity with friends and family alike but, of course, it’s not always that way, as highlighted by some of my pieces this week. It can be a difficult time for some – it’s often been a struggle for me, to be honest  – but I’ve found that volunteering and sharing goodwill in any way I can has helped. It’s good to be taken out of ourselves sometimes, to count our blessings and realise we’re often luckier than we maybe think we are.

On that note, and especially given how the original Christmas story has been hijacked over many years by over-commercialisation, my first piece, by Richard Game, illustrates beautifully how important it is for us all to see beyond the greed and gluttony, the over-gifting, the competitiveness and pressure for the latest gadgets and gizmos and focus, instead, on the wonderful, bounteous gifts that Mother Nature bestows on every one of us all year round.

Richard says: “I’m a physiotherapist by training, but work more holistically, connecting with people to try to ease their pains and optimise their quality of life. I have a growing interest in the relationship we have with nature and how this can be so influential on our physical selves, as well as our mental health.”

Difference

Currently, we may hear, read and, perhaps, are ourselves embroiled in the mental health pandemic, particularly affecting young adults; witnessing unrest and rioting, involving those sections of society that feel most forgotten, unheard and unrepresented. These may be viewed through a lens shaped by differences: between ‘haves’ and ‘have nots’, between hopes and realities, between controls and freedoms.

Perhaps a novel and more telling lens may be the one shaped by nature versus nurture (a concept most will be familiar with in relation to the origins of a person’s sexuality). Through this lens, one might be able to see that the societal, communal, familial and individual contentedness relates to our interconnectedness (or lack of) with the natural world.

We are a part of a wonderful ecosystem of breathtaking beauty, abundance of nourishment for the body and soul, stunning simplicity alongside unmatched complexity, bound by an ever-present energy. We know this. We know this in our souls. We know this when we connect with nature: A walk in a garden, admiring the vibrant, sun-seeking beauty of shrubs and flowers, paddling in the sea, feeling the waves lapping our shins and the shifting sand underfoot, being in a forest, feeling the protection, strength and wisdom of the trees, sitting atop a hill, contemplating the rolling fields before us and the mystery of where land meets sky, resting by a pond, watching the artistic coupled dance of dragonflies above the water, laying on the grass, pondering the movement and familiarity of the everyday in clouds, feeling the reassuring warmth of the sun’s never-ending energy on the backs of our necks, and the incongruence of the pleasantness of the prickling of windy sideways rain on our faces.

And yet, how much do we really do to appreciate Mother Earth, to understand our place within her complex, delicate ways? How often do we experience mindfully being part of the natural world? Time, (lack of) money, being indoors, shopping, mobile phones, working to live, traffic jams – these are the predominant hallmarks of the lived experiences we have, and nurtured into the next generation. Living through what we are told about the lives we have to live: needing a new phone, latest TV, flash car. Moving and being in the natural world less; sitting and watching the human constructed world more. Holidays are, for many, seen as an opportunity to ‘get away’. But perhaps we need to reframe the everyday to incorporate as much as possible of that which we seek to ‘get away to’.

Differences are abundant in the natural world. Indeed, Mendel and Darwin were only able to propose evolutionary theories due to differences in what they observed. But the nurturing of our daily lives, so far removed from our biological, natural needs and comforts is perhaps the difference between mental health and mental ill-health, between cohesive communities and civil unrest, between happiness and unhappiness. There are no answers; just choices.

Maybe we should all make a commitment to pause once a day and appreciate the natural world around us, the natural world that we are interconnected to, the natural world that we are born of and return to. Choosing nature over nurture: maybe this could make all the difference.

© Richard Game, 2024

Connect with Richard on Instagram: @gameplanphysio

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Now, we have a thought-provoking poem from Allan Lochhead, who has written for us before. I can empathise with his words as, at times, I feel this way too and, of course, such feelings can be heightened at this time of year.

Allan says: “Whenever I see loving, supportive families on television, I feel a gaping hole inside and very sad, lost and ‘less than’. My poem highlights the difference between how I see my life and theirs.”

Blacke Dog

Sometimes, Blacke Dog leads me on to a blasted heath.
We stop beside an abandoned ruined cottage
Roofless, open to the rain
Rafters, rain-soaked ribs, skeletal
Broken chairs and table strewn
Window glass fragmented on the earthen floor.
Tattered, torn curtain flapping
Distant family faces behind grimy glass; a faded black and white photograph.
Blacke Dog leads me on to a small church
Framed by a grey drystone wall
Door broken at the hinge.
Below a cold stone altar, row upon row of empty darkwood pews.
Soft, screaming silence, as creeping white fog envelops teetering lichened gravestones
Bowing in greeting.
Blacke dog leads me back to the heath.
We howl into the empty black night.

© Allan Lochhead, 2024

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Here’s a lovely, evocative poem by Pen to Print alumni, Write On! Deputy Editor, author, poet and regular contributor, Claire Buss. Fans of the festive season will say it’s never too early to put the tree up. I must admit I don’t bother with a tree any more, though I do love to see other people’s – and I’ve seen a fair few already! I think Claire’s message is a pertinent one: a gentle reminder of the underlying pressures and tensions of family life and how something as simple as the annual tradition of dressing the tree can unite everyone; even if only for a fleeting moment.

O Christmas Tree

O Christmas Tree
O Christmas Tree
You stand there in my lounge
All proud and upright
No worries bend your boughs.

No fears of extra-wide hips
Stop you from being fierce
Draped in multi-coloured lights
You stand out with pride
Not looking for corners or shadows to hide.

More tinsel, more tinsel you seem to rustle
Too much isn’t enough
You clamour to be noticed
With angel on high
You shout, look at me!

With ornaments dangling on every branch
Big, small, bright, shiny, old and new
It doesn’t matter, you wear them all
Fashions come and fashions go but you
You keep your favourites year after year

No matter if you’re real or fake
If you’re tall or squat
For the few weeks you are here
You don’t hesitate to shine so bright
And pull all the family together.

(c) Claire Buss, 2020

Connect with Claire on Instagram: @grasshopper2407, on BluSky @grasshopper2407.bsky.social or via her website clairebuss.co.uk

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Finally for this week, we have a light-hearted piece from Mary L Walsh, highlighting the difference between having a partner and a family and being alone with one’s fantasies. We’ve all been there and, while the outcome isn’t quite what Mabel was expecting, it does give her a little bit of hope and fun into the bargain!

Mabel Goes To Lunch

Finding herself a widow after many years, Mabel decided she would go out and see the world and do all the things she had wanted to do during her long marriage. Now 65, she was already starting to do this, but lacked a male companion to go out with.

When would a Sean Bean character come and carry her off on horseback to his castle in Spain? Though she was probably too old now for those sorts of shenanigans and, besides, she might dislocate a hip getting on a horse, or break it falling off. It was all in her mind these days; or in the pages of a raunchy romance novel.

Today, she had come to a fancy cabaret club for Sunday lunch and music, the latter provided by a tribute to the long-dead brat pack.

She sat in the tartan-carpeted dining room; the tables around her glistening with silver and glassware and pristine white tablecloths. Watching families having a good time and wondering what would have happened if she’d had children. Would she be here with them now? A different life, maybe.

The waiter approached and the room around her disappeared as he drew nearer: tall, at least six feet, mid-length dark hair, good shape under his shirt and those eyes! Piercingly blue.

“Good afternoon, Madam, my name is Alexi, I’m your waiter for today. Have you been here before?”

Mabel blinked herself back to reality, although it was difficult, what with the looks and the accent. Instead, she put on what she hoped was her best flirting face; the one she hadn’t really used since the 1970’s.

“Thank you, Alexi. Are you Russian, by any chance?”

“Yes, I am from outside Moscow. Have you been there?”

“No, but I love Dr Zhivago.”

“Ah, but the reality is much better, Madam,” he replied, fixing her with those icy eyes.

After ordering a roast with all the trimmings, her mind lingered on the handsome Russian waiter. She imagined him carrying her off to his dacha in the countryside with log fires and fur rugs and snow outside; just like a scene with Omar Sharif in her favourite film.

Alexi strode towards her table again, carrying her food, followed by two minions bringing the vegetables. She fixed him with her best smile, breathing, “Thank you. That looks wonderful!”

She was already halfway to the Russian countryside on a horse-drawn carriage with sleigh bells jingling. Her dreams becoming reality, her loneliness banished forever. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

She watched as Alexi poured her wine and moved around the table like Nureyev. His movements smooth and practiced, strong and silent, those ice-blue eyes flashing with the reflected light of the chandelier.

When all was done, the table set, the food begging to be eaten and the band starting to play a lively number, Alexi leaned forward; so close, she could smell his aftershave. His hair brushed her cheek as she leaned closer, sure that he was as captivated by her as she was with him.

He whispered in her ear: “Would you like any sauce with that?”

© Mary L Walsh, 2024

Connect with Mary on Instagram: @marelwa60

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That’s it for this week. As in those large tubs of chocolates that are everywhere right now, I hope you found a favourite. Now, that’s one tradition I’m always very happy to indulge in! See you next time.

Connect with me on Instagram: @clareatclarelou (where I like to share the many photographs I enjoy taking). My blog:  claredotcooper@wordpress.com.(where I share my thoughts on all manner of subjects).

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If you’d like to see your writing appear in the Write On! Showcase, please submit your short stories, poetry or novel extracts to: pentoprint.org/get-involved/submit-to-write-on/

Hear extracts from Showcase in our podcast. Write On! Audio. Find us on all major podcast platforms, including Apple and Google Podcasts and Spotify. Type Pen to Print into your browser and look for our logo or find us on Spotify for Pocasters.

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