Tag Archives: quest

D- Roald Dahl’s Reply #atozchallenge.

No sooner had I pulled up in Mum’s Taxi after a bleary night conversing with a certain Dead Poet starting with E, than I found a reply from Roald Dahl.

No, it didn’t arrive in a model aeroplane . I didn’t find it wrapped up in a block of chocolate either. Rather, by some kind of miracle, he’d managed to sneak passed the dogs and into theĀ  house and there in a half-eaten packet of Tim Tams I found this note:

Dear Rowena,

Get on with the You-Know-Exactly-Whatsit!

A big bang on the head, doesn’t have to be the end. Strangely, it can even be the beginning. However, you already know that. You just need to act. Move it!

By the way, I’m impressed with how you crawled inside my head. Quite frankly, I’d never thought of climbing through the ear to pull that off. Being so tall, I never thought I’d fit.

We must chat again.

Warm regards,

Roald Dahl.

PS If I’d ever eaten a Tim Tam, I never would have died!


So, it appears my son is not the only one who can’t stop at one Tim Tam.

Of course, I know exactly what the You-Know-Exactly-Whatsit is. It’s my Book Project. I know it’s been in the pipeline FOREVER and keeps metamorphosing before it even goes into its cocoon.

writing in Paris

Writing on the window sill at the Hotel Henri IV, ParisĀ  July, 1992…a very different version of me.

What’s been stopping me? There I was reading my poetry at the Shakespeare Bookshop in Paris in my early twenties. Since then, the entire river’s passed under the bridge. What’s holding me back?

Well, there was such a thing as having a career and trying to “find the one”, which was so rudely interrupted by a not insignificant neurological meltdown. Of course, this was followed by kids and then another near death experience this time resulting in a physical meltdown with all my muscles wasting away. That’s nothing to sneeze about either. Yet, while I was in rehab, my husband brought in my laptop and I started writing seriously again.

Anyway, when you’ve had so many ups and downs, it’s hard to work out where you are and how to make sense of it all. I’ve persisted but it now seems that there is no perfect sense. Not all chaos but that the answer is out there somewhere sitting on the fence.

Finally, I’m feeling that sticking with the questions is okay. That even if we don’t get answers to particular questions, that we’re still being fueled by the quest. We even wander into other realms we never knew were there.

As John Lennon said:

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

Mind you, when undertaking such journeys to foreign realms it’s always good to be prepared. To not only take along your map, torch and compass but also some refreshments. A long piece of string never goes astray either. That way, you can always find your way back out of the labyrinth.

Anyway, here I go again waxing lyrically instead of getting on with it.

I need to move it! Move it! Move it!

xx Rowena

PS: How are you going with the A-Z Challenge? I you are participating or have found some great posts, please leave links in the comments.


That Hidden Piece of Me.

There’s a little piece of me,

which doesn’t feel at home.

Even in a crowd,

it can still feel quite alone.

No one seems

to know its name.

Or, that it exists.

So, I wonder if it ever left,

would this piece be missed?


xx Rowena

8th December, 2015

Re-reading this poem a few days later, I am quite conscious that on first impressions, it appears quite dark and melancholy.This is not entirely unusual for my poetry as I often write poetry as a way of venting my spleen or as a way of dealing with intense angst or frustration, like releasing a pressure valve.

However, while it initially appears quite melancholy, I hope it’s impact is paradoxically quite positive. That it actually connects a kaleidoscope of missing pieces who start to feel part of wider whole. A sense of: “Me too!” or “I’m not the only one!”

So many of us can be incredibly self-conscious about our various idiosyncrasies and yet even when we are the only one, there ares till other only ones out there we can connect with. We are not as alone as we believe or as weird, different…or even as talented!


If you enjoyed this poem, you could well enjoy the book: The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein. Have you read it? I love his work.

Indeed, I just found this beautiful animated version. It’s just incredible! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mT0wKeJQvGk

xx Rowena.



which is quite a departure the more uplifting things I’ve written in the past from I can’t help wondering if everyone feels there is this part of themselves which doesn’t quite connect with the world? A part which is somehow awkward. Doesn’t fit in. Is a bit odd, skewiff or something?

I know I’m not alone is feeling like this at times.

I think for most of us, for whatever reason, there is this sense of disconnection and not belonging or quite fitting in. Sometimes, this can be a point of pride because we’re creative, an individual one-off? We’re not one of these photocopied clones…a Barbie or Ken!

Personally, I struggle with having what you could call an invisibility and straddling the worlds of chronic health and disability and because I appear fully mobile, I am expected to comply with all sorts of unwritten social norms, which can be quite difficult for me e.g. standing in long queues, walking on uneven ground.

Every now and then, however, I have met people who almost immediately see that hidden secret piece and I immediately feel whole, less fragmented, disjointed or even alienated. It is like diving deep into a healing spring and I can feel myself becoming whole again.

I personally find it important to talk about this hidden part of ourselves because I strongly believe, though without professional training, that if that piece doesn’t get nourished and doesn’t find kindred spirits, that we truly will struggle to be happy, healthy and grow into all we could become.