Category: Writing

articles, Uncategorized, Writing

Feminist Dystopias within Science Fiction

‘Only by considering dystopia as a warning can we as readers hope to escape such a dark future.’

This post will explore the depiction of feminist dystopias within the science fiction genre. Margaret Atwoods’ Oryx & Crake (2003), The Handmaid’s Tale (1986) and Marge Piercy’s Woman on the Edge of Time (1979) question whether a feminist dystopia will provoke change in contemporary society.

A utopia is an ideal place that could be described as a haven. It is created from people’s perspectives of what could warrant an ideal place. This includes ideal laws and politics, which result in a perfect society. A dystopia however, perceives the opposite of a utopia and could therefore include a place of oppression and inequality. In relation to a feminist dystopia, M. Keith Booker states in Woman on the Edge of a Genre: Feminist Dystopias of Marge Piercy that,

‘feminist visions of the future tended in general to show a dark turn in the 1980s, probably due to political reverses that damped the feminist optimism of the 1970s.’

Booker’s assumptions of why feminist writers had taken to writing dystopias instead of utopias proves to be a theme within critiques of the science fiction genre. Raffaella Baccolini in The Persistence of Hope in Dystopian Science Fiction states that the term utopia, has lost its value as ‘it has been conflated with materialist satisfaction and thus commodifed’ within society. Thus it is because critiques were noticing a turn from a feminist utopia towards dystopian fiction that the term feminist dystopia was created.

A feminist dystopia critiques contemporary society by extrapolating patriarchal ideologies in the future. Thus feminist writers display patriarchal societies as a dystopia by the oppression of women and the internalisation of patriarchal ideologies. Although this post focuses on this issue in relation to science fiction, there are many other genres that these texts suit. All of the texts display the qualities that can be found in speculative fiction. Oryx & Crake is post-apocalyptic, The society in The Handmaid’s Tale is a result of the assasination of the president and Woman on the Edge of Time debates how neurosurgery could lead to a dystopia. As the dystopian worlds have been extrapolated from contemporary society, the texts could also relate to fantasy and dystopian fiction. Anne Cranny-Francis in Feminist Fiction critiques the fantasy genre as a way of changing contemporary society. She states that,

‘the contradictions concealed by realist conventions are highlighted in fantasy literature, […] fantasy thereby shows the fragmentation of the real, revealing the real as a negotiation of conflicting discourses.’

This supports a feminist dystopia as a feminist dystopia critiques the flaws within the real so that the reader can negotiate other ideologies for society. Although Cranny-Francis is critiquing fantasy literature, her concept is still relevant to a feminist dystopia. Baccolini supports this by claiming that genres are ‘culturally constructed’ and ‘it is the science fiction genre that will able feminist criticism to deconstruct the genres that fit contemporary society’. Therefore with Atwood and Piercy critiquing contemporary society through science fiction, the readers are able to glimmer into a possible reality. Thus the readers reluctance to live in such a world will help change contemporary society.

This post was originally posted on my Medium account. To see what else I’ve posted click here.

articles, Uncategorized, Writing

Writer’s Block: Fact or Fiction

IMG_0850.JPGAll writers at one point on their literary journey will discover writer’s block. It might take moments to pass, it might take days but one thing everyone can agree on, is that it can be difficult to shift. It can feel like moving a boulder with your bare hands and the worst part? You can physically waste your days trying to move it. After being in this situation myself, I couldn’t help but question what writer’s block is and is it really there.

I reflected on when I would get writer’s block and how I felt about it. Yes, it was annoying but I just thought if I don’t know what to write about then what’s the point. Then there’s that advice:

‘you must write everyday to become a good writer.’

At times I felt like pulling my hair out when I read this in author’s interviews and writing books. How can you write everyday when you don’t know what to write about? I mean, hey, it’s not as if I didn’t want to write, I just could never find the right topic or the right beginning. When I looked again at my reaction to writing, I realised that saying, “I can’t, I have no inspiration,” or “If I write now it will just be rubbish,” was just a form of procrastinating my writing.

After much realisation, I wondered why I procrastinated so much when writing was something I loved. One word: doubt. I never believed that my writing would be good enough and didn’t dare put pen to paper. Until now.

Writing can give you a voice in ways that can be difficult to imagine. It can move people, change societal values and challenge your views of the world. All, may I add, from daring to start writing and expressing yourself. So my answer as to whether writer’s block is fact or fiction is simple. Writer’s block can feel like a real issue, stopping you from writing. However in reality, writer’s block is fiction. It only occurs when you doubt your own writing style or technique. Think about it, when does it occur with you? Next time you start to get a case of writer’s block, remind yourself of your talents and write through that block. How you ask?

Believe in the writer you know you are, that’s how.

Originally posted on medium.com , feel free to check out my account here

Writing

The Eyes of the Children

There it goes again for the second day in a row, the siren of a deadly warning. Well, that’s what my mother says. It reminds me of the sound of a fire engine. Nee naw, nee naw, loud enough for all to hear. My mother grabs my mask and drags me towards the huge tunnel that is covered with sandbags.

“No mother, not again. I want to go and see the fire engine.”

“No you don’t Jimmy. Just get into the shelter and be a good boy okay?” I look behind me to try and see the fire engine but everyone else keeps blocking my view.

“Please mother, it can’t be that far away, it’s too loud not to be.”

“It’s not a fire engine Jimmy, it’s a reminder that the Germans are coming.” We walk down a few steps until I see the tunnel in front of me.

“So why do we have to come down here if they are coming to see us?” The tunnel is filled with other families, I even spot a few of my friends so I wave at them to get their attention. Mother pulls me to the floor to sit me down and tightens her grip a little too tight. I try to break free but she just holds me closer.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be soon, just stay in my view and we’ll be fine.” She hugs me, “here, I thought you might want this to play with.” Out of her coat pocket she pulls out my favourite fire engine. I go to grab it but she moves it out of reach.

“Don’t snatch.” My finger tips move, clawing at the air to get my toy. She smiles and then gives it to me because she knew I really wanted it. I want to be a fireman when I grow up. I play with the fire engine as if it was my own engine so I can rescue people. I make some explosion sounds but no one could hear me because of the noise coming from the ceiling of the tunnel. I wish it would be quiet so I could play properly.

“Nee naw, nee naw,” I drove the truck to the left. “Sssshhhhhhhh,” I spray all of the water on one building and then hurry over to another. My mother kisses my head which I don’t really understand why and then picks up my toy.

“Come on, time to go,” she helps me to my feet and we walk up the stairs.

“This was fun. Can do it again but a bit longer next time?”

“We were down there for half an hour Jimmy?”

“But can we still do it again?” I pout my face because I know she can’t resist it. She sighs,

“Of course we can Jimmy. At this rate we might need to make a shelter in our garden.” Told you. We get to the top of the stairs and I can see nothing but grey smoke covering the sky. I look to the left and right and saw two fire engines. I smile because I get to see the fire engine and then look at mother. She’s upset which makes me confused. I look to where she is looking and I see half of a house with a bedroom on show. I squint my eyes through the smoke to see clearly. The bedroom was mine.

“Mother?”

“I know,” she bends down and hugs me. I saw a fireman injured from putting out the fires, some even had blankets over their face.

“Mother?”

“yes?”

“I don’t want to be a fireman anymore.”

Writing

Pressure

This free verse poem is about releasing the pressures of a working day. They can sometimes seem like a constant burden to some; trying to get free from any unwanted pressures. May I just add that this poem is meant for performance so please keep this in mind when you read, thanks.

Pressure

Stomp, Stomp,

the pounding of the workers’ march

almost mechanical, the robotics of humanity.

Left, Right

Left, Right

marching for a purpose,

escaping the employer’s maze

workers remain within its grasp,

stomping left, right,

living with squares, direction with straight lines

 

No.

 

Turn three sixty

changes are possible,

pressure sneers in my ear

no escape in my maze,

pushing boundaries, an opening appears.

a light beyond sights reach,

backwards to get forwards

pressure amuses itself,

pounding turns to running

the employer begins to quake, succumbing to my force

 

I am free.

 

gone is the maze

golden rays melt away the rusty armour,

the soul begins to breathe.

fresh air encased within my lungs

the time bomb has stopped,

nothing but the waves flowing

in and out,

in and out,the mind at ease,

not a memory lost, not a thought disrupted

pressure has retreated.

Writing

The Coffee House

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Crushing of the beans, the aroma in the room

subconsciously embrace that nutty taste.

Lured in by comfy seats,

take cover from the rain.

 

Smooth instrumentals, poetry to the ears.

Orders taken, quiet chatting,

sipping a daily coffee.

An eternal warmth, a lasting flavour,

instant relaxation.

 

Public but private

Indulge with great company,

A home away from home

A warm welcome, perfecting techniques,

An experience not to be missed.

Writing

The Balcony

This poem was created from an ekphrasis exercise in Mima at Middlesbrough. The poem hopes to portray William Tillyer’s The Balcony 7. My interpretation of Tillyer’s painting was inspired by experiences with nature and what emotions may occur. Here is Tillyer’s exhibition, including The Balcony 7, hopefully this will help with the understanding of the poem. William Tillyer’s exhibition

The Balcony 

Sun departs

Warm embrace remains,

Immersed in greenery

Branches blow,

Stream flowing beyond sight’s reach,

Resting, nature sleeps

Let it be whilst I return to the working day.