Alison
was born in 1944 and has had a long career in writing: fiction for
children and young adults, radio drama for the BBC, and non-fiction
books on life as a spiritual journey. Follow the link to complete list.
Her poetry has been published in many anthologies and journals: you’ll find some of her poems on this site. Follow the link to poems.
Her spiritual enquiries are ongoing, inwardly and outwardly as a Quaker and as a follower of goddess ways. You can follow her ideas through extracts from her writings. Follow the link to spirituality.
She is now writing adult fiction.
Follow the link to Heavenly Lilies
Unabashed (or only a little abashed), she is now writing a novel with a strong marketing ‘hook’ – a celebrated Impressionist artist. Modelling brings to life two people associated with Edgar Degas: a prostitute who modelled for him, and a craftsman who cast his wax sculptures in bronze.
Follow the link to Modelling
Her poetry has been published in many anthologies and journals: you’ll find some of her poems on this site. Follow the link to poems.
Her spiritual enquiries are ongoing, inwardly and outwardly as a Quaker and as a follower of goddess ways. You can follow her ideas through extracts from her writings. Follow the link to spirituality.
She is now writing adult fiction.
Novels
Alison’s novel Heavenly Lilies was judged by a prominent literary agent to be ‘evocative and moving throughout… a wonderful piece of work… would be read and loved by intelligent readers…’ but unfortunately ‘the climate is utterly unfriendly to this kind of novel’ (Sarah Molloy of A M Heath).Follow the link to Heavenly Lilies
Unabashed (or only a little abashed), she is now writing a novel with a strong marketing ‘hook’ – a celebrated Impressionist artist. Modelling brings to life two people associated with Edgar Degas: a prostitute who modelled for him, and a craftsman who cast his wax sculptures in bronze.
Follow the link to Modelling
Reviews of Alison’s work include:
‘strong stuff’
‘may turn you upside down’
‘unexpected and enlightening’
‘wonderful, real, absorbing characters’
‘may turn you upside down’
‘unexpected and enlightening’
‘wonderful, real, absorbing characters’
Alison on writing
Writing, for me, is a spiritual process. Writing creatively has much in common with prayer or meditation: there’s the urgent and illogical need to extend the imagination, and the commitment to the process whatever it may involve. Initially, you must be patient. There’s a lot of waiting; much pressing of the Delete button. My characters may carry the insights that I’ve gained in my life, but at the same time they must be not-me, rather than me. While I’m within the process of writing, I try to ignore the hard world of publishing and lose myself in the world I am inventing. I see it as a kind of shamanic journey: a journey into underworld places to bring back the possibility of renewal. Only later comes the task of editing, which provides a bridge between the inner process and the outer business of connecting with the commercial world and finally with the reader.Creation of characters
The
woman talks to me. It takes time:
the place comes first, the wave, the slope,
the way grass meets boulders, the words
for hawthorn and shell. She talks to me
uncertainly, because she is certain of nothing.
The man, now, he is certain of everything,
but that will change. He has friends
here, they are a source of his uncertainty,
though he does not know that yet, and nor
do I. It will take more time for them to talk
to each other, and I do not know what
they will say. I have to wait. But I have
waited before, and I know how. The exits
and the entrances are cued by trust
in what there is and in what I am given to find.
Finding is like a mountain walk without a map
in weather you have no forecast for. They
have no foreknowledge either. But they
know who they are, and I, their creator,
or so it seems I will be called, do not.
© Alison
Leonard.the place comes first, the wave, the slope,
the way grass meets boulders, the words
for hawthorn and shell. She talks to me
uncertainly, because she is certain of nothing.
The man, now, he is certain of everything,
but that will change. He has friends
here, they are a source of his uncertainty,
though he does not know that yet, and nor
do I. It will take more time for them to talk
to each other, and I do not know what
they will say. I have to wait. But I have
waited before, and I know how. The exits
and the entrances are cued by trust
in what there is and in what I am given to find.
Finding is like a mountain walk without a map
in weather you have no forecast for. They
have no foreknowledge either. But they
know who they are, and I, their creator,
or so it seems I will be called, do not.