Marie Marshall's Page

... who daily thanks God for spellcheck.

Just to make this clear: I am neither Marie Marshall the actor nor Charlyn "Chan" Marie Marshall the poet. If need be, one of the three of us will have to change her name! I don't know where either of them hang out (nor the scores of other namesakes I get when I google myself), but my website is here, thanks to Jem Farmer, bless her heart. The web site probably says less about me than I do here, but never mind - at least I have one.

Let me regale you with my meagre successes so far (the failures would take too long). I realised I could write when I entered a competition to complete a short story started by Joanne Harris. Of course I didn't win, but I did realise I could write! My first attempts at fiction were on an erotica blog; they weren't too serious, it was just thought that I could do better than the stuff that was there. Actually that wasn't too difficult! It was when I wrote a story called "The Invisible Woman", about the relationship between a woman who had come into hospital for cosmetic surgery to deal with a facial deformation and a nurse on her ward, that I realised I was a mainstream writer. There was only one kiss in the story, nothing else - it was hardly erotica!

Since then I have blogged a lot of stories and poems. A heck of a lot. The trouble is that I quickly found out that barred me from entering them in competitions. On the other hand, I didn't get very far in most of the competitions I entered, so at least the blogged stuff saw the light of day! (Is this a familiar picture yet?)

What? Oh sorry, yes... successes... thank you for reminding me.

I am an Associate Editor of Sonnetto Poesia magazine. I have had many poems published in magazines, including Harlequin - go here for my poem "After the Full Moon". I have had poems in two anthologies - Brother, My Cup and Sentinels . I am told that the poem below has been etched into an African drum, and is on display at the New Orleans Museum of Art.

Djembe

A single tree upholds the world,
With all its melody and hum
Cacophonous, tattooed and knurled.
For clarity - hark to a drum!


I write in English, very occasionally in Scots or French (I have recently had an article in French published in issue 194 of Recto-Verseau magazine), and have recently tried my hand at translating poetry from French to English. For two years running I have had short stories read aloud by a professional actor at Pitlochry's prestigious Winter Words literary festival.

I will write free verse or formal poetry, and anything in between. Here are a bunch of quotable quotes you can use freely, if you feel like dropping my name into a conversation:

On poetry in general: "Poetry should do more than just say something."
On writing both formal verse and free verse: "I've proved I can draw; now I'm entitled to pickle a shark and call it art."
On free verse: "Free verse without natural rhythm is nothing more than a laundry list."

Here's an example of my formal poetry - it's a "wreathed sonnet":


Autumn Leaves

You silly, swirling, milling autumn leaves,
Leave off your flitting patter at my window,
My window-panes, my shutters, and my eaves;
Eaves-dropping at your scattering and winnow –
Your winnowing with wind-raked hull and must –
Must pitter-pat my senses with new sorrow;
For sorrow lengthens when the year is dust.
Dust-swirls that sweep my York-stone path tomorrow
With morrow’s whorls and berries’ jumble there,
Their crinkle and their crackle for the barrow;
I’ll barrow them away, good crop and tare,
And tear at them with rake and race and harrow!
This harrowing of wind and husks bereaves –
Bereft the trees – you milling, autumn leaves.


OK, enough of the puff. Where do I go from here? I am actually very shy and very private. My modest successes are due to having an understanding agent. Currently I have a completed novel for older children being proof-read by a friend; once that is done, my agent will be attempting, no doubt, to batter down the doors of the world's publishing houses...