NotDeadClare

I am a writer of non-fiction books, articles, poetry, short stories and am currently working on my second novel, a crime thriller. I have written articles for arts disability culture magazine, Twisted Tongue magazine, Multicultural magazine and various websites. I have written short stories for The Second BHF Book of Horror Stories, Twisted Tongue magazine, Gold Dust magazine, Writelink resources, and others. I have had poetry in Raw Edge magazine, Twisted Tongue, Delivered and Trespass.

I've written two mental health books, both published by Chipmunka Publishing. I have participated in the equal 2 New Writers' Development Programme in Birmingham, and have performed poetry at the Oasis Cafe Theatre, Borders bookshop, the Library Theatre, and in the middle of Birmingham town centre.

 Contact - clarehill@blueyonder.co.uk

LATEST NEWS

I won the arts disability culture magazine Twisted Valentine competition in 2008 with my poem,  Falling -

Falling

I love…

I love…

people speak the words

to ward off loneliness

as if it is fun

make themselves vulnerable

exposing their throat to be kissed

or cut

laughing at jokes

winding hair around fingers

gazing into eyes that reflect

nothing but what they want to see

an insanity of mind and body

a chemical reaction

nothing more

still

I love…

I love…

I love you

please love me back.

I came 3rd in the Charnwood Arts Miniverse Competition with -

Things I have been addicted to

Dieting

Throwing up

Smoking

Cough syrup

Nicotine gum

Buying stuff on E-bay

Selling stuff on E-bay

Telling the truth

Cups of tea

Alcohol

Telling lies

Therapy

Hiding pain

Blending in

Standing out

Glitter

Solitude

Company

CSI

Bridget Jones

Cutting

Healing

High heels

and Dr Martens.

and I was highly commended in the ABC Tales New Writing Season Competition with Tranquillized -

Tranquillized

My clothes are buttoned wrong.

They say I do it myself

in a fugue state,

but this is no toccata

and I am no Vanessa Mae.

They lie.

I see them when I am asleep

pulling at my clothes

while I hover by the ceiling.

I have yet to master the art

of swimming through concrete,

so am just as trapped

out of my body

as when I’m in my head.

The straps that bind me

snatch at my soul

staple it to the sheets

Sellotape it to my medication.

I am thinking of writing

to the Queen

to ask the one with curly hair

to intervene on my behalf

and maybe play Let Me Out

to free me from this room.

The ceiling needs painting

but I am only allowed felt tips

and I can’t have scissors

to cut the umbilical cord

keeping me here in reality.

I have an appointment

to go flying with Richard Branson

but they will not let me leave

or die

and there are people here

who scream and fight

but I just float, hoping that

they will leave a window open.

so 2008 was a good year for poetry!