Moonifesto
Here are samples of my creative work using myths. The story draft extract of The Lady of Llyn Y Fan Fach is the closest to my proposed new form of mythic autofiction. Moonifesto will be different in that it will take stories of Celtic goddesses associated with the moon to look at the power behind these and how we can shift the narrative to reclaim some of that as women in midlife.
Blodeuwedd
These three poems were inspired by the Welsh myth of Blodeuwedd (Flowerface). She was created from flowers to be a wife and then, when she was unfaithful, Blodeuwedd was turned into an owl. They were published by Three Drops From a Cauldron in 2017 and I also gave a presentation about this work at a conference run by University of Sussex in 2018: Locating Women in the Folk.
Lady of Llyn Y Fan Fach
This is a draft extract of a short story exploring motherhood using the Welsh lady of the lake story, The Lady of Llyn Y Fan Fach:
Fresh out of the lake, turquoise dragonflies still circling my head, pondweed adorning my ankles, I told him I’d only marry him if he promised not to strike me three times without cause. If he did that, I’d have no choice but to return to the otherworld.
Tegan walks in when I am breastfeeding Rhiw in the kitchen. He looks the other way as if he has not seen my body before, as if he cannot bear the thought of his son suckling me as piglets do. I stroke the back of Rhiw’s head while he feeds and I listen to his quiet suck and swallow. I take a lock of his baby soft hair and twist it round my little finger. His eyes are half closed, he’ll fall asleep after this, content for the christening.
“Come on now, Tegan, time to wash up and get changed. Nearly time to go.” Mam chivvies him along but he’s come back from the field in a sullen mood. Nothing is right.
“Did you boil me hot water for a wash?”
“No, time for that. Come on. Away with you. Splash of cold will do you on a hot day like today.”
“What about food? Out working all morning and I come in to see all the food covered up for our guests. I need to eat.”
“I’ll make you a plate while you get changed.”
“What a rush. And her just sitting there.” He points at me. Rhiw rips his mouth off my breast, and twists his head to see his father. The milk keeps coming. I try to position his head back in place, but he starts to fuss and cry. “Can’t even feed a baby.”
Mortal tears well up behind my eyes, but I swallow them back down and they disappear. I’m learning to be human. Tegan disappears to get himself ready and Mam rolls her eyes, tuts and carries on with slicing bread and cheese for his plate.
I dress sleepy Rhiw in his christening gown, pulling the cuffs over his pudgy little fists. He looks fit for Annwn. Mam comes over, takes him from me and tucks him expertly into a white lacy blanket. “Christening blanket,” she tells me. “Worn by Tegan 26 years ago.”
Is there no end to their special things for these ceremonies? She is cuddling Rhiw, swaying from side to side, nestling him into her shoulder, I am entranced. Then Tegan reappears in the doorway. I hear his deep, dark voice before I see him.
“Go and fetch my horse, Lynn.” Just like that. I stand and stare. His words are hanging in the air but not sinking in. The room gets smaller and the heat of the day intensifies. I cannot move. “Did you hear what I said?” He is closer now and I feel his hand sharp on my shoulder. I look him straight in the eyes.
“That’s the first blow. Two more. That’s all you have left. Two more chances,” I say, clear and quiet.