The Cleaver

A bit of writing about being neurodivergent, disabled, ethnic and a widow in Wales.

Kate Cleaver

I’ve tried writing this article about three times. It isn’t that this last month or so has been difficult or depressing, it is that everything slowed, and I’ve felt a lifetime has passed. It is that time is relative. That a moment can mean a lifetime, like the kiss Roland and I shared on our wedding day.

Time can speed up and slow depending on how much significance it holds.

Well, that happened in February. Roland’s birthday was the first day of February, so, after some organisation, most of his immediate family met in the car park of Pen Y Fan.

Urns

Odd place for someone who can barely walk around the block? Indeed, it is but I wasn’t going to walk the route. You see Roland had only given one instruction, that he wanted to go to Pen Y Fan one last time.

Most of Roland’s ashes are with me but I had the funeral director decant some into six small urns. These are pocket sized and each couple who climbed Pen Y fan that day last month also carried a little of Roland.

I wanted to do this so that each family member could have their own journey and feel their own emotions. So, the group walked the mountain, and I drew it. I sat at the bottom with pencil, ink and paint and created a piece of artwork.

I will finish that painting and create prints for each person there and those that couldn’t make it.

It was all I could do.

Did I feel left out because I couldn’t climb the mountain? Yes, but also if I had then there would have been no painting so I think it was worth it.

The group climbed and laughed and emptied the small urns. There was a problem with a lady who decided to push past so she got a little closer to Roland than perhaps she would have wanted to but if people line up against the cliff, try not to push in front. Just a little advice.

We did laugh about that in the pub after and all agreed that Roland would have been the one with the loudest laugh.

Oddly though that day left me slightly out of sorts with the world. Almost like I have experienced a glitch and was lagging a little from real life.

Not much, maybe only half a step behind everyone else.

It has taken me this long to feel like I am living in the world, feet planted in the ground.

It hasn’t helped that it looks like I may have to go back into hospital for treatment. I am trying to hold it off but there is little I can do about it. It is a drain knowing that no matter what you do, you can’t fix yourself or get better.

It is almost as if someone else has control and I can only watch what happens in my own life. It is very frustrating, and wears at your mental happiness.

Saying that though the house move is progressing and I can’t help but feel a little optimistic.

I have two new books on the burner and so far, both are crime novels, creative non-fiction, of course. I never though I would be drawn to crime.

I was explaining this at the National Women’s Day event in Swansea University this month (March) and I got asked a question I hadn’t anticipated.

Why do you choose short form and articles over longer forms?

That made me think. Why do I write articles over creating books? And when I do write books, I tend to break them up and try to publish them in parts rather than as a whole.

My last book that has yet to go to an agent or publisher I broke off the beginning and submitted to the New Welsh Writer’s Award two years ago.

It got a highly commended. Since then, mostly due to circumstance, it has sat, gathering dust.

This is despite having people email me to see where they get hold of the whole thing. So, why do I do it?

Blog

Did you know that the first long piece I ever wrote was via a blog? It is called The Gone by Kate Murray, and I should warn you that it is written via a blog, so the editing is not great.

I self-published after because people asked to have it available for the kindle. It is a bad horror, what could be termed an airport book but if you like horror hit google and have a read. I have kept the blog active so you can read it for free on there.

There I go again – promoting the free stuff. Why?

Why do I find it easier to blog and write articles than longer forms?

Because I won’t be judged the same. I can give it away because it makes it less than the books you buy and place on a shelf.

I have been told from as early as I can remember by those influential people like teachers and professors that I am less. Hell, it even happened with the PhD.

I am not as good, not as smart, not as able. It is okay because I have learning difficulties, but the facts are there. What I write can never be as good as others, so instead of being judged I simply sidestep.

Here is my work in a format that means no one will look at it under a microscope and say I am wanting.

Now, how do I get around that?

Opportunity

Recently I went for an opportunity that would have forwarded my career, and I got to the last three. I wasn’t picked.

The reason? I didn’t seem to care enough. They didn’t think I was committed enough to give me the opportunity. It was awarded to someone else.

I wondered at that. You see even though I hurt every day I will cut back on painkillers that are making my life easier, to write.

If I take what I am meant to then I can get incredible brain fog. Is that not commitment?

How do I show that? I know I am autistic and can come across as aloof, but I love what I do, and I push myself to do it.

My doctors can get somewhat annoyed with me when I tell them to the lengths I go to continue writing and drawing. But loosing Roland has shown me one thing that I want to live and not just exist. Writing is the way I live.

So, maybe I ought to try and get that book published and to believe in myself enough to start those crime novels, both murders and both so incredible they would have had to have been fact, because they are truly unbelievable.

Maybe I ought to allow myself to be judged and let the chips lie where they may.

You never know – people may like what they read.