Origins
Who is AliceMae Jameson?
I wasn't born a writer of course - although there are some who would argue that for them this was the case - but I came to it by a more circuitous route.
I was raised in Cumbria, lived in Newcastle (briefly),Manchester, Northumberland, Merseyside, West Yorkshire, France, and am now happily settled in South West Scotland with a good sort of husband and an opinionated dog.
I had children, went to University, had a career - yes, in that order, which had its difficulties, but then it's never easy! My children turned out well - very well in fact, much due to their own efforts and tenacity, and the career was okay.
But writing has very much become my raison d'etre.
Writing Roots
So how did it all start?
Ever since childhood I have flirted with the idea of writing. You know the sort of thing, poems filled with teenage angst and anger, protest and longing. Short stories with heroines equipped to beguile and vanquish! I never attempted to write anything of length because patience and application had never been facets of my personality.
But then one day in France, walking in the hills that I had grown to love almost unreasonably, I recognised a change in myself. And I knew I could do it. I could write that book.
I think it's true that everyone has a story in them, and everyone is entitled to their moment. I'm hoping this is mine. And I know I've many tales to tell!
In any case, this journey has begun.
A Little bit more about AliceMae
Let me introduce my opinionated dog Harley - with a poem! Or perhaps too much information?
Harley's inclined
to unsavoury excesses
of snacks that he finds
on the wayside and roadside,
in the roots of dank trees
and unspeakable weeds.
These smelly hors d'oeurves
and his rank apres diner
reduce and besmirch the tasty cuisine
I endeavour to serve
at an appropriate hour
in the mid afternoon.
He favours a cocktail -
dirty water and compost -
with a soupçon of tree bark
rotted well down
and flavoured with maggots
all wriggling around.
With a penchant for salad
straight from the hedgerow,
enhanced with wild herbs
and a beetle or two,
he munches his way
to the town and the park.
And home again, out again,
upside and downside,
Harley will snack on
the bounty of droppings
from take-away boxes
matured and discarded.
For a week, perhaps two,
or maybe three is required
to arrive at the optimum
stage of decay
for the dog who eats more
than a dog oughta do!
