Janice Fixter

Welcome

Janice Fixter was born in Kent and has lived in South East London ever since. She has a BA in psychology from London University (Goldsmiths College) and a MA in Creative Writing, the Arts and Education and a D.Phil. in Creative Writing (poetry) from Sussex University.

Janice has been writing poetry and non-fiction since 1994 and has been widely published. Her poems have been broadcast on Premier Radio, LBC and Radio 4 as well as various local radio stations. She has read her poetry at a number of venues including the Troubadour and the Poetry Cafe as well as taking part in the Oxfam 7 Poets for 2007 series.

Janice has also written numerous non-fiction articles and two books on parenting – The Parentalk Guide to being a Mum Hodder and Stoughton 2000, and How to Succeed as a Single Parent Hodder and Stoughton 2003 with Diane Louise Jordan. From 2001 to 2007 Janice was a trustee of Parentalk – a charity which aims to inspire parents. During this time she contributed regularly to radio and television programmes

In 1997 Poets Anonymous published her chapbook Walking Away From The Shadows and in 2005 her pamphlet Walking the Hawk was published by tall-lighthouse. Her first full collection a kind of slow motion was published by tall-lighthouse in July 2007. Janice is training to be become a spiritual director. She is passionate about birds, bats and orchids.

September 18th, 2006

Events

Janice’s poetry collection
a kind of slow motion
is available from tall-lighthouse
www.tall-lighthouse.co.uk price £7
ISBN 978-1-904551-30-0

WordAid is a recently formed collective of published poets working together to raise funds for charity. Its first project is Did I Tell You? an anthology of 131 poems in aid of Children in Need, which was launched in November 2010. To buy a copy of Did I Tell You? please visit http://wordaid.blogspot.com/

Wing Beats: British Birds in Haiku
published by Snapshot Press price £15.99
Hardback: 320 pages
ISBN 978-1-903543-24-5

September 16th, 2006

February

February

Winter is an animal pelt
pegged down, stretched out to dry

and laden with long nights and burning lanterns.

Outside my window a cormorant balances
on a jetty – holding out its wings,
its magician’s cloak,

each feather separated by the wind.

The shortest month is still too heavy
to drag across the sky.

It is 6 a.m. and the air
has frozen down to its bones.

We are counting days, the thinness of them,
until the ground softens
and the geese gather on the wetlands

ready to tow away the skin.

September 1st, 2006