You probably know me as a photographer as that is what I work as mainly these days. What you might not know, is that I studied BA Creative Writing at University. At heart, I have always been above all, a writer. Photography was a means of storytelling for me, a visual way to express a narrative. I adore photography but when I’m not behind the lens, you’ll often find me sat in a cosy nook or cranny in a pub or coffee shop as close to the sea as possible dreaming up words.
I love to read too, although I don’t believe I read quite as much as I should. The genres that captivate me are surrealist fantasy & adventure although I have been known to enjoy a good dystopia, science fiction and a few literary novels. I also adore reading plays which compelled me to impulsively choose a playwriting module at Uni (with no previous experience) which I absolutely adored and wrote my first (slightly strange) play.
Mostly, I love to create sudden prose. I’m not sure what fascinates me so much about it, but it’s this idea of introducing a philosophy and evoking an emotional journey in as few a possible words. I love the fleeting sensation of these emotions that have bubbled to the surface and subsequently floated away like steam. I think I am mesmerised by the fleeting nature of all things in this world and although time moves quickly, it’s significant and beautiful nonetheless.
When I find the time, I’m also working on my first novel. Slowly and slightly unsurely. I won’t tell you anything other than it’s entitled ‘The Archipelago of Skye’ and it’s a YA portal fantasy and I wish I had far more time to devote to it than I do.
I also write a monthly article over at the Creative Countryside journal & sometimes for their seasonal magazine. I’m the Folklore editor and get to celebrate and share my love of the mysterious lore of this world.
Please do take a look around and enjoy the random combinations of words that I’ve thrown together in my bid to better understand myself, the world around me and celebrate my love of nature & the mysterious ocean.
Fish Tales - Sarah Porteus
I wanted to build them, those pictures. I wanted to make them tangible. I longed to prove somehow that they existed and so I painted my story in chalk on the concrete, every chapter, every memory and thought decorating the path outside our house. It began with the jasmine and rose hand wash – cool water on my fingers and that ruinous soap. I recognised the smell instantly and the wall that I had built an age ago crumbled against the tide. I remembered the other family, the other place and the other world. Slowly, the new existence that I had crafted for myself began to fade and the voices of those I had learned to love sounded like a television playing in another room. The old world began to visit me in my dreams and I slowly forgot the names of my parents. The memories spilled from me the way that rock-pools overflow when the sea comes in. I drew on the walls, the garden table and the car with my white chalk. The boy who professed to be my lover shook me and begged me to return to him but I had forgotten his name too – he was unremarkable. All I could smell was the Jasmine and Rose soap when I sat in the shower, letting the water fall on my face and thinking of that infinite summer in France by the lake. With the memory of that summer, I felt the gentle bite of the long winter after that had broken me. It was reminding me that it was patient and that it had waited – that winter that I had kept on the other side of the wall. I told it that it had to wait, because I was making the pictures and I wanted so much to look at them again and give back their reality. When I finished, I dropped my chalk to the floor and smiled at my story in all of its chapters. For precious moments, there was a portal to an old life once lived. The light dimmed as a dark cloud covered the sunshine and I felt the droplets of autumn rain in my hair. The boy who I had forgotten took my hand and covered us with an umbrella while the shower washed away the marks I had made on the pavement. I watched them over my shoulder, as they ran away down the gutter, the marks that had reanimated a chapter I could never return to.
After watching the rain wash away my former world, I finally accepted that there was nothing to be gained in nostalgia so we went inside and waited for winter to come.