I’m sitting here trying to write this blog post while feeling like I’ve got the worst hangover imaginable, even though I haven’t had a drop of alcohol. Sick as a dog with a cold, energy sapped, nose red, and body aching, I’m still trying to channel coherent thoughts into words. Maybe that slightly foggy, strained state is appropriate; this post traces the threads that have shaped how I see the world, the way I write, and how I feel about difference.
Beginnings: Wolfblood and Early Fascinations
A Spark in CBBC
One of the earliest sparks of my special interests was Wolfblood, the CBBC show co-produced by the BBC and ZDF. Revisiting it in 2021 and reading about the behind-the-scenes work revealed how much care went into portraying lycanthropy, adolescence, and difference. For a kid who often felt on the outside, it made being “different” feel normal. Watching characters navigate identity, secrecy, and transformation without shame offered quiet, profound reassurance.
Wolves, Music, and Language
Wolfblood unlocked a fascination with folklore, music, and language. Its subtle Welsh representation deepened my awareness of regional identity, and I became fascinated by wolves themselves – how they move, interact, and exist mythically and in the wild. It intersected with personal discovery: one of my first crushes was, in some small way, mediated through the show.
Childhood Games: “What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf?”
A seemingly minor detail shaped early social and imaginative play: I spent hours playing “What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf?” at school. The tension of counting, running, and chasing, mixed with imagined danger, mirrored the duality I would later explore in poetry – human versus wolf, risk versus safety, instinct versus reason. That simple playground game became an early rehearsal for narrative pacing and suspense, skills that now show up in my writing.
Poetic Foundations and Quiet Landscape
Identity has always felt layered. Certain landscapes, regional stories, and cultural rhythms have quietly threaded through my imagination, informing vocabulary, imagery, and fascination with cycles and transformation.
My first foray into poetry came after learning about Wilfred Owen in class. His raw honesty and interplay of form and emotion opened a door. From there I discovered Edgar Allan Poe and Oscar Wilde, whose gothic tones, wit, and explorations of human psychology expanded my understanding of poetry. My very first poem has been lost – likely buried in old iCloud backups – but it set the stage for hundreds more.
Thematic Expansion: Myth and Religion
Greek Myth
Greek mythology became a structural and linguistic template for my work. I explored lycanthropy through tales like Lycaon, layering these motifs over modern experiences. Greek myth now slips into everyday language – metaphors, expressions, and narrative frames appear naturally in speech. Referring to challenges as Sisyphean or invoking Icarus has become second nature.
Celtic Myth
By around 2022, my poetry started leaning more consciously on religion and myth, incorporating Celtic mythology alongside Greek. Celtic ideas of cycles, transformation, and rebirth resonated with my fascination with wolves and identity. The triskelion, yew trees, and other motifs have become recurring threads, visual and thematic, allowing me to map emotional and psychological cycles in almost cartographic ways.
From Christian Roots to Pagan Resonance
Some early work engaged with Christian motifs, but Pagan ideas gradually appeared as well. This layering of belief systems – Christian, Greek, Pagan, and Celtic – allows me to explore morality, transformation, and human experience through multiple lenses. It creates a polyphonic spirituality, reflected in tonal shifts where a stanza might carry lamentation and celebration at once.
Early Influences and Games
Childhood play often intersects with mythic imagination. Beyond Wolfblood, I gravitated towards games requiring strategy, imagination, and social engagement. Repeatedly playing “What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf?” taught me tension, timing, and risk – elements that later appear in poetry as metaphors for social interaction, identity, and human duality. Those early games feel like rehearsals for narrative pacing, suspense, and rhythm.
Poetry Archive
My poetry archive stretches from 9th February 2020 to the present, with 180 Word documents covering identity, mental health, lycanthropy, folklore, popular culture, mythology, and politics. Many works explore transformation, cycles, and the human-wolf interface. Even within the structure of a Word document, I create worlds, explore voices, and experiment with mythic vocabulary. Revisiting drafts often feels like unearthing buried rituals – of thought, metaphor, and self-inquiry.
Looping Over Previous Posts
Reading blog entries, I catch myself looping over familiar ideas. Patterns, metaphors, and obsessions recur, not from laziness but genuine resonance. Writing this post is no exception; Wolfblood, myth, and transformation appear layered over new reflections, almost like spirals in a triskelion. Iterative reflection underpins much of my writing: ideas refracted differently over time, shaped by age and insight.
Personal Discovery Through Media
Representation and Identity
Wolfblood was my first lens into characters mirroring my sense of difference. The show normalised being othered, different, and even disabled. Watching characters navigate challenges without erasure gave me permission to explore identity openly, in poetry and daily life.
Music and Folklore
Music in Wolfblood deepened engagement with storytelling. Melodic cues and motifs heightened my sensitivity to rhythm, pacing, and emotional nuance, which I later carried into poetry. Folklore and myth intertwined with narrative became blueprints for transformation, duality, and cycles, while subtle Welsh references acted as breadcrumbs into a wider mythic consciousness.
Later Folkloric Exploration: An American Werewolf in London
As I matured, my fascination with lycanthropy expanded beyond children’s television. Films like An American Werewolf in London offered adult, visceral approaches to myth, combining horror, comedy, and psychology. In October 2023, I wrote a real-time review of the BBC radio adaptation, capturing immediate responses. Studying its narrative choices influenced tension, transformation, and dark humour in storytelling, extending my creative repertoire.
The Lycanthropic Lens
Lycanthropy functions as both metaphor and literal lens for creative work. Wolves, transformation, and human-animal interplay explore mental health, identity, and relational dynamics. The wolf motif threads through poetry, imagined social spaces, and everyday speech, representing risk, instinct, and change – in constant dialogue with experiences of difference and health.
From Inspiration to Everyday Vocabulary
Greek myth and folklore seep into everyday thinking. I catch myself using them unconsciously – comparing challenges to Sisyphus’ labour or risks to Icarus’ flight. Casual conversation echoes mythic patterns, which can be both amusing and grounding. That these narratives form scaffolding of thought shows the depth of early engagement with myth, media, and play.
Love, Celestial Timing and the Quiet Pattern of Three
This year, my transatlantic relationship hits its third anniversary – why is it always a three?? – on the Hunter’s Moon. The recurrence of three – coincidences, timing patterns, and anniversaries – connects to trifold motifs in myth and poetry: the triskelion, triple gods, and three-part story structures. It’s oddly comforting; even hinted at, the number three keeps appearing as a private refrain.
Ongoing Evolution
Looking back, Wolfblood, childhood games, poetry, myth, and relationships have combined to form a distinctive voice. Fascination with transformation and engagement with Greek and Celtic myth shape the lens through which I approach creativity, language, and identity. Even writing while sick and muddled feels part of the process: reflection, repetition, and transformation, much like the stories I’ve internalised.
This journey continues. I loop over old ideas, re-examine inspirations, and integrate them into new contexts. Each poem, blog post, and playful engagement with myth or folklore builds on what came before, creating a tapestry of experience both personal and universal. The past informs the present, and the present constantly reshapes how I read, write, and live.
