editorialgirl

I recently found a story I wrote in secondary school that’s made me rethink the way I write. Or don’t write, as is more often the case.

The story is called Prejudice. It’s the tale of a girl called Jo, who’s being bullied at school and decides to run away. (I know. Just… stop sniggering.) It hasn’t got a date on it, but it does have my class number, so I know it was written in the third year, when – as one of the youngest in my school year – I would have been 13. (Yes, you can read it in a minute. Just indulge me, please, by reading this first.)

I remember this assignment being set for us quite clearly. Our usual English teacher was away so we had a substitute; a young woman we hadn’t met before, who’d obviously been drafted in at the last minute. I don’t remember the lesson itself, but for the homework, she had simply asked us to write a 1000 word story on the subject of “prejudice”.

I can remember the joy I felt at this. After our usual lessons, which would involve reading and analysing set texts, perhaps writing an opinion piece or even a creative piece based on one of those, it was liberating to be given a vague theme and told to come up with whatever we liked.

I still work best when given a theme, a word count and a deadline. But usually I’m writing non-fiction, for work. Reading this story now has made me pine for the creative writer I was then.

Yes, there is plenty wrong with it – not least the knuckle-chewingly dreadful naivety of a young author writing on a subject she knows nothing about. But it’s what’s right about it is precisely what’s missing from any writing I do now: I didn’t worry about anything – I just wrote.

And what’s more, if you can ignore the haphazard punctuation, slippery spelling and terrible paragraph control, it’s actually quite well-structured. It’s (more or less) got a proper plot curve! The scene is set at the beginning, with some flashbacks to place the character and introduce some tension that will need resolving. The journey continues to a climax point, whereby a conflict enables the character to put her own problems into context. And so the tension is resolved.

Okay, you can read it now. I’ve copied it out exactly as it was written then, dodgy grammar and all.

So over the next few weeks I’m going to try and channel my blithely confident 13 year old self and try and write short stories the way I used to. I’m going to pretend that, once again, my standard sources are dad’s Daily Mail, mom’s Women’s Weekly and whichever books from Hall Green Library’s “young adult” aisle I am currently reading. Who cares? I’m going to try not to worry about a thing – and just write.

*editorialgirl surfaces, gasping for air*

I could use this post to grumble about the fact that I still don’t have internet access in the new place, but I won’t. Especially since it’s my own lazy fault.

Instead, I’m just going to point you to something eerie and wonderful. And very, very scary.

Scott Pack, once described as “the most powerful man in the books trade“, now of publishing house The Friday Project, reviewed my piece The List on the Arvon Friends website last week.

He described it as “witty and clever … wonderful observational writing” and said that I’m “definitely an author to watch”. I’m not sure what he thinks I’m going to do …

You’ll have to excuse me, I’m going to gush.

Back in Brum, I’m experiencing information overload after a fantastic week in Shropshire, thinking about nothing but writing. I was on an Arvon creative writing course, “Starting to Write”, tutored by Mark Haddon and Will Fiennes. Returning to reality has been a big, big comedown.

Lots of people have said “you’ve had such a good time, would you do another one?” and my answer has had to be “no”. Not because I didn’t enjoy it – quite the opposite! The chemistry of “our” week was so perfect, I’m afraid another course could never live up to it.

The tutors were gentle, lovely, down to earth people, who treated us as professional writers. Quick to praise and constructive in their criticism, Will and Mark were the perfect teaching team. They gave us invaluable advice and inspiration that will stay with me forever.

Nestling in a Shropshire valley, the Arvon centre – John Osbourne’s former home, The Hurst – is an amazing retreat. We spent every day listening to birdsong in the sunshine and every night looking at the stars. I’ve never seen so many stars. (The weather helped, of course. How can you fail to be inspired by lush green hills under deep blue skies?)

The Centre Directors Kerry and Pete (and their gorgeous daughter Pearl) gave us a fabulous welcome and were the perfect hosts. How they do it week after week, I do not know. But they just keep smiling.

My biggest fear had been my fellow students, especially having to share a room with someone I’d never met, but I needn’t have worried. My room-mate Fiona was brilliant. She made me laugh loads and she didn’t snore once. We were a group of fifteen, but even after five days in each other’s company, there wasn’t anyone who made me feel irritated or intimidated. No-one was too loud and no-one too quiet. No-one hogged all the attention, no-one sucked up to the tutors. We were equals. I had sparkly conversations with every one of my fellow writers; I trusted them implicitly. I am honoured to have met Andy, Anna, Chrysse, Fiona, Fran, Gina, Jackie, Jess, Kris, Paul, Peter, Sam, Sue and Tamsin.

On the final night, we all read out a piece that we’d done during the week. If you’d told me before that we would have to do that, I’d have been in two minds about going, but the course had upped my confidence so much that I did it with gusto and really enjoyed myself. I read a piece called The List, and afterwards, I’m blushing to say, Director Pete asked me if I’d mind him sending it to the Head Office for publication on the website.

What’s it a list of? You’ll have to read it to find out. Is it true? Well, put it this way: before I could let Pete send it, I had to change some of the names…

Today I finally plucked up the courage to post an application form that I’ve been carrying around for ages.

It’s a residential writing course for beginners that’ll be held in September by the Arvon foundation. The tutors for the course are proper published authors and everything.

Starting to Write: Telling Tales
“For people interested in writing prose of all kinds. We will explore the link between real life and imagination. If you’re willing to experiment, you should finish the course better equipped to tell the truth and to make things up, and understand how close the two things often are.”

(No idea if they will have any places; my courage did not stretch to phoning up and asking simple questions.)

UPDATE: they didn’t have any places :o(
I’m on the waiting list though – let’s hope there’s a cancellation!

ANOTHER UPDATE (July): I had a call to say there had been a couple of cancellations and would I like a place? Now I’m all nervous about it again – but can’t wait!