Wednesday, 30 September 2015

Desperately seeking other writers

Writing can be a lonely job, apparently. (I'm still at the point in mothering where it's hard to use the toilet without company, so it doesn't bother me, yet...) 

I want to meet more writers, though, and commit more to my writing - it's so easy to let your dreams slide when you're trying to juggle so many high-priority things that your own stuff feels a bit like selfishness. 

I've signed up to some creative writing classes which are being held locally, and which fit into my week perfectly, while Chickpea is at playgroup. I really had no excuse. I start tomorrow, so I've painted my nails in preparation (an important part of feeling confident enough to face a room full of strangers). I've also dug out my Swanwick Summer School notebook, to make me look like I'm taking my writing seriously, and a pen with a lovely smooth flow. 

I'm feeling a little nervous - only a little - and quite excited at the possibilities. It's another of those little moves outside my comfort zone that I keep trying to make, and which are generally quite rewarding even when they give me a knotted stomach. What if everyone else is incredibly talented? What if they all think I'm rubbish? What if the course isn't what I expect? What if it's just a displacement activity that takes me away from the real graft of editing and polishing my work-in-progress?

Worst of all though - what if I don't have to walk into a room full of strangers? What if I'm the only one who is free in our little village and its locality at 1pm on a Thursday afternoon in October? How awkward! And my nails would be wasted...

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