…and it nearly was!
I wrote here about the conflict of interest I suffered ahead of this year’s Romantic Novelists’ Association Conference in Shropshire. Two members of my local Marcher Chapter were leading sessions, but as they were both scheduled for the same time, I had to choose between them. I did think about spending half the hour in one lecture theatre then nipping across to catch the last half of the other talk, but that wouldn’t have worked. I wanted to immerse myself in whole talks, not spend my time looking at my watch.
It was impossible which session to choose, so I flipped a coin. Joanna Maitland and Sophie Weston’s Add Sparkle to your Manuscript won. Joanna and Sophie run the popular Libertà blog, covering all things bookish.
I took my seat in the comfortable seats of the university’s largest lecture room and settled down for a light-hearted canter through the English Language and how it should be used. Instead, I heard those dreaded words; “This workshop…”
Aargh! I love our Marcher Group workshops, as we work on our pieces at home, and only submit them when they’re (to the eye of their creator anyway) perfect. I always avoid spontaneous workshops, where you have to whip something up on the spot for the benefit of a group of strangers. classing them with other forms of torture such as diets and editing. I didn’t book this weekend away from my desk to work! This was supposed to be a holiday! Didn’t Joanna and Sophie know that?
Actually, “Sparkle” wasn’t like that at all. It was a fun session, encouraging us to turn a deliberately terrible made-up extract of writing into something exciting and readable. I can’t go into too many details as Joanna and Sophie use some of it on their highly successful Sparkle Days, but you can read their account of the session I attended here.
Like all the best workshop sessions, “Sparkle” taught me as much about myself as it did about my writing. The reason I hate workshops, I discovered, is because I can’t bear anyone to see my work until it’s completely finished. I couldn’t bear to read something out that I’d whipped up in five minutes, on command. Completely finished, as every writer knows, is a state that no piece of writing ever achieves. However much you fiddle and fuss with it, you’ll always find some new reason not to send your literary baby out into the cruel world of beta readers and reviewers. I know I do.
Maybe if I spent less time agonising over every line, I’d get more writing done. I must force myself to attend more workshops.
I can’t believe I just wrote that last line. What’s the single biggest thing that would improve your writing?