Good morning.
Writers in the Rafters
Writers in the Rafters, the creative writing group of Leeds Central Libraries, started up again yesterday after its Christmas break. We are in new premises - our lovely rafter-filled room has been let to paying customers on the afternoon we generally meet, and so we've been relegated to a table in the Art Library. The acoustics are great, and it's a warm, bright space, but there is no door to keep us private from the rest of the library - just a very decorative arch - and there are two public-access computers so we were slightly gatecrashed a couple of times.
I was almost late. Lingering over lunch with the lovely HM, discussing working in Alexandria, angels, and (briefly) the Ballet Boyz, I then had to dash down to meet my husband and give him his father's clean laundry (see Bunny a-Go-Go for more on this).
January is always good at Rafters as we tend to get new members in. Whether or not we retain them is a different matter; a lot of people turn up thinking it's a free 'course'. It actually can function that way - we set exercises to be completed and brought back for reading next month, we're encouraged to comment on each other's work. Mostly, though, these comments come in the form of genteel flattery and you have to ask if you want specific feedback.
One of the new members, a poet and novelist, had no qualms about offering advice. This is both refreshing and welcome, even if the first thing he did was comment unfavourably about the opening of a short story I'd just written, there and then, in response to an icebreaker Ben, our facilitating Librarian, had set for us.
Ben had produced a box of assorted objects and we were to pick several of them to write about. Focusing on a walking stick, an orange, a stress-reliever, a poncho and an empty jar, I wrote about a man being bored in the office and setting up a game of minigolf and his boss walking in. New Poet didn't like the opening in which I said the main protagonist was bored - the word resonated too much in the mind of the reader and set up negative associations at the start of the story. Fair enough. But it's a first draft, written in a ten-minute rush, on the spot. He later queried a point in a story from another writer - he just asked a simple question about whether something was actually what was done at the time, and she didn't like it at all.
I think New Poet is going to be a refreshing change.
East Leeds FM
I had an email last year, in the wake of 100 Poets, asking me if I'd be interested in perhaps doing a radio show on ELFM and inviting me to a meeting about it. It's a very small station due to move into larger premises later this year, with potential for a lot more shows and hosts. I understood a few people had been cherry-picked for this meeting, but when I got there, I was surprised and flattered - and maybe a little worried - that everyone else had done at least one show before... big learning curve ahead. My pitch for a nuts & bolts question-and-answer on the how to's of writing went down well, although there are some issues to sort out. But I made a lot of interesting contacts, and who knows where it will lead? I already have an author lined up for interview...
On a different note, and with a nod to my 'Rafters' paragraph. We have a young writer in the group who seems to need to big herself up constantly. She stresses the personal pronoun whenever she speaks. Now, she's young, I'm trying not to judge. But to the new members, having someone announce they're due to have their eleventh story read on radio soon can sound a little intimidating, especially as they don't know she doesn't get paid for any of these stories, which appear on East Leeds FM.
I'm just waiting for later in the year when she pipes up about being on the radio and I can ask her if she'd like to be on my show...
Bunny a-Go-Go...
My father in law is 82 and not the most cheerful of people so, behind his back, we refer to him as the Happy Bunny. This has become shortened to Bunny which, if you're listening in to me talking about him, makes it sound like a sweet little endearment. The reality is that Bunny is a strong-willed character with a great deal of determination and very sure opinions of the way the world should work.
He's been in hospital since last year (that sounds rather dramatic, I know...) from the end of December until now - two and a half weeks, really, with complications from his COPD. He's gone home today, so my husband is at the flat with him, waiting for the care team to go in and assess Bunny's care needs. He actually enjoyed being in hospital; he had people to talk to and was fed and looked after. In the outside world, the reality is that only my husband and I go to see him; he's fallen out with everyone, or they've fallen out with him. He wouldn't let us tell his granddaughter he was in hospital, although she works there and would have gone to visit him. I feel sorry for him, since he's obviously lonely, yet he won't go out to the local lunch clubs because it's too much effort. As non-drivers, it's very hard for us to make the journey all the way across Leeds, especially for my husband, who has full-time work to juggle as well.
Anyway, Bunny is Home, which is cause for celebration, and I'll be back on the shopping run from next week.
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