It's the quiet ones you have to watch

I was at my writing class last night. I don't think I've mentioned that I've started a new creative writing course; it's the same introductory-level course I did last time except it's being run by a different person. Because the course brief is a fairly general one (is there any phrase more open to interpretation than the phrase "ways into creative writing"?), and everyone approaches writing differently, it seemed to make sense to do it again with a different teacher. At least, that's what my last teacher told me when I asked her about follow-up courses.

She's right; it's been a completely different experience, and I haven't been enjoying it nearly as much this time around. There's a few reasons for that. For a start, things seem a bit more serious this time; the content has been more academic and the discussions we have as a group are a lot more literary and high brow. Which is nice, and is perfectly fine; it's just..... different.

There are other things, too. The environment feels slightly less supportive than in my previous class. Not hostile, or even *un*-supportive; just lacking the same sense of all-in-this-togetherness.  It is getting better, marginally, week by week, and it might just be that it's still early days.  But it also has something to do with this particular teacher.  She still scares me a bit, if I'm honest.

The thing I took away in bucket loads the first time around, was confidence. I learnt some good writing tips and techniques as well, but those are things you can read in books or on the internet. The belief that there might be something vaguely worthwhile in what you've put on the page, or even the stuff which is still in your head and you're struggling to get down on the page, is a lot harder to develop, and our first teacher's softly softly approach really helped with this. Sharing work is a big hurdle and last time we built up to it slowly, swapping stories first in pairs and then in small groups, before having the option to read to the whole group.
There was none of that pussy-footing around this time; in our first lesson, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US was expected to read to the whole class, and it was a paragraph we'd been given less than five minutes to write. Scary stuff. It was fine, of course; none of us died, or caught on fire or suffered any other great tragedy but I'm very glad that this wasn't the first course I took.  I think I might have been put off.

A lot of people on the course are really quite good at this writing business, which makes the sharing work thing even more nerve-wracking.  Last night, for instance, I was in hysterics over one classmate's brilliantly comic description of a cocaine-fuelled yoga instructor packing for a holiday the morning after a party. At one point this guy was flinging silk boxer shorts across the room and into his suitcase, while stepping over the comatose body of a supermodel who was still passed out on his bedroom floor.  The classmate in question is the most innocent and serious looking of anyone in the class, and writes government legislation for a living. And people say civil servants lack imagination......

The other big difference, I think, is simply that the novely value has worn off.  Last time around, I came out of every lesson buzzing with excitement.  This time, it's been interesting, and challenging, but has been lacking that same sense of fun and wonder.   Still, things are going to get better, I think. I hope. Last night was actually quite fun.   I'm vaguely happy with the work I produced, and got some nice feedback from people, and know what I want to work on next.  All good. Good good good.

Something else which is good:  I'll be catching up with some of my old classmates this week for our monthly Friday Night Writers' Club.  As usual my story (a modern Cinderella tale with a twist) isn't quite finished, and certainly won't be as polished as I'd like it to be before showing it to people, but they won't mind that.  And the nicest part is, I know I won't mind either.