I'm a student again! I have a student badge thing and everything.
I've started an evening class on a Monday at one of the universities here in London. The first session was yesterday.
I keep finding myself a little embarrassed when I tell people what the course is: it's a novel writing course.
I'm very used to writing shorter pieces, structured as a short article should be structured. I want to write soemthing longer, much longer. A novel perhaps. I've said for years that "I don't need no course to help me" but after not having written this so-called novel ever, I thought I should do what my friend Kate said and actually pitch up at one of these things.
The group at last night's session seemed really diverse and interesting ... and the course tutor is great, couldn't be more helpful in terms of my access needs too.
So, now I've got to think about writing. It looks as if the homework is going to get heavier and heavier over the 10 weeks of the course (yes folks, it takes just ten weeks to learn to be a novel writer ... the course doesn't claim that and I'm being ironic obviously). It's got an academic element to it which I like. And, by the very small sample of writing I've seen from other students on the class, it looks as if it could be really interesting as everyone seems quite on the ball.
So here I am. If you remember, I started writing this blog to get me writing! To overcome a bit of a writers block I was having. 'Do your worst' was a note to myself. It meant: just write anything, off the top of your head, don't doublecheck or spellcheck it. Just flipping write.
I've broken the rules a bit in that I have gone back and edited bits ... but not much.
So, here I am, at the start of an interesting new learning curve. I've got to get the writing juices juicing. This blog is my exercise pad (amongst other things). Let me see. How do I feel tonight ...
I feel alive. Like the agar jelly in the bottom of the petri dishes in the biology lab at school. That alive. Also nervous, nervous like Stuey off the Thorn Birds (circa 1983) when the wild boar began to run at him at the scene of the bush fires ... and he couldn't aim with his gun. And I feel a little bit righteous too, a self improvement drive that Gillian off 'you are what you eat' would think good if this was food I was talking about, not words.
Clearly I have the makings of quite a special writer.