If I'm not at home or in the office, I'm on the South Bank. Or, at least, that's how it feels these days. Last weekend I did something I haven't done for years in London - I joined a queue of tourists. My friend was visiting with her two daughters so we went up in the London Eye. (And caught a bus to London Zoo, hence the gratuitous comedy photo of a llama.) Two days later, I was back on the South Bank to catch the lift to the sixth floor of the Royal Festival Hall for the members' bar, where I was joining three friends in a writers' group.
This was only my second sojourn with a writers' group. I've always avoided them. The idea of sharing my clunky, out-of-control work in progress makes me shudder. But I'm starting to see the point now. With agents and publishers, even friends, you don't want to show work in progress. As I've said, it's too shudder-inducing. But with other writers you trust - and I suspect this trust is all-important - you can hold your hands up and happily proclaim, 'I don't know what's happening here!', 'I have no idea what's going to happen next!' and 'Can you see how many times someone looks over their shoulder?' Your fellow writers kindly and gently ask pertinent questions, circle the 50 'so's you've used in one paragraph, play devil's advocate and make suggestions. It's both liberating and encouraging. Even from this, only my second meeting, I have found it so inspiring to see other people's texts blossom and hopefully mine too. We also get to gossip and drink wine. Does anyone else have positive experiences of writers' groups? Or less positive?
In other news, my agent has been in touch with feedback on my second draft. I'm just waiting for further comments from her assistant (an assistant! the luxury of an assistant!) and then it's nose to the grindstone for a third draft. There's still a lot of work to be done and interesting questions have been thrown up. I feel quite sanguine about this stage. I know I'll have to work hard, but that's okay. I'm used to hard work! And my mind has been turning over the ending, which is always a good sign.
This morning, I have the start of a cold and it's raining so that must mean I am duty-bound to stay indoors all day sewing, sewing, sewing. What a tragedy. I might even think about my novel whilst sewing. Or I might not.
NB Here's another photo that has nothing at all to do with my writing blog. It's me running the Cardiff Half Marathon earlier this month, with Cardiff Castle in the background. I don't look very fast, do I? That's because I'm not. I'm a plodder. But oh my goodness, us plodders get there in the end. (And no, I'm not just talking about half marathons.) All runners are semi-insane. Fact. Why else would we do this to ourselves? But that beautiful day with the sunshine, the autumn crispness and the breathtaking Cardiff bay was one I will never forget. Surrounded by nothing but blue sky, blue waters and a load of other maniacs was a great moment. Try it next year!
