The Circle Of Writers

When I arrive at Community Centre in Plymstock, at the back of the Somerfield Car Park, I get this strange feeling of not belonging. Through the blackness and night swallowed parked cars, I see a door way glow orange and footsteps behind me. A woman, new like me, walks in and I follow.

After a couple of minutes, we find the writers circle all sat round a large desk in a small room that echoes with their excited voices. We get introduced with kindness to the other twelve people and welcomed to this club that has been reading and writing and writing and reading for forty years! I look round at some old faces and listens to the stories they read out. A woman reads a story based on her real grandfather and the first world war that he and others endured. She cries half way through and passes it onto someone else to finish.

Only a few read tonight and I listen carefully and hear well crafted stories, years of hard graft at the keyboard or ink pen. An older man, who announces that he has cancer to us in a matter of fact way, reads part of an on going saga set around the Battle of The Somme. I wait my turn and start to, very unusaully for me, doubt my writing ability.

But I take out my nine pages and think, what the hell, and begin to read shakily, my legs and arms twitching at the sound of my own voice that is threatening to crack up. I keep it together and look up for somekind of support, some kind of sign that they are still awake. The new woman next to me tells me that I'm doing great in a whisper, so I carry on.

Afterwards, knowing them to be harsh but fair with their criticisms, I wait for the axe to fall. Slowly, from around the room, comes praise. They say they enjoyed it, that it was well written and clever and funny. When I was reading out the stuff I considered funny, I heard them laughing. So, I left realizing that it was true, what I had suspected all along- that I was writing well. I am definitely on the right track.

On Tuesday night, forgetting about my usual CSI double bill, I'll walk for thirty six minutes and then listen and read until two hours have gone.

Be safe, Enjoy life.

Mark Yarwood

Postcard from Plymouth

At the end of January, I sent off my PLUGGED manuscript to a friend of a friend- basically a contact in publishing- one of those great and rare things. Plugged being the most complete, I feel, works I've done so far, I thought that would be the best text to get off to her. Hopefully she's reading it now. And I can see her reading it, vizualizing her loving it and...

Next week I'm starting going to a writer's circle in Plymstock, a little out of the way place on the outskirts of Plymouth. This is the second time I've tried it, but hopefully I'll stick at it this time. Like Chuck Palahniuk, author of FIGHT CLUB, suggests on his website, it's very good and productive to read your work out, giving you the chance to hear your work and let others judge it too. Hopefully I'll get some good and constructive criticism.

I'll probably take along pages of my latest project, which I've written while following the Chuck Palahnuik school of writing. I'm over half way through as I think it's going to be about two hundred pages long probably.

One of my closest friends recently left old England for New Zealand, which I feel is a very brave move, especially for her. I hope she'll have plenty of stories to tell when she gets back, so basically I can steal them for my next novel. After all, she's been in a lot of my books already. So Good luck to her.

Well, I've been away for a bit, trying to get lots of things done and I've got my new life in Plymouth settled. I feel good. My writings going well. If you're a writer, hope yours is too.

Till next time,

M. Yarwood