After a course free day on Tuesday it was back to work with
a vengeance on Wednesday. For a change, I decided to try Comedy Sketches, a two
part course run by Tony Kirwood. After all, laughter is the best medicine. There was good news and bad news. Writing
sketches for radio is apparently the best way to break in which is great but
the sketches I came up with were visual, so there’ snot much I can do with them
right now. If anyone reading this wants a couple of very short sketches to film
or whatever, get in touch.
From 11.15 to 12.15 it was back to Xanthe’s course on
finding inspiration for novels. The focus for this session was learning to
trust your instincts plus a guided imagery session where we were asked to meet,
and draw, our inner critic. My inner
critic has dogged me all my life, and not just with my writing. It’s been like
living with an evil parrot sitting on my shoulder telling me I’m old fat
unlovable useless and ugly. Why I’ve never strangled it, I don’t know. If it
was a real parrot it would have gone back to the shop decades ago. Xanthe explained that getting rid of the
critic altogether isn’t the best idea.
Instead she gave us a way of managing it instead. When I want to be
inspired or creative or to simply get on with writing, or living, I can either
sit on the picture of the inner critic or lock it away in the fridge or a
drawer. I can’t tell you how brilliant that idea felt. For me, it was worth the
entire fee for the school.
I skipped The Write Hour as I felt I’d done enough useful work
for one day. The Write Hour ran each day (except Tuesday). People could go to a
choice of sessions led y a facilitator (poetry, memoir, storytelling or
scriptwriting) and actually get to write something. I only managed one, run by
the lovely Marion, and it was great.
That night we had a couple of speakers – David and Hilary
Crystal who gave us a quick tour of the UK looking at the way the English
language developed. It was a bit dry for me, probably because I’d had such a
busy day and wasn’t in the mood for
anything serious but it seemed to go down well with most people.
Then, at 9.30, the highlight of the week, or at least one of
them, when the mini plays and sketches were performed. As always most of them
were hilarious. My dear friend, Betty Moulder, a white badger this year, threw herself in the deep end with a part as a grieving widow spider.
The winner was a spoof about a legend surrounding the lake at
Swanwick where a bundle of clothes are found and it’s thought a suicide has
taken place. For me, the best part was definitely when Simon Hall appeared
wearing a guitar and very little else.
Wednesday night is traditionally a time when any members of
Leeds Writers Circle, attending Swanwick, share a bottle or two of champagne,
courtesy of Dennis Clarkson. Last year, it became something of a battle to see
which of us would be the last to give in and go to bed (me). Sadly, this year
the party didn’t include me…
Of course, this being Swanwick, the fun wasn’t over. Lesley
had organised a session of Scottish dancing. Despite some annoying technical
troubles, a good time was had by all. I
didn’t risk dancing. On Tuesday, I’d gone for a hike into town to get some cash
for my dear friend Betty who, sensibly, didn’t fancy a long walk. Foolishly I
went between classes and didn’t change my shoes. The result, blisters and a
damaged foot.
Sorry about the photo but at least this was taken once it was on
the mend!
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