Writing is a solitary pursuit… but you don’t have to do it by yourself.
Once a month, a group meets in the Woodlands Workspace, near Charing Cross in Glasgow. We write ﬁction in various genres. We work individually, together. Collectively, we write alone.
We all know what we want to do. We all think we know how to do it. The format is simple. We write for ﬁfty minutes in every hour, each developing our personal projects. That’s it. No bells. No whistles.
The Woodlands Workspace is an ideal venue for these mini-retreats. Join us for some stripped-down, pared back, streamlined writing time.
We offer no tips, tricks, teaching or tutoring in these sessions.
We do offer focused time to structure and develop your own work, and the quiet encouragement of others attentively ignoring you.
You’ll bring your own ideas and inspirations, your own pencil, paper, pen, notebook, laptop, your own motivation – and snacks if you need them. Tea and coffee will be provided.
Sun 3rd Nov – 1pm-5pm
Sun 1st Dec – 1pm-5pm
Each half-day session will cost £10.
Any proﬁts will be returned to the
Woodlands Community Development Trust.
to book – or for more information – email firstname.lastname@example.org using ‘Woodlands’ in your header
You can‘t be a writer unless you were first a reader. You must read widely to write well.
But what to read…? Where to start…? The choice is overwhelming.
I’ve lost count of the number of novels I’ve read at a single sitting over the years, nourished by the words on the page but forgetting to eat, or to sleep, neglecting all my other responsibilities till the last page had been turned. But becoming a writer broke something inside my head. The ability to get lost in a book now eluded me. My concentration span contracted. It became rare to discover a book which would hold my attention hostage. Now I read a novel with one eye, while the other carefully considered the subtleties of mood, style, tone, plot and dialogue. Good writing inspired me, a page or two enough to drive me to my keyboard with the renewed determination to produce something of equal quality. And lot of what I read left me thinking I can do better than this, and had me at my desk even quicker. It began to take something special to capture me for more than ten minutes at a time.
Disciplined reading means this injury is healing, although the scar will always be there. The reader and the writer live side by side in my head now, sharing the same space, but content to take their turns. I can read for pleasure again, and lose myself in a fictional world, knowing that when the book is closed at the end, the writer in me will interrogate the reader – ‘Did you enjoy that? Why? What were the strengths? Where were the weaknesses? Why were the characters memorable, likeable, irritating, elusive? What about the dialogue? Was the ending surprising, saddening, or contrived? Why…?
I read carefully now, avoiding the impulse purchase, letting other people sort the wheat from the chaff before I take the rich pickings. I read those books my friends recommend, those which find critical acclaim, which win prizes, awards and accolades, those which are adapted for TV or movie for screen, or those which remain in print as the years pass.
Once upon a time, a picture was was worth a thousand words. No less. And no more. But today your image may only garner a twelve word tweet, and your selfie snare no more than a ‘like’ before they both disappear in the tsunami, never to be seen again. Swamped by images, submerged in videos, …