Creative Writing

This is a story about me! Well, no, actually it's not. It's about my stories and my writing, but about a fictitious writer at a creative writing course.

A special thanks to RF-Fast for helping to proofread and ensuring the story is in good shape.

Creative writing

After nearly 10 years of writing, my family still wondered since apparently, I still had nothing to show them. They took my claim of being a writer with a pinch of salt. What they did not know was I'd been writing and publishing successfully for quite some time. Only the stories I published were not those I'd be comfortable showing my family.

So, when they pestered me to attend a creative writing course, I had to either go or admit what sort of stories I'd written. I found a 3 day residential course and booked it.

As I pulled into the carpark of the venue, I had some second thoughts. It seemed likely that the subject of my writing would finally come up. The venue was a hotel that had a conference centre attached, but I'd arrived on the first day far too early to check in.

So, I headed inside and followed the signs until I found a middle-aged woman sitting behind a table with a clipboard and name badges in front of her. She looked up and greeted me, collected my details and handed out the badge with a large handwritten 'Ian' on it. She told me we had 14 people attending the course and I could help myself to a coffee whilst waiting for the others to turn up.

At the back of the room were the usual hotel thermos coffee pots, and I poured a coffee and leant against the wall to wait. The others came in quickly, in ones and twos.

Two mature ladies came in together. Both were in their seventies with white hair and large handbags. I could imagine knitting needles and wool would make up part of their contents. Next was a nondescript middle-aged man in a suit, a second pair of women whose appearance screamed 'mummy' in their thirties to early forties. Each was a little overweight and obviously close friends.

A tall slim man with balding grey hair I'd guess was about 60, a heavyset bearded man in his twenties. His scraggly hair and beard alone would have tagged him as a D&D fantasy follower. The cartoon wizard on his t-shirt just confirmed it. The next guy was around the same age, but slim, and his immaculate hair and subtle perfect clothes pinged my 'gaydar'.

Two young women appeared, and I'd guess they were only in their late teens. Both looked nervous and excited to be here. Next came a pair of hipsters in their late to early thirties. He had a long styled beard and his long hair combed back from his forehead and tied as a man-bun. With the hair on the sides of his head cut short. I took an instant dislike to him.

She, however, was a different matter. Her clothing gave off a steampunk vibe, and she was quite pretty, if not outright beautiful. Blonde shoulder length, slightly frizzy hair, slim but with a promising bust under her vintage baggy man's shirt.

We all wandered into the course's room.

The woman from the registration table hurried in and said we were already running late. She asked us to arrange our chairs in a curve in front of the podium for our keynote speaker. We'd barely sat when a man in his forties hurried in. He was a little overweight and with thinning hair and holding a sheath of cards holding his notes for his address to us.

To be honest, I didn't really pay that much attention after he'd introduced himself as a successful author with 8 published books under his belt. He did the usual sort of speech, reading it all from his cards. Writing can be a hard lonely profession, commitment and dedication are required. Write every day, and so on. Nothing I'd not heard from a dozen other sources before.

He spoke for 40 minutes, and we applauded politely as he smiled and then hurried off.

Barbara, the organiser, asked us to form the chairs more into a circle in front of a flip-chart. So, we could introduce ourselves and tell the others what we were looking for and what experience we had. As we moved around, she wrote our names on the chart, and I noticed my name was last on the list.

The two grandmothers wanted to write stories for their grandchildren. The teenage girls were both 1st year university students and were on this course to impress their professor. The 'mums' and the businesswoman wanted to write as a hobby. The businessman had been writing a historical novel for ten years but was struggling to finish it.

The oldest man turned out to be Simon, and he'd finished two novels, but seemed to lack the confidence to approach a publisher. I felt for him as I'd been in that situation. I'd written regular stories, and it's hard to get an honest opinion from family members.

The wizard t-shirt wanted to write fantasy stories, which wasn't a surprise. Carlton's voice confirmed his camp status and wanted to write mysteries. Which left the two hipsters, who it became clear were not a couple. She was Chloe and claimed to be a journalist. However, it turned out she was more of a blogger who occasionally had her blogs picked up by online news and gossip sites.

Hugo the hipster (actually James) looked on contemptuously at everyone as they told their stories. He was a proper journalist, working only temporarily in a provincial newspaper. He'd written and published three stories and eventually admitted he'd self-published, with only limited sales. Tens of books rather than thousands.

When it was my turn, I admitted I'd published over 35 stories, which had over 900,000 views. Originally, I'd intended to avoid mentioning I wrote adult stories, but Hugo's attitude, along with his man-bun, annoyed me.

I explained how publishing stories on Literotica gave me a platform for lots of readers and honest feedback. Allowing me to write many short stories and develop my skills.

Hugo said that sort of thing was smut and didn't count as proper literature. Before we could get into an argument, Barbara stepped in, reminding Hugo of the money made each year from trashy holiday books. She admitted that, whilst she wasn't sure about the subject matter I wrote, she knew that writing numerous shorter stories improved one's writing skills when you had feedback from a larger group.

Barbara talked about different methods to plot out a story, how to keep track of character traits and development. Good and bad writing habits and so on. Things I'd already read elsewhere.

After our afternoon coffee break, we returned to a pop quiz identifying books from their opening lines. It was a little unfair, as it seems nobody under 30 seemed to read the classics.

Before we finished on the first day, Barbara instructed us all to write a 500 word story for the following morning. Then she'd read them out, and we'd all comment on them and suggest improvements.

After finally checking into the hotel, I went to my room and showered and rested on the bed. I'd written a 500 word story like this a few years back, so I could just use that after I'd re-read it. Eventually I headed to the hotel restaurant, dined, then went through to the bar.

In one booth sat Simon, and he waved me over. We talked about his novels, and I shared my experience of doubt over taking the next step to publish. I even offered to read them and give an honest opinion if he wanted. He seemed reluctant to ask about my stories, but when Carlton came over and sat uninvited with us, he had no such reticence.

"So, Ian, you write porn?"

"Erotic stories, yes."

"Can you tell me where to find them?" He held his phone out to me.

"Are you sure? They may not be your sort of thing?" He shrugged.

I hesitated as I realised this would be the first time, I'd let someone I met face to face, to become a reader of my stories. It's a big difference between having thousands of readers all over the world, compared to having one in the room. But I suppose I cannot claim to be a writer if I don't let people read what I wrote. Time to put up or shut up. I typed in the URL to show my list of stories and handed the phone back.

Carlton started reading the list, and I was relieved when Simon asked me a question.

"You really write adult stories to improve your regular writing?"

"Yeah, think about it. Everyone who writes is at some point hoping to make money from it. I know I'll never make money from that site, however if I publish regular stories on a regular website, I'd be worried about my story ideas being stolen. Plus, you're competing with other authors for potential real income, so the responses might be unduly harsh."

"Oh fanfiction. I love that!" Carlton interrupts.

"Which one 'The Killer Robot Alternative' or 'Penny and Leonard Get Together'?" I asked.

"There's two? I love the Big Bang Theory." He replied and seemed buried in his phone.

Simon was about to ask another question when the grandmothers appeared and asked if they could join us.

"Have you all finished your homework?" One asked, and Simon and I nodded, whilst Carlton said he was nearly finished.

The conversation quickly turned to grandchildren, and I was happy to sit back and listen to the three older people comparing stories about theirs. Carlton excused himself to get another drink and as I was finishing mine, I looked over to the bar to see him chatting with the two teenage girls.

He waved his phone at them and pointed at me. 'Oh fuck!' I thought as I realised, he'd probably pass on the URL to the others. Instead of getting another drink, I told the others I was going back to my room to review my story.

When I got there, I wrote a new story. It might count as cheating if I had one already prepared. The original story was about a man sitting on a hillside with his lover watching the end of the world in a massive meteorite shower. It was quite a dark storyline.

So, I tried for another story, which ended up being an old man packing his belongings to move into a nursing home. And discovering a box of shells from his childhood. Each shell represented a summer holiday from the age of two until he was 18. Each was packed with memories. First candyfloss, first kite and so on. Up until the last one, remembering his first kiss and touching a girl's breasts. It was still a little glum, despite the happy memories.

I emailed Barbara 'the end of the world story' before I went to sleep.

As I walked into the course, the next morning, it was obvious everyone in the group had either seen the list or had read one or more stories. Hugo scowled at me, whilst Chloe gave me a cheeky grin. One of the grandmothers flapped her hand in front of her face as if she was hot under the collar and grinned at me.

I felt myself blushing slightly.

"OK, so you've all seen my published work. So what?"

Barbara looked confused. Obviously, she was out of the loop. Until I saw Carlton hand her a scrap of paper, presumably with the URL on it. She looked at it, looked at me, and then slipped it into her pocket.

"Let's get going, shall we? Who wants to read out their own stories?"

It turned out only Hugo and Carlton wanted to read their own, the others more content to let Barbara read them.

The stories were a mix, and some were quite good. Nobody gave any harsh comments until it came to Hugo, the hipster who naturally was compelled to comment on mine.

"It's full of cliche and trite."

Before I could defend my story, Barbara stepped in and did it for me.

"Whilst we try to encourage writers from using cliches, it has its place. When you have a limited space or when you need to maintain the pace of a story. It's perfectly acceptable in a piece like this to use them. Ian has managed to get a lot of emotion and action in 500 words, something he'd not be able to do without cliches."

We finished the stores by 11 am and took a break for coffee. Barbara asked me to stay as the others left the room.

"Did you write that story last night? It seems a little too polished."

"Actually, it's one I wrote a few years ago. I wrote a new one last night. Do you want to see that?" She nodded, so I logged into my laptop and emailed it to her.

By the time I'd done that, and she read it, the coffee break was over, and we went back to work.

When we broke for lunch, I was the first out, as I needed a drink. After grabbing a few sandwiches from the buffet and a coffee, I headed over to the long table to sit.

Chloe came up to me with her food and sat next to me.

"Seems you have quite an interesting lifestyle. If what I read last night is anything to go by."

"I hate to disappoint, but all the stories are entirely made up."

"All of them?" She asked, sounding a little disappointed.

"Sorry."

Carlton appeared and said. "You have quite an imagination then. Lots of different storylines and styles. Ever thought about writing a story about two men together?" He was playing, so I played along.

"I'm not averse to it, but I've no personal experience to make it authentic."

"I could help you with that." He replied flirtatiously.

I noticed Chloe gave me an odd look.

"I'll take a rain check if you don't mind." Chloe's expression changes to one of relief for some reason.

Carlton turned to her as Simon walked over.

"How many did you read?" Carlton asked her.

"I read them all."

"Really?" I was rather surprised.

"Yeah, I didn't get to sleep until after 3. And I had some pretty wild dreams."

"I like the 'Brief bus station encounter', for obvious reasons." Carlton added.

Hugo had just taken his seat towards the other end of the table, next to the teenage girls.

"No decent writer would touch that sort of thing." He muttered.

"What do you think of Neil Gaiman?" I asked him.

"I love him." 'Wizard,' commented.

"Because he wrote some erotic short stories."

"Really?" Chloe asked, and I nodded.

"Anyway, a story doesn't have to have rampant sex in it to be erotic."

"Like your 'A Solution to Money Troubles' series." Simon commented, admitting he'd read the stories as well. "The main character has no sex with anyone but herself."

"Like 'Discovering My Other Side'." Adds one of the teenage girls. "Such a simple premise, but really hot. I..." She realises everyone is looking at her and blushes. Then looks down at her plate.

Her friend grins at the reaction. "She made me read it, and I have to agree."

"What type of story was that, dear?" One of the grannies asked.

"BDSM," Carlton replies and smirks at the shock on the older woman's face.

"Oh, I could never read anything like that. Whips and chains and that sort of thing."

"It's not actually." I replied. "It's about a woman with a long time unexplored curiosity about being dominated. She visits a specialist club, and the owner offers to give her a taste of what she's curious about. They role play and using only the power of persuasion and physiological suggestion, she strips for him."

"And then he takes advantage. Typical misogynistic rubbish." Hugo interrupts.

"Actually, if I remember correctly, his only physical contact is to touch her knee." The two teenagers nod in agreement.

"How about we talk about something else?" Barbara suggests.

As lunch wrapped up, Barbara told us she'd be splitting us into groups for the rest of the course. So, as we returned to the course room, she split us into groups of three, based on what order we entered. Leaving Chloe and me in a group of only two. Chloe shrugged and grinned, seeming happy to be paired with me.

"OK ladies and gentlemen, I'd like one of each group to select three Lego from this bag," Barbara said, holding out a carrier back. "Make sure you only get one of each colour."

Chloe made our selection and placed them on the table in front of us.

"Now we're going to talk about genre of stories, give me a genre." She pointed at the first group with one of the grannies in it.

"Children's books." is the expected response.

"Ok, children or young adults." Barbara replied, writing that on her flip chart. "Next." She pointed to the next table, and the businessman replied.

"Historic."

"Yes, history of period books. Technically, I suppose a period book could be within our lifetimes. Well, mine at least." That got a little chuckle. "Remember the TV series 'Life on Mars'? That could be a period piece. Next,"

"Fantasy." Blurts out our wizard friend.

"OK, fantasy and science fiction roll in together. Next."

Hugo the hipster was sitting with the two teenage girls and looking extra smug. "Mystery."

"Oh, yes, I like that. Mystery covers quite a wide area, including crime and spy stuff. Next."

This time, it was Chloe who spoke up. "Erotica." She said and everyone burst out laughing.

"Ok, I suppose, but let's put that down as romance, shall we? There is a huge amount of other genres, but I always like to include horror or supernatural. It's not everyone's cup of tea. However, I think it will be useful for our next exercise."

She handed out a stack of the novel summary forms she'd shown us yesterday. Ones where we had to summarise an entire story in three paragraphs. But could make notes on styles and themes separately.

"What I want you to do in your groups is come up with three stories summaries for each of your genres."

"What genre?" Hugo asked.

Barbara looks at him, then back at her flip-chart. "Oops, silly me. She reached into the Lego bag and pulled out a coloured brick. OK, children and young adults are the blue brick."

She repeated this until each genre had a colour and we started work.

We had fantasy/fiction, historic/period, and mystery as our genres.

I wasn't trying to leave all the work to Chloe, but I'd a bucket of stories I'd written across a range of genres. And didn't want to ride roughshod over her. We bounced a few ideas around to get her started and she scribbled out ideas.

Barbara was walking around to see how we were doing and came up to us.

"I hope you're not leaving it all to Chloe?"

"Of course not, she's just got neater writing than me."

"Is he pulling his weight?" She asked Chloe, who replied with a rocking hand motion to say more or less.

"It is a team effort." She admonished me.

"I know, but I've written many stories that cover these genres."

"Ok, let's see." She looked at our Lego and then at her colour key. "Tell me a fantasy/ fiction story."

"Interview with a God." I replied instantly. "It's about a woman who flees her space ship in an escape pod moments before it explodes. Only to discover the other person in the pod is not human but is actually billions of years old."

"OK, but how about a period piece?"

"I've several, but how about 'The Norwegian Bride'?" I replied. "A 16-year-old girl is abducted from her small Scottish fishing village by the captain of a Norwegian whaling boat captain. He kept her secret from the crew and stashed her on a small island off the coast of Norway. Where they live together for 20 years. The story is told from the modern view through a historian's investigation of her journal."

"That sounds interesting. What about a mystery?"

"I've not got a title for this one, but it's an Agatha Christie Poirot style story, only set in the 1970s. Lots of suspects and red herrings."

"Fine, but what if you'd got one of the other topics like horror?"

"How about a witch's curse? An unlucky guy loses his girlfriend, his job and his life all on the same day. Only when he dies his mind moves back to moments before his own father's death. Seeing himself as a young man through his father's eyes. Then he goes back to a near death experience of his grandfather in World War 2. Only to die a few hours later and move further back.

"The curse was placed on one of his forebears moments before he burnt a witch to death. It was that he and all his line would suffer ill luck. His girlfriend had aborted his child when she realised, she couldn't stand him any longer. Causing the end of his line and his moving back through his ancestors is the curse unravelling." Barbara nods.