What if....

Ignoring, for the time being, the larger question of where I've been for the past ten months, I have spent the past four Thursday evenings attending a writing course.  Stepping out of my comfort zone and into a room with other people has not been easy, but throughout it all I have had the company of my self saboteur - never one to let me venture too far on my own without letting me know she's there.

Sitting in a room, sandwiched between a knitting group and a Big Band rehearsal, I have begun to learn what it takes to be a writer, and spent more minutes than I think I ought, pondering what could have been if I hadn't given up playing the clarinet 30 years ago, or if anyone would notice if I slipped into the café to hide amongst the balls of yarn.

I don't read enough, currently I write even less, and my 'friend' who I've brought with me is quick to question what I'm doing here.  And, as the sound of the much loved music of my childhood swings around the room, I find myself craving the companionship of playing in an orchestra - reminiscing about the days sat next to a phenomenally talented oboist who used to cover for me when it came to a bit I couldn't play, transposing the music on sight.  But, for the next two weeks at least, I am committed to being a writer, which is handy because I have already signed up for my next literary adventure to follow this one.

Still looking for a way that I can do something that will actually make a difference to the climate and ecological emergency facing the planet, I have decided to join a team of people invested in finding ways to write our way to a better future: to shift the narratives; tell the stories; and plan the road maps that will lead us from where we are to a future worth leaving to those yet to come.(1) But when the 'Basic Tips for Writer's' bonus podcast (2) for the course only compounds my feelings of inadequacy I can't help but wonder if I'm on the right track.

It would be fairly easy to blame this on my aforementioned inner critic, after all she's been omnipresent this past month, but actually I think, this time, she might have a point.  I don't think I am a writer of fiction.  I fell at step one - READ, A LOT, then there is the fact that there is precious little room in my head for anything other than my daily ruminations on life, and certainly not enough space to develop characters and plot.

I am anxious about entering into a forum with published writers, experts, educated, learned and far better read people, and already I'm worried about how I will introduce myself.  Am I a writer? A blogger? A weaver of story? (which I recently wrote down and was rather pleased with, but can't imagine actually saying out loud).

Yet still I want to write, and still I think I have a part to play in this, and now I'm thinking perhaps the fact that I don't know what that part is, is the fundamental key to the whole venture.  

Enter one of the reasons I haven't had time to write - I continued working with the group of artists and the resultant exhibition opens in a fortnight!  Entitled 'Curiosity' my main piece is a wool shawl made from deconstructing and reconstructing my (married) family tartan, several pieces of Yorkshire tweed and some upcycled denim, in 12cm squares.

When I cut the first square, and for a long while thereafter, I had no idea what the end result would be, but by cutting and reweaving the fabric: sometimes tartan with tartan; other times tweed on tweed; often a mixture of the two; and occasionally a denim strip to shake things up a bit, a new fabric emerged that had been unimaginable at the start, but which has a beauty and depth which I hope is far richer than the original pieces of cloth in isolation. Take even one colour out and the resultant fabric would lose it's vibrancy.  It, like the music emanating from the rehearsal room, a product of every piece playing their part and together forming something far greater than the sum thereof.

Whilst sharing her tips for writing, author Manda Scott talks about not planning her novels, the excitement, for her, lying in not knowing what is going to happen as she writes, believing that the power in the book comes from her characters value systems: where they lead them and where the challenge points are.  And, I'm wondering if perhaps I ought to try to adopt a similar approach, but with myself cast as the main character in the (unwritten) novel of my life.  What if I just went to this writing forum without any idea of the outcome?!  What if I just turn up with all the fragmented parts of my experience packed in my bag, without over thinking how they'll compare to anyone else's? (What if my readers of old are now wondering if someone else has taken over writing this blog?!)

So, perhaps that's what I've been doing most over the past months - changing my thought processes - developing a growing understanding that we each have our own part to play and we play it best when we show up as ourselves, because ultimately for whilst I can learn new things, I am enough as I am - right here, right now.   Am I still daunted by the prospect of putting myself into a group of visionaries and wordsmiths? Absolutely.  But whether my contribution is no more than this blog, or an Instagram post, or an arts collaboration, or a conversation amongst friends it is as much a part of the overall narrative as the third clarinet is to the orchestra (just keep your fingers crossed there's someone next to me to help out with the tricky bits!)

(1) The Thrutopia Masterclass

(2) Basic Tips for Writers