Images of Edinburgh

Today I completed the confronting task of discussing my poetry in my one-to-one tutorial time. It was confronting not because of whom I had to talk, but because I had to talk about it at all. But, like so many things that scare us and are difficult, such as going to the dentist or learning to ride a bike, it was all worth it in the end (okay, you're right, going to the dentist is never worth it).

Beforehand I had an image of my tutor throwing my pages across the table at me and exclaiming that it was all rubbish and what did I think I was doing. Or in an alternative but equally daunting scenario sitting politely and nodding with a stiff smile plastered on her face as I desperately tried to say something intellegent and make her like me (which is what it's all about, of course, it's what everything is about).

There were many other nightmares playing out in my mind (which I won't bore you with just yet) but most of them ended with me curled into a ball sobbing quietly and retaining a persistent phobia of writing, reading and even of pens - those orchestrators of my downfall!

Of course, nothing like it eventuated and I had a lovely, productive discussion with my wonderfully supportive tutor who didn't once throw anything or nod politley.

I have two more tutorials before the end of the course, so she still has time...

Writing in Edinburgh

Today our course started with a seminar and library tour. We read beginnings and wrote beginnings as would be appropriate for the beginning of anything.

I handed some work to my tutor so she could read it in preparation for my one-to-one tutorial session tomorrow afternoon. I decided to go with poetry and I was flattered (prematurely because she hadn't actually read it yet) when she asked if I was working towards a collection or anthology of my poems.

I must look like a writer or sound like a writer (although that could be down to my non-fashion, hippy tendencies and the fact that I'm a bullshit artist for a living). On the theme of beginnings, I might even be beginning to think that I'm a writer and that could be a daunting thought. I wonder how it's going to end?

Counting down to Edinburgh

At the start of August I'll be heading to the UK to take part in the Scottish Universities' International Summer School. I'm going to give the Creative Writing Course a red hot go.

I'm both nervous and excited by this opportunity. I think I'm feeling a little intimidated by it all and I'm not sure that I'm up to it. I tend to do this to myself - dash out onto the limb and then realise how far down it is, get scared, vow not to look down again, look down anyway, have a mild panic attack while I imagine myself splattered all over the ground below, then become frozen in place like those cliched cats that have to be rescued by the fire brigade (don't the fire brigade have anything better to do?) In this case, the 'frozen in place' part will actually ferry me swiftly and surely to Scotland since all the arrangements have been made and I'm now too scared witless to do anything about it. I'll be dragged along by a tide of my own making.

I hope they don't mind a metaphor, a simile or two in this course, I think I've got that under control.