I had my MA graduation yesterday. To be honest, I didn’t really understand all the fuss: everyone congratulating me for doing something I paid to do and that I knew I was good at. Anyway, so I guess now I officially am entering adult life as a writer and working towards publication. I don’t have any further news on that point but I am serious about improving my work to the best it can be.

I’ve been reading The Bookseller, the magazine about the book and publishing world. I guess it’s my job now to learn as much as I can about the book market. It is an industry after all, and there is a difference between writing for creativity and self-expression, and writing for a commercial market and what a publisher is willing to fund. Authors have to straddle this gap, playing around what they want versus what other people want. I guess we all do that.

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I have joined a three-week long creative writing class taught by a creative writing professor. We all went round and said our experience. I hope I didn’t intimidate anyone in the class, me being the only person who is actually considering a career in writing. The teacher had us write something based on a memory or a photo. For the final week he is going to give everyone feedback on their writing, which is why I guess most people have signed up for the class. I love this, encouraging adults they can all be curious and creative – as are you!

The teacher encouraged us to have fun. I would add to this and say “and apply yourself.” Because it takes effort to write and then edit your own work. It won’t always be fun. They say to be a good writer you need to read a lot and write a lot. I would say this is true, but it is so much easier to read and write without thinking about it. Evaluating and deconstructing your own writing can feel a lot like hard work. That’s when you really need to know why you’re doing something and who it’s for. Do it to do a good job. Do it for your own simple joy at being creative and clever.

When I was a teenager, I was constantly writing poems and lyrics. I hardly edited them, and never showed them to anyone so never had any feedback. I love that I was simply being creative, but now I’ve realised you can only see how to make your writing better when you share it and receive feedback from others. It’s kind of like if you teach yourself guitar, but never play to anyone for years, then you could be playing the wrong notes for years without knowing it. Learning how to take feedback is a valuable skill for learning anything, and finding people who can give it to you is amazing. That’s why authors always copiously thank their editors in the acknowledgements.

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For the class, I decided to write a poem, using memory and photo. I sent it to my sister for feedback. I’m always up for more!

I remember being here,
with my hair and the shoes I wear,
using my powered wheelchair
and knowing who I want to be
and who I am when I see the sea.

I remember being there,
up a tree-covered hill on the rock at the top,
watching the ocean as the sun dropped down
and I tried to capture that photo in my mind’s eye
so I could think of it whenever I frowned or cried.

I remember to be aware
that imagination can always tell a better story
and I can choose what story you know,
how it feels to be brave,
bark on your skin,
scrape on your chin.
Time is one of those things you hold loosely in your palms,
and takes the trees lightly.

Yet I remember that we’ve grown
and can never go back to how we were before,
and our story is in the words we say.
A teabag dunked again into hot water,
straining out around us.
We are still the people we used to be,
everything changes but everything stays the same.

So for now you sit and think of a better story
and try to work out what you want.
You say everything you’ve said before,
expressed on the page in different ways,
who to be and what to do.
There is power in knowing who you are
and though you remember what has been done,
what is more exciting is what’s yet to come.

In September I’ll turn another year older
and I’ll keep hold of that memory of the sun setting into the sea.
Even at the time,
I knew that I would have to hold onto that moment forever
because one day I would grow up
and somehow I knew that when that time came
I would need to remember who I am.

– I Remember Who I Am


(Feature image is “The Big Tree” by Tim Probert)