This is for you, Mum: reflections on creative writing access

I had a brilliant, beautiful, energetic, determined mother. At school, she won prizes. She loved to read, as did my father. She understood the power of words, reading to me when I was ill (which was often), buying me books, going over my early tentative stories, instinctively pushing me to sharpen the prose, clarify the message, enhance the feeling.

Neither of my parents went to university. Back then, there simply wasn’t the money. There wasn’t the sense that it was possible.

I was lucky to be born into a generation that saw going to university as an option – even a right. So I went.

That much, my mother could have foreseen. But she wasn’t around to see me graduate with my Master of Arts in English Language and Literature, to see one university lead to another. She wasn’t around to see me become a teacher of the art she had introduced me to in childhood.

Last month, I finished my annual season of teaching summer schools in creative writing for Oxford University’s Department for Continuing Education, now rebranded as Oxford Lifelong Learning. This work has been an integral part of my year since 2002. It involves a super-charged period of interaction with students and a shedload of bureaucracy, which, as any teacher knows, is the hardest part of being in the educational system. Hundreds of students have passed through my classrooms during these years. We’ve shared truth, laughter, knowledge and inspiration. I hope I’ve guided them, enriched their skills, given them confidence and encouragement, the way my mother did for me. 

Why is this so much on my mind, other than the annual taking stock after a high-intensity couple of months? It’s because I’ve been pondering the importance of access. Two of my summer schools were held in Rewley House, a building where the University started running summer programmes in the late 19th century for those who lacked access to education. My room this year was the Sadler Room, named in honour of Michael Sadler, one of those early educationalists who saw how right it was to help working-class people improve themselves. He set up ‘Summer Meetings’ from 1888 - a forerunner of our popular summer schools.

He saw, most importantly, that women needed an education. Pretty much a century after his initiative, the year I arrived at Oxford my college was accepting women for the first time: let no one take for granted that educational access for women was a problem solved so long ago there is no need to keep feeling grateful for it.

I am thankful every single day for the pathways that have been open to me. I have followed those paths on behalf of those who couldn’t take them, like my dear mother. In my classes I see an extraordinary mix of people, all eager to explore what words can do. Many are students whose demanding circumstances have meant they can turn to creativity only in middle or old age. They are fired with enthusiasm, seeing new possibilities open up. They make writer friends. They share amazing stories. Some go on to publish and I am immensely proud of them. Some have absolutely no desire to publish: they are exploring what stories mean to them at a deeply personal level.

At the end of each course we celebrate at a formal dinner, taking photos and sharing contact details. And I wish, I wish, that my mother’s face could have been in one of those photos. She would have loved that chance. That fellowship. That acceptance that creativity was possible. That path to fulfilment.

So I walked it. I walked it for you, Mum.

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This post is a companion piece to Clare Flynn’s guest post about women in academia.

For details of Oxford Lifelong Learning’s many part-time courses, summer schools, the Undergraduate Diploma and the Master of Studies in Creative Writing, go here. OUSSA summer schools launch early next month.

Kickstart your Imagination: how Writing Prompts Work

Let’s start with why I’m talking about writing prompts at all. A strangely organic process has been taking place over the past few months. It began when we headed into lockdown: I started thinking about how I could help writers by running a free online writing retreat session. (By the way, I’m about to run my fourth one tomorrow – you can sign up here).

Loads of 40 people signed up for it, which blew me away. Then I had to come up with the structure for the session. I could, of course, have welcomed attendees, set a timer and let them get on with their current work in progress.

But I felt more was needed, so I set about designing two separate writing sprint sessions, each with eight prompts, one of which was a picture. That became the template for each retreat, book-ended with discussion and chat.

Five weeks ago, I started thinking again. I know, it’s a bad habit I’ve fallen into …

I was thinking of the people who couldn’t attend the online retreats – or didn’t want to because they didn’t like the tech aspect of joining an online meeting. What about them? I decided I’d design a little PDF of prompts for them.

I came up with prompts. And more prompts. I spent my late evenings on Canva, designing the pages. I added workbook pages and advice on creating a retreat when you’re at home. 53 pages on, I realised I had more than a quick PDF resource: I had a self-study mini-course. It went live on Tuesday and until midnight on Sunday 21st you can get it for $17, which is less than half price. (Find out more here.)

But, back to the whole notion of prompts. I have fun creating them because I imagine the kinds of stories they’ll inspire. We writers are eternally afraid of the blank mind, the blank page. The urge to write that has no focus on what to write.

So when the Muse isn’t making home deliveries, we need those triggers, those little goads to the imagination. And what’s fascinating is how writers can make such different stories out of the same prompts – that’s certainly been evident in the online retreats so far.

Prompts work in different ways, so let’s explore some of them and why they work.

• There’s the ‘opening sentence’ kind of prompt. It acts like a springboard into what follows. It’s like you stop telling a joke just before the punchline and you let someone else come up with that punchline and deliver it. A trigger like this works because we like to fill in the blanks, the gaps between given facts. Conversely, you could set an end-line and ask the writer to imagine the story that led up to that point.

• Then there’s dialogue – sometimes just a single speech, that works because it is so immediate, so intimate. You’re pulled into an exchange, a dynamic between characters. The speech makes you think of voice and tone and attitude – of the character who’s likely to speak in that way.

• Some prompts work because they’re evocative. A descriptive phrase, a metaphor, can create a mood, a scene. The writer drops in, looks around, imagines the kind of story that could be set there, the kind of situation that would give rise to that particular image.

• Then there’s the picture prompt. I always include them because some people’s imaginations are more easily triggered by seeing an image – it could be a face or an object or a place. A Mediterranean harbour. An old house or a distant planet. A flower held in a hand. A war memorial. (Are any of these triggering a story in you?)

• You can have theme prompts, where you present the trigger as a simple subject statement: ‘the pity of war’, for instance. Interestingly, these may not be the best route to imaginative story-creation. They can be the doorway to polemic instead, where message dominates what is written. It’s important to maintain empathy, to go into and inhabit story, rather than just preach.

• Finally, there are the single word prompts. Deceptively simple, even slightly flat at first sight, these are the prompts that yield richness because they are more oblique, more of a hint, more open to interpretation.

Prompts are a resource to turn to when you’re feeling restive and when, as I said earlier, you want to write but you don’t know what you want to write. You hand over responsibility to a single word or image or teasing phrase. Your imagination, like a dog that’s flopped in the corner on a hot day, stirs, rises, starts to look eager at the prospect of a walk.

Keep a box or book of writing prompts by you, if you can. Treat the box like a lucky dip. Flip the pages of the book. Pick a prompt without too much thought. Toy with it, turn it this way and that in the light. Let it start to fire the neurons in your creative brain. I promise you it will.

Interested in using prompts to restart or kickstart your creativity? My new self-study mini-course, Create your Home Writing Retreat is here. Plus I’m now creating two bonuses.

• First, for as long as I run my free retreats the prompts we’ve used in each session will be added to the course.

• Secondly, I’m designing a new PDF, Create your Writer’s Prompt Box, so you can build your own inspiring resource, one which will stand you in good stead on those dry days.

Join my free online writing retreat session Saturday 20th June - go here.

Create your Home Writing Retreat - go here.

Paying tribute to Barbara Large

Many years ago, I arrived in the beautiful and ancient city of Winchester, carrying a novel I had nearly completed. I was wrestling with guilt because for the first time, I had left my two young children with their father, so that I could have a couple of days to myself. I had set off on a bold adventure: I was attending what was then known as the Winchester Writers’ Conference, an annual event attended by hundreds of writers from all over the world. 

Shortly after my arrival, a slender dark-haired woman with a Canadian accent came to chat with me. Back in the days when there was scarcely any internet and certainly no Facebook groups for writers, we were used to working in isolation. I had come seeking information but more than that, I was looking for connection. I didn’t really understand at the time just how significant those connections were going to be and that meeting Barbara Large MBE, the conference’s founder and Director, was going to change my life.  

Barbara, who died in March of this year, was an extraordinary person. Her will and energy were phenomenal. I was always in awe of her dedication and her genuine concern that no writer should feel alone or adrift in the literary world. She welcomed and encouraged every single delegate and she celebrated the success of conference attendees with as much pleasure as if that success was her own. Even when she retired in 2013 after 34 years of presiding over the conference, she kept on reaching out to writers and running her own Creative Words Matter courses, with the help of Adrienne Dines and Sarah Mussi. At last year’s conference she was physically frail but her will undaunted, her joy undimmed. Her indomitable spirit was still an example to us all. 

Barbara’s favourite expression, when she made her annual welcoming address and when she drew each conference to its close, was to call us her ‘family of writers’. She listened, sympathised, and encouraged. She drew us together, establishing connections both personal and professional. 

When I was at last a published author, I started a whole new relationship with Barbara. She first invited me to give a talk at the conference and then to run workshops and give one-to-ones. Winchester became an annual feature in my working calendar. I ran some weekend workshops for her in Shawford at other times of the year. Barbara opened up a whole new career for me as a creative writing teacher and editor, culminating in my setting up Fictionfire Literary Consultancy ten years ago. 

Over the more than two decades I have been attending what is now the Winchester Writers’ Festival I have made friends with so many fellow writers – a couple of whom I met that very first year. It all comes down to that first tentative visit, where Barbara made me welcome and made me feel seen and understood. 

This year’s Winchester Writers’ Festival starts on the 14th June and you have until the 10th to book your place. I won’t be teaching there this year but I will be raising a glass to Barbara and all she stood for: an unselfish commitment to sharing knowledge and experience, a dedication to being an encouraging voice, cheerleader and guide. I’ll be sending my good wishes to everyone there this year.

We writers are far less alone than we used to be, thanks to the internet. We know more about the world of publishing than we used to do. We are able to self-publish in a way we couldn’t before. We can research agents, attend events online and offline. We are connected. 

But still in the wee small hours we may be full of doubt about the value of our work. We may feel alone with those doubts and wonder if we will ever be able to complete that book or find a publisher. 

Barbara would say to you: ‘Yes, you can! You’re not alone! You are part of the wonderful family of writers – welcome!’ And she’d go on to regale you with the famous anecdotes of the delegate lost in the nearby cemetery and the pink nightdress on the bed of one male delegate’s room … 

I hope that in your writing life you find true guides and cheerleaders. Seize every opportunity to attend events where you may meet them – you never know where it may lead!

You can read some of my blogposts about the conference on Literascribe, my previous blog. Just follow the tags in the sidebar - Winchester Writers’ Conference and Winchester Writers’ Festival.

I will be teaching on Oxford University’s OUSSA summer school programme and the Creative Writing Summer School at Exeter College as usual this year.

I’m also working on my new book, The Unputdownable Writer’s Mindset - visit www.theunputdownablewriter.com to sign up for advance news and sneak peeks ahead of publication in the autumn.