I’ve been writing for a long time, more years than I care to
think about in fact. My first ‘novel’ was written manually on two A4 pads of
notepaper, it was probably less than 40,000 words and I wore out the nib of a
fountain pen writing it. It has long ago been consigned to the great trash bin
in the sky and the story has never been re-written.
After that I acquired an old manual typewriter and used it
to write my stories. I was never a great typist. I’m still not, although, when
the creative juices are flowing, I can manage a fairly respectable speed just
using a couple of fingers and I don’t make too many errors. Then along came the
computer era, of course, and my output increased ten fold.
That was about the time I started to think about writing
seriously. I entered competitions and finally joined a very small writing group
at my local library. Up to that time my stories had been just for me and, if I
was feeling brave, any competition judges I cared to trust with my work. The
writing group changed that and introduced me to reading what I’d written aloud
in front of an audience.
As I said, that first group was very small, no more than
half a dozen of us and I think that helped me to overcome the nerves of reading
to an audience. I’ve been a member of much larger creative writing groups since
then and I’ve gotten used to reading my work to fellow writers who would offer
helpful hints and constructive criticism. I don’t mind that, they know the
torture of trying to produce a polished piece. One thing I have never done
though, is read something I’ve written to you, the reading public.
Somehow the opportunity has never arisen but that is going
to change next Saturday, June 27th. On that day I shall be at the
Tamarack, here in West Virginia
