This is a story about me! Well, no, actually it's not. It's about my stories and my writing, but about a fictitious writer at a creative writing course.
A special thanks to RF-Fast for helping to proofread and ensuring the story is in good shape.
Creative writing
After nearly 10 years of writing, my family still wondered since apparently, I still had nothing to show them. They took my claim of being a writer with a pinch of salt. What they did not know was I'd been writing and publishing successfully for quite some time. Only the stories I published were not those I'd be comfortable showing my family.
So, when they pestered me to attend a creative writing course, I had to either go or admit what sort of stories I'd written. I found a 3 day residential course and booked it.
As I pulled into the carpark of the venue, I had some second thoughts. It seemed likely that the subject of my writing would finally come up. The venue was a hotel that had a conference centre attached, but I'd arrived on the first day far too early to check in.
So, I headed inside and followed the signs until I found a middle-aged woman sitting behind a table with a clipboard and name badges in front of her. She looked up and greeted me, collected my details and handed out the badge with a large handwritten 'Ian' on it. She told me we had 14 people attending the course and I could help myself to a coffee whilst waiting for the others to turn up.
At the back of the room were the usual hotel thermos coffee pots, and I poured a coffee and leant against the wall to wait. The others came in quickly, in ones and twos.
Two mature ladies came in together. Both were in their seventies with white hair and large handbags. I could imagine knitting needles and wool would make up part of their contents. Next was a nondescript middle-aged man in a suit, a second pair of women whose appearance screamed 'mummy' in their thirties to early forties. Each was a little overweight and obviously close friends.
A tall slim man with balding grey hair I'd guess was about 60, a heavyset bearded man in his twenties. His scraggly hair and beard alone would have tagged him as a D&D fantasy follower. The cartoon wizard on his t-shirt just confirmed it. The next guy was around the same age, but slim, and his immaculate hair and subtle perfect clothes pinged my 'gaydar'.
Two young women appeared, and I'd guess they were only in their late teens. Both looked nervous and excited to be here. Next came a pair of hipsters in their late to early thirties. He had a long styled beard and his long hair combed back from his forehead and tied as a man-bun. With the hair on the sides of his head cut short. I took an instant dislike to him.
She, however, was a different matter. Her clothing gave off a steampunk vibe, and she was quite pretty, if not outright beautiful. Blonde shoulder length, slightly frizzy hair, slim but with a promising bust under her vintage baggy man's shirt.
We all wandered into the course's room.
The woman from the registration table hurried in and said we were already running late. She asked us to arrange our chairs in a curve in front of the podium for our keynote speaker. We'd barely sat when a man in his forties hurried in. He was a little overweight and with thinning hair and holding a sheath of cards holding his notes for his address to us.
To be honest, I didn't really pay that much attention after he'd introduced himself as a successful author with 8 published books under his belt. He did the usual sort of speech, reading it all from his cards. Writing can be a hard lonely profession, commitment and dedication are required. Write every day, and so on. Nothing I'd not heard from a dozen other sources before.
He spoke for 40 minutes, and we applauded politely as he smiled and then hurried off.
Barbara, the organiser, asked us to form the chairs more into a circle in front of a flip-chart. So, we could introduce ourselves and tell the others what we were looking for and what experience we had. As we moved around, she wrote our names on the chart, and I noticed my name was last on the list.
The two grandmothers wanted to write stories for their grandchildren. The teenage girls were both 1st year university students and were on this course to impress their professor. The 'mums' and the businesswoman wanted to write as a hobby. The businessman had been writing a historical novel for ten years but was struggling to finish it.
The oldest man turned out to be Simon, and he'd finished two novels, but seemed to lack the confidence to approach a publisher. I felt for him as I'd been in that situation. I'd written regular stories, and it's hard to get an honest opinion from family members.
The wizard t-shirt wanted to write fantasy stories, which wasn't a surprise. Carlton's voice confirmed his camp status and wanted to write mysteries. Which left the two hipsters, who it became clear were not a couple. She was Chloe and claimed to be a journalist. However, it turned out she was more of a blogger who occasionally had her blogs picked up by online news and gossip sites.
Hugo the hipster (actually James) looked on contemptuously at everyone as they told their stories. He was a proper journalist, working only temporarily in a provincial newspaper. He'd written and published three stories and eventually admitted he'd self-published, with only limited sales. Tens of books rather than thousands.
When it was my turn, I admitted I'd published over 35 stories, which had over 900,000 views. Originally, I'd intended to avoid mentioning I wrote adult stories, but Hugo's attitude, along with his man-bun, annoyed me.
I explained how publishing stories on Literotica gave me a platform for lots of readers and honest feedback. Allowing me to write many short stories and develop my skills.
Hugo said that sort of thing was smut and didn't count as proper literature. Before we could get into an argument, Barbara stepped in, reminding Hugo of the money made each year from trashy holiday books. She admitted that, whilst she wasn't sure about the subject matter I wrote, she knew that writing numerous shorter stories improved one's writing skills when you had feedback from a larger group.
Barbara talked about different methods to plot out a story, how to keep track of character traits and development. Good and bad writing habits and so on. Things I'd already read elsewhere.
After our afternoon coffee break, we returned to a pop quiz identifying books from their opening lines. It was a little unfair, as it seems nobody under 30 seemed to read the classics.
Before we finished on the first day, Barbara instructed us all to write a 500 word story for the following morning. Then she'd read them out, and we'd all comment on them and suggest improvements.
After finally checking into the hotel, I went to my room and showered and rested on the bed. I'd written a 500 word story like this a few years back, so I could just use that after I'd re-read it. Eventually I headed to the hotel restaurant, dined, then went through to the bar.
In one booth sat Simon, and he waved me over. We talked about his novels, and I shared my experience of doubt over taking the next step to publish. I even offered to read them and give an honest opinion if he wanted. He seemed reluctant to ask about my stories, but when Carlton came over and sat uninvited with us, he had no such reticence.
"So, Ian, you write porn?"
"Erotic stories, yes."
"Can you tell me where to find them?" He held his phone out to me.
"Are you sure? They may not be your sort of thing?" He shrugged.
I hesitated as I realised this would be the first time, I'd let someone I met face to face, to become a reader of my stories. It's a big difference between having thousands of readers all over the world, compared to having one in the room. But I suppose I cannot claim to be a writer if I don't let people read what I wrote. Time to put up or shut up. I typed in the URL to show my list of stories and handed the phone back.
Carlton started reading the list, and I was relieved when Simon asked me a question.
"You really write adult stories to improve your regular writing?"
"Yeah, think about it. Everyone who writes is at some point hoping to make money from it. I know I'll never make money from that site, however if I publish regular stories on a regular website, I'd be worried about my story ideas being stolen. Plus, you're competing with other authors for potential real income, so the responses might be unduly harsh."
"Oh fanfiction. I love that!" Carlton interrupts.
"Which one 'The Killer Robot Alternative' or 'Penny and Leonard Get Together'?" I asked.
"There's two? I love the Big Bang Theory." He replied and seemed buried in his phone.
Simon was about to ask another question when the grandmothers appeared and asked if they could join us.
"Have you all finished your homework?" One asked, and Simon and I nodded, whilst Carlton said he was nearly finished.
The conversation quickly turned to grandchildren, and I was happy to sit back and listen to the three older people comparing stories about theirs. Carlton excused himself to get another drink and as I was finishing mine, I looked over to the bar to see him chatting with the two teenage girls.
