As of yesterday, I am officially a student again. There’s something a bit ridiculous about that, given that I am so ancient and curmudgeonly and prone to delivering rants about the gruesomeness of students and young folk in general. And yet. Here I am.

There was a get-out-of-jail-free opportunity on Thursday morning when, after being welcomed by the course tutors, and praised for getting places on such an elite and unique programme, my fellow students and I were invited to leave. “No shame,” they said, and they meant it. “Leave before you give us any money.” I thought seriously about the proposition. Was I there for the right reasons? Would I be able to cope with the work? Was I ready for this? The tutors asked us some searching questions, and I, in turn, searched myself for the answers. I promised myself that I would leave if it was the right thing to do, and I would have, too. This is not the right course for everyone – but for me, it’s perfect.

It helps that the Napier programme is so ridiculously awesome. It is unlike any other creative writing course in the known universe. There are no workshops where students critique each others’ work – you can do that in your spare time. On the course, we get feedback from experienced writers, editors and agents. There’s no poetry component, and no literary snobbery. Instead, we are challenged to improve our writing by putting it into theoretical contexts, by experimenting with form, content, genre, style, tone; by focusing on structure, point of view, and all the other nuts and bolts of writing as a craft. No one is asking you to express yourself, find your voice or confront your emotional pain in some kind of voyeuristic pseudo-therapeutic ‘safe’ space. What they do ask of you is a serious commitment to the course, and to your own writing career, and to yourself as a writer. It is incredibly exciting and I feel stupidly lucky that I’ve got the chance to be a part of this.

If you think I’m exaggerating how good this course is, I’m sorry. I’m underplaying it, because I don’t want you to be jealous. I’m going to be a better writer – immeasurably better – and I am off my head with happiness.



3 Responses to “happiness”

  1. Mike Keyton says:

    Ah, found it. Sorry, Georgina. I daylight the box was hard to distinguish from its surround. My problem. : )

  2. christine entwisle says:

    Wow. That sounds amazing. I might be starting a course tomorrow. I wish I felt even one tenth as happy. Instead I feel miserable. You are obviously doing the right thing. I … probably wouldn’t know the right thing if it hit me in the face!!! xx

  3. george says:

    Well, I’m not renowned for my ability to do the right thing, either! The problem is that it’s so hard to tell if something is the right thing to do until after you’ve done it. So I decided to make things easy for myself by just doing what I *want* to do and not caring about what’s right or wrong for me. As per my motto, fuck it! I’m just doing what the hell I like from now on in.

    Maybe your course will turn out to be better than you think? I hope it is, or that you find something else better x x