My circle of critics have been brilliant. Some of them are
splendidly harsh, some so supportive. They are all constructive; they have all
helped me carve. These people are not necessarily my best writing buddies, they
are my best critics. I’m not a natural critic but I make a bloody effort for
these particular people because I know they do that for me. My course is making
me better; I’ve always done the feedback sandwich but now I don’t just do words
and sentences, I do plot and structure and sense and sometimes suggestions.
This story is not in my normal tone; it’s harsher, bleaker
with less whimsy so I have felt more exposed collecting opinions. We were
encouraged to incorporate an autobiographical element and I used my job. This,
along with a first person voice drags me closer to my protagonist. I feel like
prefixing my attachment with ‘This is NOT ME’.
What is wonderful is that I still have time. The deadline is
luxuriously distant and I am on holiday. Two weeks off work. Nice, strange,
unnerving. I suppose I should hunt for my next story and not surrender to
daydreams again.
