Writers' Circles

 

Writing is known as "the loneliest profession" and that is probably true. In fact if lighthouse keepers were termites then writers would be albatrosses. One way of relieving this sense of isolation is to join a writers' circle. These are privately organized societies, usually small with less than a dozen members. I live in Oxford and that has a great tradition for such outfits. In fact the most famous in the world is probably "The Inklings" which included such luminaries as JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis. It met informally every week in The Eagle and Child pub on St Giles, Oxford. In the mid-1990's I decided I wanted to be a part of a writers' circle, so I asked to join The Oxford Writers group; but they told me I had to submit a sample of my literature first before accepting me as a member. I sent them a passage from the first chapter of Evan's Land, which became my debut novel; but at the time was still being written, see: https://hpanwo.blogspot.com/2010/11/evans-land-online.html. They wrote back and told me it wasn't up to the standards of their group. I later found out that the group consists mostly of budding children's authors and Evan's Land cannot ever be described as a children's book. I approached the local council and saw that they had two writers' circles as part of their programme called "Blooming Arts" which encouraged local people to get involved in artworks and humanities of all kinds. One of the groups was exclusively for women, or should I say "Women!" The other was called Last Gasp, a group organized by a man I think was called Giles, although I'm not certain that was his name. I can't remember clearly if any of the names I mention in this article are correct. It met every fortnight in the East Oxford Community Centre on Cowley Road and I lived very close to it in those days.
 
I went along to one of their social gatherings and was pleased to find that it was a drop-in collective with no formal membership. They seemed like nice people and I was delighted to have found them. I pledged to return to their next meeting. I was involved with the Last Gasp group for about a year; but although nobody was actively unpleasant to me and I was always respectful to the other members, I never felt welcome there. In fact the other members eventually tricked me into leaving the group by pretending they were disbanding it following a break for Christmas. Giles said: "I might set it up again in the New Year; if I do I will give you a call and let you know." Well, he never called; but I later found out through the grapevine that the group had quietly reconvened without me. I'm not sure exactly why my face didn't fit with the Last Gasp group. There was a bit of confusion to begin with. At the first serious meeting I had brought along a pad of paper and a pen. As I put them on the table Giles turned to me and said: "No, Ben we're not doing any writing here. We do writing at home and then bring it in, okay?" I replied: "Okay." and put the paper and pen back in my bag; but Giles kept staring at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to add more. I eventually shrugged and repeated: "Okay." and finally he looked away. That incident baffled me. What exactly was that all about? The form of the group was to bring in your writing and read it out at the meetings; and then the other members would tell you what they thought of it. That's absolutely fine in principle; in fact it's a long established basis for literary review. The problem was that if you disagreed with the other members' opinions, or even said something like: "Well, it's not to everybody's taste of course." There would be a lot of tutting and eye-rolling as if you had done something wrong. I therefore got the impression that the purpose of being in the Last Gasp group was to write something, bring it to the group and then change it to conform to the other members' judgements. That didn't make much sense to me. At one point one of the senior members who had been there when Giles first set up the group, I think her name was Bridget, told me that one of the scenes in Evan's Land was too long and drawn out. It was full of unnecessary detail. I replied: "But I enjoy writing that way." She glared at me as if I had just committed some terrible faux pas. Then she took a deep shuddering breath and turned to another member. "Right, let's move on to Anton's poem!" she hissed in a tense voice; and she never looked or spoke to me again all evening. The other members were a wide variety of characters. There was an elderly man called Rip who wrote poems about his early life growing up in the rural West Country. He was one of the most scathing of the critics, but for some reason I liked him probably most of all. He was sincere and genuine, as well as having a wicked sense of humour, unlike most of the others. Despite his background he didn't speak with an "Ooh-argh" accent, but some of his poems were written that way. One of the others was called Lindsey. She was a teacher of some kind and had several children, even though she was quite young. She was also a rancid feminist. At that time I knew there was something badly wrong with her, but didn't have the wherewithal to recognize it in the way I have learned to since; remember this was about twenty-five years ago, see: http://hpanwo.blogspot.com/2021/08/political-correctness-portal.html. She regarded herself as the group's wokescold. The only comments she ever made towards another members writing were about how close or far they were from the diversity and inclusion ideal. One of her catchphrases was: "That's a bit Eurocentric, don't you think?" She chastised me vehemently for a scene I originally penned for Evan's Land which I eventually cut out, but included in a sketch I wrote many years later: As he stepped into the forecourt of the little grocers shop he saw that it was dark. He had no idea of the time, but the shop was still open. He fell against the door and the bell rang loudly as it fell open. The shopkeeper was a small, elderly Asian with a thick white beard which covered his entire chin, but not his top lip. "Hello, can I help?"
    "Got any... whiskey?"
    He turned to the shelf behind him. "We have Bells, Grants, Famous Grouse in hip bottles or..."
    "Just giz a big bott... bottle."
    The man took down a full-sized bottle and placed it on the counter. "That'll be thirteen seventy-five please."
    Charlie leaned on the clear plastic box that dispensed scratchcards as he prospected in his pocket. He struck a deposit of damp, screwed-up banknotes and handed them to the shopkeeper.
    The clunking, bleeping sound of the till opening made him start. He gawped as the drawer slid out; the compartments inside were stuffed with tight, copious wads of notes; fives, tens and twenties. He stared at them hungrily. "Here, mate." he said. "Can I have some o' yer money?"
The shopkeeper slammed the till shut and handed him his change. "No! Of course not." Source: https://hpanwo-bb.blogspot.com/2010/06/obscurati-chronicles-part-7.html. "You have included a horrific stereotype of an Asian Muslim!" Lindsay was red-cheeked and she gesticulated as she spoke. "It is incredibly racist and you really need to think twice next time before describing such a character..." She ranted on for a few more minutes. The world has changed enormously since those days and today she would have probably screeched something about my "white privilege!" and stormed out of the room. Indeed if we met in the present age she would despise me because, although I will probably never use it in a formal publication, I feel no shame for the above piece of writing. I would have probably have replied sarcastically to her: "Oh dear. I don't think I'm showing an awful lot of white heterosexual male guilt, am I?" In fact I wonder if at the time I wrote in that shopkeeper to be deliberately transgressive, even if only subconsciously. Lindsay was working on a novel called Firebug about a "Woman!" who grows up to be an obsessive arsonist because she suffered child abuse at the hands of her stepfather, who was presumably white. However, she also tended to write novellas and short stories filled with lurid erotica. There's nothing immoral about that, and indeed I have a friend who specializes in such literature, see: https://hpanwo.blogspot.com/2010/12/heroine-for-internet-age.html; but Lindsay would fly into a fanatical tailspin if any of the male members expressed sexuality in their works. Even the leader, Giles, was not exempt from the blade of her intersectional scalpel. He badly triggered her ire when he wrote a poem about women in bikinis. It was actually very mild and tasteful compared to Lindsay's pornography, but that meant nothing; he was still a "fucking white male!" and that was that! There were other members in the group, both men and woman, who were not like Lindsay. They were appreciative and friendly. There was one man I really liked called Keith who was good friends with a lady who had co-founded the group with Giles and Bridget, but then died in a plane crash. He wrote a lot of poems criticizing religion, even though he believed in God himself. The lady who had died was an atheist and he wrote a touching humanistic tribute to her. A lot of his work was intellectually comical including a poem with a title I will never forget: The Pissed Post-Modernist. It might have been about himself because he liked to down a few pints in the bar after the meeting. There was also a young American woman who was the wife of one of the other members. She was very sweet and down to earth. She wrote a really funny short story about a loveable eccentric. I detected a lot of envy in the group. Giles and some of the others were talking once about a man who had recently published a very successful debut novel. It had won an award and he had just sold film adaptation rights for a large sum. "He's only thirty-two years old!" moaned Giles. "Makes you sick, doesn't it?" I said nothing, but thought to myself: No. Why should I resent another author for his achievement? He worked for it and got it. He wrote a book people wanted to read and they have done so. I don't think it's healthy to feel that kind of bitter jealousy. If somebody else is more successful than you and it makes you feel uncomfortable then there's an obvious solution: Write a better book yourself.

I think the problem I faced with being accepted by the Last Gasp writers' circle is one several other people I know have experienced. Writing is an activity carried out mostly by educated academic people. There are not many hospital porters involved. The other members of the group were mostly in education, either as students or tutors. I once read a brilliant novel by one of my favourite science fiction authors, Kim Stanley Robinson, called Antarctica. One of the main characters in the story is a man we are introduced to only ever by his nickname, "X".  He is a genial and sensitive young man who is highly intelligent and is a self-taught intellectual. During the course of the story he is reading the entire canon of Western philosophy backwards to try and find its ultimate source. So he starts in the Twentieth Century with Sartre and Wittgenstein and then goes back to their earlier inspirations: Nietzsche, Hegel, Rousseau, Hobbes etc; and eventually to the Greek founders: Aristotle, Plato and Socrates. However, X is working class. He is a labourer at an Antarctic research station and has no formal qualifications. He is a pure autodidact. Because of his class background he can never fit in with the professional academics; yet he can also never be satisfied in the company of his peers, which usually involves sitting around in a pub talking about football for hours on end. Source: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41126.Antarctica. I very powerfully identified with that character because I am very similar. My abortive and dissatisfying year in Last Gasp was how I learnt that lesson. If you are a writer, especially if you're just starting out, then joining a writers' circle is not a bad idea; but make sure it's one that suits you personally. Don't decide at the first meeting; give it a couple of months until you feel sure. If you feel in any way uncomfortable with your group then leave it and find another. There are many writers' circles all over the world. This database gives details of just some of them: https://www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-find-a-writing-group.