I've said it before, and I bet I'll say it again, but there's a magic that happens every time I lead a creative writing group that blows me away. The younger students are lovely, and when they begin to open up, it's a treat to get a glimpse of what those young buds might grow into, but give me someone who's older any day. Give me someone who's blocked and broken after years of writing stuff she hates in a voice that someone has told her is better than her own. Give me a man who, when asked to tell us who he is, hides behind a list of adjectives without daring to peek at what they really mean. Show me a business man who has never thought of himself as a time of day and then watch the colour seep into his press release when he finally does, leaving the whole group breathless.
I never know what it is that makes people so poetic in those workshops, but every time I'm mesmerised by the way they take my metaphor exercise, try it on for size and emerge, as if in an episode of Mr Benn, as the person their inner poet has always wanted them to be.
It's always the members of the group who show each other a glimpse of what they could be if they only took that leap of faith, but I get to witness the magic every time. Roll on next Friday...
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