This weekend was the Crime and Publishment writing course at The Mill Forge hotel in Gretna Green – and as previously mentioned, I went.
It was exhausting, nerve-wracking, occasionally terrifying, and, er, did I mention exhausting; but it was also tremendous fun and very rewarding. The hotel was comfortable (and spotlessly clean) and the owner, Graham Smith, had organised everything down to the last dot and cross so it all ran really smoothly. The other people on the course were amazingly friendly and very, very passionate about their craft – in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met such an enthusiastic bunch of writers before. There were about twenty of us all told, with the majority attending the whole weekend and one or two slipping in and out each day, and many of us are already talking about meeting up again in the months ahead.
The talks were excellent. All four main sessions were run by people with tons of relevant experience – three published authors (Zoe Sharp, Chris Ewan and Michael Malone) and one publisher (Darren Laws from Caffeine Nights Publishing). All four really knew their stuff and were able to make their particular subjects both informative, and great fun. My own favourite was the Dicing With Dialogue session with Michael Malone, partly because I love writing dialogue anyway and partly because the examples used to illustrate it were hilarious. Check out overheard.com sometime – I can guarantee you’ll spill your coffee.
On the Sunday morning we all had the opportunity to pitch our work to Darren, and in my case I’m delighted to report that he went off with my submission package tucked under one arm, and even promised to read it. He may not like it, of course, but it still had me dancing on about three feet of air.
Most of all the sheer fun, chat and togetherness was what made the weekend. Nobody was left sitting in a corner (not even me). We all seemed to have similar interests, at least in writing terms, and spent many a happy hour over breakfast or dinner discussing the voices in our heads, the best way to reach a man’s heart (past the third rib? or the fifth? I forget…) and the disposal of the odd body, without anyone thinking us strange.
The only fly in the ointment was the travel. Gretna is a little isolated and the only way for me to get there was by train. Although I’m relatively local (the far north of England, by definition, is quite close to Scotland) the journey was a nightmare with late trains, missed connections, and a wild taxi ride across the border which cost a whopping £30. Mercifully, on the way back Zoe Sharp offered me a lift, and the two of us buzzed happily back down the motorway, crammed with all our luggage, books, paperwork, coats, scarves, and a teddy in a bag (mine) into a very small sports car. It made for a lively (if squashed) end to a brilliant weekend.
There’s already talk of next year’s event and I’m seriously considering putting my name down for it. And eternally grateful to both Graham Smith, and the wonders of Facebook, for finding out about it in the first place.