Full bellies, log burner glowing in the corner, good company and the prospect of listening to a talk from acclaimed author Jonathon Falla, no wonder the word contentment is the most used up here in the Highlands, especially when you combine it with the Arvon experience for first time writers.
The food was a hit and we had all ate very well, the curry and fruit salad combination hitting the spot first time. As we cleared all the plates and dishes from the table the four of us on dinner roster smiled and laughed with each other when the subject of rice was mentioned, which it was, time and again!. The previous few hours in the kitchen trying to get the rice just right and then Mages intervention is still even now the stuff of legends.
We all congregated in the long dining area and lounge and loaded ourselves with drinks so that we could sit back and listen to what promised to be a wonderful night in the company of John Falla about his intrepid journey's and writing. Malcom stood up and introduced John who was sat at our end of the long dining table facing us all as we sat on the loungers and settees.
"It gives me great pleasure to introduce John Falla to you, a man who has written plays for the BBC and even wrote a comedy, the only one to date about famine in Africa, he has trained as a Dr and has worked in all the far flung places of the world and also been inspired enough to write books about his experiences..."....this went on for about ten minutes, I must admit I was astounded at just how much this guy had done, inspired even, so I thought this really was going to be a very special evening.
John sat there and said the usual thanks and said how good it was to be with us all. He started the evening by reading some of his latest book and we were quite enthralled by his style of writing and his anecdotes. he was most definitely a character and seemed very self assured, it did go on a little bit and then just as we thought he was wrapping it all up John grabbed another book and exclaimed,
"This little excerpt will take about 15 minutes"
You could almost hear a pin drop and it wasn't for the reason John was thinking. You see, to carry off a long speech and keep the audience satisfied and attentive you need to do one of two things, either give them a break time or involve them. Unfortunately for John he was so engrossed in what he was saying he lost complete track of time and we were to all intents and purposes bored. Terrible I know and I feel bad even saying it, but he had lost the audience. On top of that he then proceeded to give us a sure fire way of how to write a book in 3 easy steps.. you could almost feel the sighs from our guest authors one of whom John Aberdein had already fallen asleep..
So there we were all sat down and cornered by our guest speaker who didnt know where the 'off' button was and one of our tutors fast asleep on the settee as he spoke, to borrow a well known phrase, you really couldnt write it. After what seemed an eternity John finally wrapped up and it was down to the dutiful Malcolm as ever the gentleman to say thank you and raise the obligatory round of applause from the audience, who by now needed the toilet and the bar, in that order!
I stood up and threw another log on the log burner and was aware all of a sudden that John was busy signing copies of his books which he had conveniently brought along with him and immediately i thought what a nice thing it would be to actually buy one and get it signed and i duly joined the queue. Surprisingly John didnt say hi to me in the book he just signed his name which i thought was a bit odd but no matter. We then all sat on the settee and grabbed our poison, be it Scotch or wine and talked to John about much less mundane stuff like when did he first become inspired to write etc. To my surprise John was a whisky drinker, he and I kept apace glass for glass and i have to admit i was impressed, he also loosened up a little from his 'parochial preaching' role and became quite affable. We talked about life and parenting and social issues along with Rosie (who was from County Tyrone and such a sweetheart) and Gemma (the youngest on the course at 17 with a mind as sharp as a razor and a writing ability so natural and raw it was staggering) along with Chris and I think Olivia too. We all fired questions across to John who was by now well relaxed and like me, suitably full of whisky when I think the reply of the week came from Gemma when John retorted,
"You know I love to go to places no-one has ever been to then write about them because no-one knows if what you are writing about is right or wrong"
Quick as a flash Gemma replied from over the top of her ever present texting on her Blackberry mobile,
"Have ye ne'r her da Google?"
Stunned silence for a few seconds.. then the conversation slowly continued, with muffled laughs emanating from areas of the room where once silence reigned, it was a beautifully timed, honest and quite legitimate question Gemma asked but as usual her timing and sharp mind just doubled the impact, it was the highlight of the night, though to be fair to John I think he was a little nervous and probably not used to such a small audience in such close confines, it's fair to say he did what he thought was his best but in the end the consensus of opinion was that he hadn't involved us all enough and at times was a little patronising to what basically was an audience the vast majority of which were professional people in their own right.
As the night wore on it was down to John, myself and Rosie talking away and drinking into the samll hours, Rosie went for bed and myself and John decided perhaps it was time to curtail the Scotch and in any case I had a bit of writing to do, to say the least so bedtime it was.
The next morning as usual I was up and about at 6 and lit the fire and went into the kitchen to grab that all important first cup of coffee, while everyone was dozing I grabbed a quick shower and then went for a quick walk again out into the wonderful countryside. It's quiet beauty was astounding and all encompassing, it attacked all, yet none of your senses, it let you be what you wanted to be, it's input neither too much or too little, this was indeed as close to paradise for a thoughtful mind as you could get. I stood for a little while, I am not sure just how long and just as you would do in a piping hot bubble bath just soaked in the moment and loved every second.
Walking back down the drive and opening the kitchen door I saw Chris was up and about and just tucking in to his toast while our guest speaker entered the room and headed staright for the coffee pot. Hannah wasnt far behind and she and Chris did the exit kitchen left for a cigarette routine and left me alone in the kitchen with John, who after a good night's sleep had lost none of his confidence or ability to tell me how good thing's were in the world that is John. Thankfully the other students all started to wander in and a knock on the door signalled the arrival of a taxi to take John to the airport. We all said our polite goodbyes and wished him well, after all we were professional people if not professional writers.
TIME TO WRITE.
By the end of breakfast I was fully aware that I had yet to complete something meaningful for my meeting with John Aberdein at 3.10 pm that day, the fact it was 9a.m and nothing had been accomplished at all, not even an idea meant i really was starting for the first time in my writing career to doubt I could actually put something meaningful on to paper. My writing book was a mess of scribbled out sentences and redundant cliches, I was having a torrid time trying to just be me. As Morag had said the day before," if it's too easy you are not trying hard enough", how those words would haunt me during the day.
10 a.m came and we gathered around the table to listen to Morag's second lesson with ourselves, it promised to be a cracker and Morag didnt disappoint. She is an excellent thought provoking writer with an exceptional teaching talent, keeping us all on the edge of our seats and involving us with projects and short clips of writing throughout the tutorial and i remember that last lesson with her in charge as a high spot of my week in Moniack, she really does have an exceptional way of teaching and there was never a moment where we were not engaged in what she was saying, the sign of the very best of teachers.
At the end of Morags lesson I had been inspired to write my piece. I had topic, character and plot, all from just talking through and about a short story and character production with our resident tutor, inadvertantly she had given me the inspiration for the piece I was to present to John Aberdein that afternoon and I set about constructing it.
Sat outside after lunch i beavered away at the piece of writing that i would present to John that afternoon, it was to be completely off the beaten track for me and was to be written with thoughts of extinguishing all the usual cliches I had used and be a very different step from where I had been the previous few months, it was nip and tuck as i had printed the verse only 2 minutes before my meeting with John. I tapped on John's door and walked in, his ever present warm smile put me at my ease and I handed him my work, somewhat nervously.
John looked at the poem i had shown Morag the day before and said "this denny work Dave, It's all too full 'o' yon cliches an it nay makes far gud readin'.
I agreed whole heartedly and i pointed to the second piece I had written and asked if he would read that while I was here, this is the poem i wrote as my second piece,(I kept my more off the wall piece back just for now), it was meant to be a man returning to the highlands seeing the view and being unhappy with himself..something Morag had asked me to do.
Despicable me is all I see,
Midst landscape heaven sent
Of distant views a parting ruse
This poets last lament
A sadness born in human form
Deleting natures fayre
Translation lost amidst my storm
Though few bar me would care
Yet still inspired, I won't grow tired
Life's beauty and it's beast,
All layers peeled my fate is sealed,
No chance for nature's feast.
So wretched as a cancer grows,
Engulfs my thoughts and dreams,
Breaks stronger men than I will know
And tears my very seams.
John worked his way through the poem and pointed out a couple of things, I listened intently, his voice was not quite as critical as Morag's but his tone was as determined in it's process. We made some adjustments on the work and he asked me to read it again, he got it, he liked it. It wasnt a huge step and I knew that but it was a piece of work with more thought and depth. I then handed him the piece I had written ignoring my usual poetic preferences, inspired partly from watching my gran as a child and partly from a character we had invented in Morag's earlier lesson. John read it and then stopped silent. "I am nay getting it Dave, culd ya read it ta me"... my heart sank, but I summoned the courage to read it. When I had finished he nodded in agreement, this was more like a step in to something different, something new, something from deep within my thoughts. He was pleased for me, I was pleased for me. Here is the poem:
Bess.
A dress that speaks of life,
The frayed edges hang like bar codes
Spelling out her past.
Bess was content.
Her flowing auburn hair a distant memory,
Now replaced by black and white,
The colours of her age.
Bess was content.
Half way down her nose her glasses sat,
With flour coated fingerprint etched lenses
Betraying this morning's cooking
Bess was still content
Soft slippers now where once heels were worn,
Her stoop a testament to such fashion
The hips a little broader now,
Bess was still content.
Here she was, all that she could be,
A wife, a mother, a nurse, a listener, a lover
But all the time that dress said more than that
Bess was still content
Then in the background voices came to life,
Such laughter only youngsters make,
The door flies open "Mum we are home!"
Bess just smiled that smile... so content.
I thanked John and left the room, though I had only just begun this journey into changing my views and the way i write, I knew from this day on writing would never be the same for me ever again, I had doors opened for me that I could never have imagined and it was all thanks to the wonderful adventure that Arvon allow you to step into. I went back to the kitchen, grabbed my mug and sat down and if i remember rightly the coffee tasted extra good that afternoon...
To be continued.......
The food was a hit and we had all ate very well, the curry and fruit salad combination hitting the spot first time. As we cleared all the plates and dishes from the table the four of us on dinner roster smiled and laughed with each other when the subject of rice was mentioned, which it was, time and again!. The previous few hours in the kitchen trying to get the rice just right and then Mages intervention is still even now the stuff of legends.
We all congregated in the long dining area and lounge and loaded ourselves with drinks so that we could sit back and listen to what promised to be a wonderful night in the company of John Falla about his intrepid journey's and writing. Malcom stood up and introduced John who was sat at our end of the long dining table facing us all as we sat on the loungers and settees.
"It gives me great pleasure to introduce John Falla to you, a man who has written plays for the BBC and even wrote a comedy, the only one to date about famine in Africa, he has trained as a Dr and has worked in all the far flung places of the world and also been inspired enough to write books about his experiences..."....this went on for about ten minutes, I must admit I was astounded at just how much this guy had done, inspired even, so I thought this really was going to be a very special evening.
John sat there and said the usual thanks and said how good it was to be with us all. He started the evening by reading some of his latest book and we were quite enthralled by his style of writing and his anecdotes. he was most definitely a character and seemed very self assured, it did go on a little bit and then just as we thought he was wrapping it all up John grabbed another book and exclaimed,
"This little excerpt will take about 15 minutes"
You could almost hear a pin drop and it wasn't for the reason John was thinking. You see, to carry off a long speech and keep the audience satisfied and attentive you need to do one of two things, either give them a break time or involve them. Unfortunately for John he was so engrossed in what he was saying he lost complete track of time and we were to all intents and purposes bored. Terrible I know and I feel bad even saying it, but he had lost the audience. On top of that he then proceeded to give us a sure fire way of how to write a book in 3 easy steps.. you could almost feel the sighs from our guest authors one of whom John Aberdein had already fallen asleep..
So there we were all sat down and cornered by our guest speaker who didnt know where the 'off' button was and one of our tutors fast asleep on the settee as he spoke, to borrow a well known phrase, you really couldnt write it. After what seemed an eternity John finally wrapped up and it was down to the dutiful Malcolm as ever the gentleman to say thank you and raise the obligatory round of applause from the audience, who by now needed the toilet and the bar, in that order!
I stood up and threw another log on the log burner and was aware all of a sudden that John was busy signing copies of his books which he had conveniently brought along with him and immediately i thought what a nice thing it would be to actually buy one and get it signed and i duly joined the queue. Surprisingly John didnt say hi to me in the book he just signed his name which i thought was a bit odd but no matter. We then all sat on the settee and grabbed our poison, be it Scotch or wine and talked to John about much less mundane stuff like when did he first become inspired to write etc. To my surprise John was a whisky drinker, he and I kept apace glass for glass and i have to admit i was impressed, he also loosened up a little from his 'parochial preaching' role and became quite affable. We talked about life and parenting and social issues along with Rosie (who was from County Tyrone and such a sweetheart) and Gemma (the youngest on the course at 17 with a mind as sharp as a razor and a writing ability so natural and raw it was staggering) along with Chris and I think Olivia too. We all fired questions across to John who was by now well relaxed and like me, suitably full of whisky when I think the reply of the week came from Gemma when John retorted,
"You know I love to go to places no-one has ever been to then write about them because no-one knows if what you are writing about is right or wrong"
Quick as a flash Gemma replied from over the top of her ever present texting on her Blackberry mobile,
"Have ye ne'r her da Google?"
Stunned silence for a few seconds.. then the conversation slowly continued, with muffled laughs emanating from areas of the room where once silence reigned, it was a beautifully timed, honest and quite legitimate question Gemma asked but as usual her timing and sharp mind just doubled the impact, it was the highlight of the night, though to be fair to John I think he was a little nervous and probably not used to such a small audience in such close confines, it's fair to say he did what he thought was his best but in the end the consensus of opinion was that he hadn't involved us all enough and at times was a little patronising to what basically was an audience the vast majority of which were professional people in their own right.
As the night wore on it was down to John, myself and Rosie talking away and drinking into the samll hours, Rosie went for bed and myself and John decided perhaps it was time to curtail the Scotch and in any case I had a bit of writing to do, to say the least so bedtime it was.
The next morning as usual I was up and about at 6 and lit the fire and went into the kitchen to grab that all important first cup of coffee, while everyone was dozing I grabbed a quick shower and then went for a quick walk again out into the wonderful countryside. It's quiet beauty was astounding and all encompassing, it attacked all, yet none of your senses, it let you be what you wanted to be, it's input neither too much or too little, this was indeed as close to paradise for a thoughtful mind as you could get. I stood for a little while, I am not sure just how long and just as you would do in a piping hot bubble bath just soaked in the moment and loved every second.
Walking back down the drive and opening the kitchen door I saw Chris was up and about and just tucking in to his toast while our guest speaker entered the room and headed staright for the coffee pot. Hannah wasnt far behind and she and Chris did the exit kitchen left for a cigarette routine and left me alone in the kitchen with John, who after a good night's sleep had lost none of his confidence or ability to tell me how good thing's were in the world that is John. Thankfully the other students all started to wander in and a knock on the door signalled the arrival of a taxi to take John to the airport. We all said our polite goodbyes and wished him well, after all we were professional people if not professional writers.
TIME TO WRITE.
By the end of breakfast I was fully aware that I had yet to complete something meaningful for my meeting with John Aberdein at 3.10 pm that day, the fact it was 9a.m and nothing had been accomplished at all, not even an idea meant i really was starting for the first time in my writing career to doubt I could actually put something meaningful on to paper. My writing book was a mess of scribbled out sentences and redundant cliches, I was having a torrid time trying to just be me. As Morag had said the day before," if it's too easy you are not trying hard enough", how those words would haunt me during the day.
10 a.m came and we gathered around the table to listen to Morag's second lesson with ourselves, it promised to be a cracker and Morag didnt disappoint. She is an excellent thought provoking writer with an exceptional teaching talent, keeping us all on the edge of our seats and involving us with projects and short clips of writing throughout the tutorial and i remember that last lesson with her in charge as a high spot of my week in Moniack, she really does have an exceptional way of teaching and there was never a moment where we were not engaged in what she was saying, the sign of the very best of teachers.
At the end of Morags lesson I had been inspired to write my piece. I had topic, character and plot, all from just talking through and about a short story and character production with our resident tutor, inadvertantly she had given me the inspiration for the piece I was to present to John Aberdein that afternoon and I set about constructing it.
Sat outside after lunch i beavered away at the piece of writing that i would present to John that afternoon, it was to be completely off the beaten track for me and was to be written with thoughts of extinguishing all the usual cliches I had used and be a very different step from where I had been the previous few months, it was nip and tuck as i had printed the verse only 2 minutes before my meeting with John. I tapped on John's door and walked in, his ever present warm smile put me at my ease and I handed him my work, somewhat nervously.
John looked at the poem i had shown Morag the day before and said "this denny work Dave, It's all too full 'o' yon cliches an it nay makes far gud readin'.
I agreed whole heartedly and i pointed to the second piece I had written and asked if he would read that while I was here, this is the poem i wrote as my second piece,(I kept my more off the wall piece back just for now), it was meant to be a man returning to the highlands seeing the view and being unhappy with himself..something Morag had asked me to do.
Despicable me is all I see,
Midst landscape heaven sent
Of distant views a parting ruse
This poets last lament
A sadness born in human form
Deleting natures fayre
Translation lost amidst my storm
Though few bar me would care
Yet still inspired, I won't grow tired
Life's beauty and it's beast,
All layers peeled my fate is sealed,
No chance for nature's feast.
So wretched as a cancer grows,
Engulfs my thoughts and dreams,
Breaks stronger men than I will know
And tears my very seams.
John worked his way through the poem and pointed out a couple of things, I listened intently, his voice was not quite as critical as Morag's but his tone was as determined in it's process. We made some adjustments on the work and he asked me to read it again, he got it, he liked it. It wasnt a huge step and I knew that but it was a piece of work with more thought and depth. I then handed him the piece I had written ignoring my usual poetic preferences, inspired partly from watching my gran as a child and partly from a character we had invented in Morag's earlier lesson. John read it and then stopped silent. "I am nay getting it Dave, culd ya read it ta me"... my heart sank, but I summoned the courage to read it. When I had finished he nodded in agreement, this was more like a step in to something different, something new, something from deep within my thoughts. He was pleased for me, I was pleased for me. Here is the poem:
Bess.
A dress that speaks of life,
The frayed edges hang like bar codes
Spelling out her past.
Bess was content.
Her flowing auburn hair a distant memory,
Now replaced by black and white,
The colours of her age.
Bess was content.
Half way down her nose her glasses sat,
With flour coated fingerprint etched lenses
Betraying this morning's cooking
Bess was still content
Soft slippers now where once heels were worn,
Her stoop a testament to such fashion
The hips a little broader now,
Bess was still content.
Here she was, all that she could be,
A wife, a mother, a nurse, a listener, a lover
But all the time that dress said more than that
Bess was still content
Then in the background voices came to life,
Such laughter only youngsters make,
The door flies open "Mum we are home!"
Bess just smiled that smile... so content.
I thanked John and left the room, though I had only just begun this journey into changing my views and the way i write, I knew from this day on writing would never be the same for me ever again, I had doors opened for me that I could never have imagined and it was all thanks to the wonderful adventure that Arvon allow you to step into. I went back to the kitchen, grabbed my mug and sat down and if i remember rightly the coffee tasted extra good that afternoon...
To be continued.......
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