I finished my community college creative writing course in December 2013. The boost to my confidence was enough to take me all the way through Christmas and New Year and deposit me right in the middle of a London February. Cold, dark, depressing. But I was in a much better place mentally than I had been for a long time, and felt sure that as soon as the sun came out again, my spirits would lift accordingly.
Then a good friend came over for a cuppa and threw the St Mary’s University prospectus on my kitchen table.
‘This would be right up your street Lars.” (My friend is Australian. You must read all of her bits with a thick Australian accent.)
She had folded over the corner of one page. Creative Writing: Your First Novel
“Well that’s ridiculous.” I scoffed. “I’m not writing a novel.”
“But you could mate, if you wanted to. You did really well on that creative writing course.”
‘That was different. It was just bored old people. And bored slightly younger people, like me. This is serious. For serious people. Who seriously want to write a novel. And, it’s £5000. That’s a serious amount of money.”
“Alright mate. Just saw it and thought of you.”
We drank tea and ate biscuits (standard Monday morning fare) and I thought nothing more of it.
Except, actually, I thought of nothing else.
I googled the university, the course, the tutors. I read and reread the entrance requirements. I qualified, apart from the very small issue that my application would need to be accompanied by the first 3000 words of my novel. Because this was a serious course. For serious people. Who were seriously writing a novel. And I was not. Not until that very moment, when I thought, just for fun, I could start writing one. A week later, I had written the first chapter. (I’d love to say I’m considerably quicker these days, but sadly, a chapter a week is still my average.) I filled out the application form. Attached it to an introductory email, along with the first chapter of my novel (ha!). And then I sent it to the program director. And then I thought nothing more of it.
Except, actually, I thought of nothing else.
I refreshed my emails a thousand times a day (which is excellent practice for being an actual author btw). And, by the end of the week, I had a reply. I had an interview! My first professional appointment for nearly eight years. It went well. I was offered a place on the Creative Writing: Your First Novel Master’s course at St Mary’s university.
At this point, I decided it would be an opportune moment to share all of this with my husband. The conversation went something like this:
Me: I was thinking of going back to university. To do a Master’s.
Him: Okkkkkkkkkkkaaaaaaaaay. In what?
Me (Clears throat): Creative Writing.
Him: Right. Well. Ok. Ok. Good idea. you should definitely look into that.
Me: I applied, had an interview and have been offered a place. It’s £5000.
Him (Mouth open) (Mouth closed) (Mouth open)
Me (low growl): I’ve borne three of your children.
Him (whisper): I one hundred percent support you on this endeavour.
And, God love him, he did.
Below is the first page of the first chapter of my first novel, the one I sent as part of my application. Although the main character changed name and profession, this was still very much the beginning of The Devil’s Claw, which later landed me a two book deal with Orion in the UK and publishing contracts in the US, France, Germany and the Czech Republic.