June flew by in a frenzy of writing. Publishers Jonathan Cape were having an ‘open
submissions’ month, inviting new writers to submit fifty pages of prose fiction,
so I decided to rise to the challenge.
When I came to Berlin, I brought with me a bag and a memory
stick full of drafts and odd scraps of writing that I’d been working on for
years intermittently and without any real sense of direction. I had begun a number of projects that
required further development (plus others for which the bin was the most
suitable destination), but work commitments gave me little time or energy for
literary activity. However, in recent
months I’ve revisited much of this work, editing it ruthlessly, giving it
‘shape’, and developing characters and storylines. Not having a demanding full-time job
obviously helps but I also find that Berlin itself is a natural and a nurturing
environment for would-be writers; in any café at any time of the day people can
be seen scratching away in notebooks or tapping on keyboards. Of course we’re not all going to be the next
Isherwood, and in all likelihood, the vast majority of what’s produced will
never see the light of day, but for most of the time, simply engaging in the
creative process is what drives us.
With the Cape deadline of 30th June as a further
incentive, I selected a piece from my motley collection of scribblings and then
I worked flat out, spending up to sixteen hours a day editing and revising. Sometimes I would force myself to stop and
have a wander around the neighbourhood, maybe calling in for a coffee somewhere,
just to put a little distance between myself and the piece, so that I might
return to it with a sharper eye (there was also the added distraction of the
odd World Cup match). Finally, at eleven
p.m. on the last Saturday of the month, I submitted fifty pages (about 22,000
words) of a work in progress.
Whether I get a response remains to be seen but at least the
exercise gave me the discipline and focus I needed. In terms of creativity, it also proved
massively stimulating, as I’ve been writing furiously ever since. I’ve long been in the habit of taking
notebooks and pens wherever I go but now I find I’m constantly putting them to
use; one evening last week, I started jotting down ideas in a café, and before
I realised it, ninety minutes had disappeared.
So, on Saturday 5th July, my imagination still
firing, I made my way to Kreuzberg where I met up with Victoria Gosling of ‘The
Reader Berlin’ and fellow ‘scribblers’ for a creative writing workshop entitled
‘Get Inspired’. From our meeting place
at Südstern, we walked to the nearby cemetery.
It was a sultry afternoon but Victoria found a shady spot for us by a 19th
Century tomb – one of those ornate affairs with neo-classical masonry work and
alabaster angel. We sat on the grass and
listened to a reading from Margaret Atwood’s ‘Negotiating with the Dead’ before
completing a round of exercises designed to get our creative minds into gear.
We then dispersed, armed with a selection of tasks, to seek
inspiration among the statuary. I hadn’t
wandered too far when my attention was caught by a small, plain headstone. Tantalisingly lacking in information, its
simple inscription read ‘Heinrich Nagel, 1893-1966’. I knew I had found my man.
Sitting on a shady bench, my only companion a red squirrel,
I wrote non-stop for the next hour and a half, pondering the question of who
Heinrich Nagel could have been, and how he might have lived and died.
Five o’clock came and we reconvened by the angel to make our
way to the delightful ‘Another Country’ bookshop http://www.anothercountry.de/ Here we
went down into the basement, to develop the work we’d begun at the
cemetery. Some of us stayed down there
among the candles and fairy lights, some took their work outside to make the
most of the late afternoon heat, and others browsed the bookshelves or worked
on the shop floor. There were fridges of
beer, soft drinks and water to keep us refreshed and we were free to use any
books or dictionaries that we might need.
Around 7.30, the shop’s owner Sophie served dinner which we ate
around a communal table, as wine and conversation flowed.
Afterwards, it was time to share our work. Those of us who wished read out the fruits of
our afternoon’s industry, which proved incredibly diverse in terms of style,
content and narrative viewpoint: a would-be grave robber intent on retrieving a
priceless manuscript from a dead writer’s coffin; a young woman seeking
inspiration for baby names, before being drawn towards an open crypt; my
character’s speculations about Heinrich Nagel, and an older woman’s
recollection of a teenage encounter among the gravestones were some of the
offerings. Writing is usually a very solitary
activity so it was a joy to meet with other practitioners and to discover something of their imaginative processes. It had clearly been an inspiring
afternoon; each response was unique, attesting to the infinite potential
for storytelling within any given scenario.
When we finally emerged into the steamy Kreuzberg streets
just after nine, I was still buzzing with ideas.
The event had cost 35 Euros which included the workshop,
drinks, and dinner with about three glasses of wine each. It also proved a supportive environment,
genuinely inspiring, and lots of fun!
The object of my Saturday afternoon fantasies
My little woodland companion
Another Country
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