Can my close friends look away now, please. I don’t want to bore them. But this was an absolute high point of the year, and we’re just eleven weeks in.
I entered five competitions at the Scottish Association of Writers, some more as an exercise in hope than with any real hope of getting somewhere. SAW state that they have been “Promoting excellence in writing since 1969”; while I can’t speak for the earlier years, they are most definitely doing that today. The judges offer critiques on every entry, and they are detailed enough to tell you where you went astray and where you hit the mark. All the critiques I received were kind and pointed the way to better writing next time.
My short story sank without trace, and I agree with them. My general article was too detailed for their requirements – more academic than entertaining. The winner read out his entry at the conference, and I know I can’t match that standard (but I will improve like mad in the attempt). It was beautiful. It was informative and lyrical. The poem I wrote in thirty minutes flat was longlisted – okay, that’s top nineteen or maybe twelve, but it relied heavily on the sharp loss of a good friend for its impact, and the judge didn’t know her, so perhaps I put across the sense of what we’d lost better than I realised.
I was told in advance that my short sketch had been placed in the top three (and please bring copies so that we could perform the winning sketch at conference – change pants now…). Thank Evans they judged this on Friday, or it would have ruined my enjoyment of the whole conference. I sat at Table Four with two of my group (already primed and given copies to sweat over) and heard them count down. Third was described as ‘a touch too long’ and I relaxed. That’s me, I said, and then they read the title and it wasn’t. Second was… maybe mine, and then they read the name and I all but collapsed. I’m pleased now, but right then I dreaded having to stand up and perform. My companions were hissing “Is that you?” and I was saying Shit, no, I’ve won.
Bless the pair of them, they stood up in front of a full hall and performed a piece they’d read just an hour before. I owe them both a large stiff drink for that. The judges came over to talk to me and tell me how much they’d loved the piece, and I had to tell them that I’d written in in four hours flat for a play-writing challenge. 28 Plays Later and The Literal Challenge crew have done me a whole load of good.
I thought that that was the worst over with, but the Saturday night was a gala dinner. The women dressed up. The men wore trousers and shirts. Himself wore his best black jeans and a shirt, and I was… smart in my own terms. Meaning not wearing gardening cargoes and actually wearing shoes. Clean blue jeans and boots with a decent T and a silk scarf bought at The Sill near Vindolanda. This is how I went up to collect my trophy. Must try harder next year.
Next year, must also not swear during the announcements, but in my defence, m’lud, I wasn’t expecting it. During the reading of the results for the May Marshall Book review, they announced the Highly Commended book review as ‘Essex Dogs’ and I think everyone in the hall heard me say “Shit!” By the time they announced my name and I stood up to wave and cheer, I think they knew it was the potty English woman in the corner who’d got fourth place. Thanks to the critique, I know how I can improve on that (whether I can beat the standard of this year’s winner is unlikely, but it will be fun trying).
While I was sitting in the workshops (excellent, excellent workshops) Himself was off exploring the nearby Falkirk Wheel. He knew it was big, but thinking it and standing under those huge wheels is two different beasts. You know what comes next. “We have to come back.” I have to admit to being a fan of good engineering, and I want to see these wheels for myself.
I wasn’t expecting to enjoy the conference. The English aren’t known to be welcome in Scotland, and some don’t distinguish between the ruling class and the English who have to put up with them. Don’t tell me that we elected these MPs. I get one vote out of thousands, and last election I was asked to choose between a clown, a pig or a donkey – or not voting at all.
The SAW Conference was a friendly and cheerful affair and I’m pleased to say I’ll go back. For longer next time. With a visit to the Falkirk Wheel and the Kelpies included.
Julia Chalkley 