We are a glittering bunch. We even have a secret Prosecco corner where we used to gather like tumble weed in a storm in the evenings when we stayed for study weeks. The Prosecco corner is forlornly deserted these days and tumbleweed free as our MA days are over. One of our group went on to do the MFA, which is also on offer at West Dean, but we were jealously delighted when Mel confessed that, thought it was a stunning qualification, she missed us all. We make up for it every month in term time as West Dean hosts our alumni meeting organised and hosted by Beth Miller and Sharon Duggal which is consistently attended by six of us and a couple of welcome students from the academic year after us. It’s held in the same week as the present first and second-year students attending the MA course, and we all attend an author talk under the gleam of brass chandeliers reflecting off the glass fronted book cabinets of The Old Library. Past tutors also give talks: Elly Griffiths, Lesley Thomson and Mick Jackson to name but a few.
Finding a tribe who fully understand the dangers of navel gazing is the gift that keeps giving. As well as our monthly alumni sessions, we regularly meet up every week for our Zoom meetings on a Friday morning. The sessions last around an hour and, once we have established that all our families are ok, we crack on with writing advice and suggestions. It’s incredibly motivating and helpful to articulate where we all are with our writing. Our friendship is forged in the fire of ghosting from agents too snowed under to say no thank you, and celebrating generic rejections from agents who at least have had the time to read and let you know they hate your work. They never actually say they hate it, but it’s how it feels until we all commiserate and cheer each other up, and even though it’s a rejection, at least it’s something. It makes the victories of our classmates even sweeter, and the prospect of publication seem not quite the impossible dream. For us the writing is the gift, the friendship the wonderful by-product, and the occasional ‘I loved your writing but have no space for this on my list at the moment’ feel like a triumph.
It would be too easy to let life seep back into the space we have spent so much time creating, and forget that we are all in our souls, writers. In real life I still have my hairdressing business as my undiscovered talent for writing best sellers has so far remained …. undiscovered. I
stay hopeful, because it’s the only way forward in an industry teetering on the edge of an AI revolution that threatens the creative arts. Industrial scale theft of online books and bots
mimicking the style and tone of every writer on the internet is an ongoing battle we are facing. But just as mass-produced white bread now fills the bakery shelves, artisan sourdough is still the gold standard. May our literary mashed avocado always grace the writing equivalent of Booker- Prize -winning sprouted-grain toast. In the face of it all, West Dean is our writing home. The umbilical cord has never been cut and I hope it never will.
NB. Catherine Kurtz will be hosting a Meet the Author talk about her debut novel, Feast, in The Old Library on 4th November.
