I'd previously attended a one-day course on the same subject, with the same teacher, and I'm hoping this will be slightly more detailed and less hectic. I like the teacher and she knows her stuff, though early on she made the rookie mistake of confusing Mog, the stripey cat from Judith Kerr's books, with Mog, the stripey cat from the Meg and Mog series. Tut.
Everyone else on the course seems nice. There are ten of us, two of whom are men (this seems about average for writing groups). One chap is writing a book with dinosaurs in for his son and two women have self-published through Lulu.com (I was able to find one of them on Amazon).
The evening's topic was picture books - not an area I'm particularly interested in, and a difficult market to crack even if I was. The class is split fairly evenly between people interested in writing for younger and older children, so there should be something to please me soon. We'll also talk about self-publishing, which...yes, I am still doubtful about, but it's a thought.
I note that even when I'm studying a subject I enjoy, voluntarily and out of my own pocket, I still drift off while the teacher's talking, doodle dogs in the margins of my notes and do my homework at the last minute. It's a good thing I didn't extend my academic career beyond B.A. level. (I didn't realise there'd be homework. I have to make a picture book for next week. Help!)
I also have to restrain myself from constantly talking back to the teacher, though when she suggested a nuclear reactor as an unlikely subject for preschool children I did put my hand up and say that I had had a picture book about precisely that. (It had protons and electrons with little limbs and faces, and a scary boron rod gobbling them up.)
If I gain nothing else from the course, I'm hoping it will at least encourage me to do some writing. I've been suffering from a lack of arsedness these last few months.
While I was in Foyles earlier today,
That's it, right there - that's the magic. That's what I want to make.