Here I am at Arvon, it’s raining but that doesn’t detract from the atmosphere at all. We spend our time in the company of two excellent writers and tutors, Mark Haddon and William Fiennes. We talk from dawn till lights out about writing, we do short workshops and read our efforts out loud to each other, 16 wannabes in awe of the prose of the Pros. Tears and laughter are both common as is the red wine in the evenings. Learning is accelerated and confidence grows. Tomorrow we must each read out our chosen texts of just 5 minutes length. Of course these snippets are still being composed, their authors frantic and emotional hiding in their private writing spaces, the garden, the barn, their beds or the sitting room. Everyone thinks their work is rubbish and everyone else’s is fabulous. No prizes though just the gift of a head full of ideas and hope that we can take the best quality advice of the tutors and cut, cut cut to the bone, to reveal the magical ability of inspiring complex realistic images in the minds of our audience. I might post my story here . . . But I might not . . .