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CELEBRATING 10 years with my 10 best feedback tips

In the previous celebration post of my top 10 tips overall, the final tip was to join the circle of writers: our creativity flourishes best together. A vital part of that is giving and receiving feedback well. Over the last ten years, I've given feedback on well over a thousand pieces of writing and I've learnt a lot about giving feedback that genuinely helps people. In my own writing groups, I'm both giving and receiving feedback: being on the receiving end is essential for my own writing and to remember what it's like for my students. So gathering all of that together, here are my 10 best tips for giving and receiving feedback.

1 Ask questions

When you give someone writing for feedback, say what you want feedback on. Tell them what level draft it is, eg first draft, reworked but not edited, almost-final draft, so they know where to pitch their feedback. If there's a typo in a first draft, you don't need to know; almost-final draft, that's useful info. Then ask questions. Useful questions for fiction might be...

  • What do you think of x character?
  • Did the tension lag in any bits? Did any parts feel too expository?
  • What do you guess / suspect will happen next?
  • Is the voice consistent?
  • Where could I add more description?
  • Middle 2 paragraphs of pg 3: I'm debating cutting these. What do you think?

For poetry, questions might be...

  • What mood does it evoke for you?
  • What's your interpretation of what it's about?
  • What does the reference to x mean to you?
  • Which do you think are the strongest / weakest lines?
  • What do you think of x-y rhyme pairing?
  • How does the metre flow for you?

Keep your questions open-ended, avoiding spoilers and yes/no answers. For example, instead of "Can you tell Y is the murderer?" ask "Who are you most suspicious of?" Instead of "Is X-character coming across as intelligent enough?" ask "How is X-character coming across?" For characters, the three-traits test is good: everyone in the group writes down three character traits for that character, then compares. That gives a great cross-section of views – plus if people are struggling to think of three, you know the character isn't clearly defined yet.

These questions are important for the people giving feedback, so they know what to comment on. They're equally useful for you: thinking carefully about what questions to ask gives you new insight into your writing. It also acts as a lovely safety net while you're writing. If I'm having a difficult-words day or feeling insecure, I dash down the questions to ask my writing group, then carry on, knowing their help will be coming in the future.

You're also allowed to ask for positive feedback only. If something's tentative first-draft, you don't need to know the characterisation's still weak or pages 2-4 are all exposition: you need to know which stuff is exciting and interesting. You need enthusiastic readers who'll help you spot the possibilities. 

Finally, put your questions at the end of the piece. Let the reader form their opinions then see what you want feedback on. Often, in our group, we find we've flagged things up before reaching the question on that issue, which is an extra confirmation it needs sorting out.

2 Say what's good

The first time my students give me work for feedback in a course, the instruction sheet says "DON'T PANIC" (in large friendly letters) and then "You're not being marked on your work: I’ll tell you what’s working well in it and give you suggestions to improve it." Sometimes students joke about the "shit-sandwich" approach: the idea that to give negative feedback, you start and end with positives. But that's not what it's about, in writing feedback. Yes, hearing positives makes it easier to take negative feedback on board, but saying what's good in writing is 100% valuable in itself. We need to be told what's good because we don't already know. In a first draft, you often can't tell. By third or fourth draft, something you worked hard on at the start is so familiar you've forgotten it's even doing something important. If you're cutting your writing down for length (I'm a chronic over-writer), it's a Godsend to have the group's feedback on which are the best bits, so you know to keep those.

Saying what's good in someone else's writing is also one of the best ways for you to improve as a writer. Spotting flaws is much easier than spotting what someone's doing right. Flaws stand out more. We're trained to look for the negatives. And we spot the flaws in areas we're already good at. If your dialogue is excellent, you see in an instant that someone else's is clunky. But spin it round. If your dialogue is poor, can you spot good dialogue? Seeing what other people are doing well teaches you far more than seeing where they're not as good as you. Everyone wins.

3 Say what could be improved

This is the second half of what I promise my students. Hearing what's good is essential, but so are suggestions for how to develop. If something is unclear or confusing, if the tension lags, if you genuinely can't make head or tail of a poem, that’s part of feedback. When a writing group or writing-buddy relationship becomes too "kind", it slowly stagnates – and it's not actually kind, because it's not helping each other progress.

That said, be gentle in your delivery. Talk about the writing, your response to it and understanding of it, not about the author. It helps to use “it” and “I” language, not “you”. Instead of “You lost me on pg 3” say “I found pg 3 a bit confusing”. Instead of “All your exposition is slowing down the story” say “It has a lot of exposition, which is slowing down the story.” We identify strongly with our writing so a critique can feel personal: help it stay focused on the piece. And remember to stick to the brief, ie their questions: if someone's submitted first draft and doesn't want line-by-line feedback, don't go in with your editorial red pen, Just because you've spotted something doesn't mean it needs flagging up now.

4 Listen and consider

When you're receiving feedback, it's tempting to jump in and say "So what I was trying to do there was..." or "I need to put that in because..." Bite your tongue for a bit. In some groups, we've even had a rule that the writer isn't allowed to speak for the first ten minutes. That helps the feedback stay focused on what's actually there on the page, not what the writer meant to be there. It also helps you listen and process your first responses, especially if you're feeling defensive. Nod, thank people, make notes. Once you've listened fully, you can ask follow-up questions: "I do need some of the stuff about lemons as set-up for later: do you think it would work if I just kept x line?" "I can see the character's not coming across the way I intended. Which bits made her seem hostile, to you?" and so on.

The other part is to consider. No-one's feedback is the Word of God engraved on stone tablets. It's another writer's opinion. If you disagree strongly, don't chuck it out immediately: sit with it a bit, sleep on it, think it over. Consider it. And if you consider it's wrong, then you can dismiss it.

5 Feedback should help people write more

I've had a number of students join a course with serious scars from past feedback from other courses or agencies. Often they've stopped writing for years. The thought of getting feedback again has made some of them shake and nearly cry. I'm in awe of their bravery, that they have still signed up for a writing course, that they're giving me their writing to read, however fearfully. And I am Mother-Bear furious with the people who did that to them.

Feedback should help people write more. The single biggest factor in improving our writing is writing more. All the theory, tips of the trade, and craft-of-writing books in the world are useless unless we're writing lots. We don't have to figure out every writing trick ourselves, through trial and error, but we do need to use them in our writing – which means we need to be writing. If someone's feedback stops a person writing, that feedback is a complete failure. It doesn't matter how clever it is, how "insightfully" it "identified the problem": it has failed at its fundamental purpose.

Remember this, if you've had or if you get feedback that quashes you: the person giving the feedback has failed, not you. To avoid ever giving feedback like that, all these tips will help, plus a few other pointers. First, pitch your feedback to the person's level. Look at where they are in their writing development right now, and choose areas to improve that are within their grasp. Second, be selective: don't detail every single aspect that could be improved; focus on the things that will make the biggest difference. We are all always developing as writers, but we can't develop on every front at once. And we'll develop best by continuing to write.

6 Think growth not talent

One student, who's also my oldest friend, told me, "Your feedback's always so helpful for improving stuff, but it's so positive that I don't know if I'm any good at writing." We had a slightly puzzled conversation, because I'd just told her, in her written feedback, what was good in her writing and what could do with work. Eventually she said, "But what if someone's just really bad? Would you tell them?" Then I realised we were coming at the question from completely opposite ends.

There's no such thing as a bad writer. There's no such thing as a good writer. There's no such thing as talent. There are people who have some slight advantage – for instance, learning to read young and growing up in a wordy household, which creates more exposure to language, so their early work is ahead of their peers, so they're encouraged and praised, so they do more, and continue to, in the constant sunlight of admiration... That's just getting good by doing something lots and being encouraged, but it gets mistaken for talent.

We all develop as writers. Would I tell someone their writing is "bad"? No. Nor would I think that. It's at a particular level of development. I'd tell them what's good in it and make suggestions to improve it. As I told my friend that evening, some of my students producing fantastic quality work, publishable and/or published, gave me intial submissions that she'd call "bad". If I'd cut them off then, they'd never have had a chance to develop. If a student wants to know if a particular piece is ready to be sent out for publication, that's a different question, which still isn't about them being good/bad, but how developed that particular piece is. None of it's about being "good" or "bad", it's about developing.

I've learnt to reflect that in my language, when I give feedback. In the early days, I'd say "You have a talent for description" or "You have a flair for dialogue", and so on. Sounds encouraging, right? Actually, it's unhelpful and even insulting. It insults the work they put in to write that description and dialogue: it didn't "come naturally", they did that. And it doesn't help them. Next time they're stuck with their dialogue or description, what should they think? That they've lost their flair, their talent? If I recognise the work they did and say what they did to make that bit good, then they can do that again next time, when it's coming less easily. These days, my feedback will read more like this: "You've written very natural dialogue, by using contractions and leaving out unnecessary words. The way you imply x, rather than explaining it, gives us a sense of how well they know each other." and so on. And it feels a hell of a lot better to be praised for the specific choices you've made than to be told you're "talented".

7 Set time and length limits

Whether you're writing buddies, a writing group, or a teacher taking in work for feedback, set strict length limits on how much someone can send in. Our group of 4–5, which meets weekly, has an upper limit of 4000 words. (Introduced to keep me in check!) For student submissions, I limit it to 2000 words of prose or one poem of 40 lines. Likewise, set time limits for when stuff need to be sent by, if you're reading each other's work before you meet, and set time limits for how long you spend on each person's work. These may seem like humdrum logistical points compared to the other tips, but they're the basis of a healthy long-lasting writing group or buddy arrangement: clear boundaries which keep it doable for everyone. Reading other people's work takes time, talking about it takes time, we all have other things we need to slot it around. Respecting everyone's time keeps the relationships harmonious.

8 Be careful who you ask for feedback

You show your family and friends your writing, and they read it. (Result!) You say eagerly, "What do you think?" and they say, "I liked it." You push for more feedback. Striving to be helpful, they start to criticise it. They point out typos, tell you they don't like the genre, flag up a swear word a character used... The experience is upsetting for everyone and discouraging for the writer.

Non-writers are usually hopeless at giving feedback – and fair enough. You have to know a lot of the machinations of writing to give useful feedback and being a reader isn't enough. I'm a driver, but I couldn't give a car mechanic feedback on their work; all I can say is "It's making a funny noise" or "The noise is gone now." It's not fair to expect our family and friends to give us helpful feedback, especially when a piece is still developing. If you want help, ask fellow writers. If you don't have a writers' group or a writing buddy, set one up. Lots of students on my courses form writing groups at the end of the course, and anyone who's been on the courses can join the Slack / Facebook community, to find people to form groups with.

Be especially careful not to ask for feedback when you actually want praise, validation, or just to share your world. It's easy to fall into this trap with parents and partners / love-interests: we say "What do you think?" when we mean "Look what I made!" So use your writer-words to say what you really mean: "I'm so pleased with this poem and I wanted to share it." "I'm having so much fun creating this world and I wanted you to know about it too." If you really need them to say more than "I liked it" then return to Tip 1 and ask questions you want the answers to. "Which is your favourite bit?" "Which character did you like most?"

Your family, friends, and partners are there to love you and share your delight. Your fellow writers have the know-how to help you develop your writing.

9 Avoid group-think in writing groups

Similar to the danger of a writing group or buddy arrangement becoming too "kind", a group can develop "group-think" over time. That's when keeping the group harmonious becomes more important than thinking critically and independently, and it can lead to some very skewed perspectives. 

To avoid this, firstly, actively embrace disagreement within your writing group. If one person thinks a particular page should go and someone else loves it, good! If one person hates a character and someone else loves them, good! Never try to move from that to a group consensus: someone will be backing down and you'll be losing their insights. Make a note of the differing opinions, and you as the writer can choose your course later. Secondly, work apart and then together. In the three-traits test, everyone writes down their own view of a character and then compares. In our group, by sending our writing in advance, we read it independently and then compare our views. When people are forming and expressing their opinions at the same time, it's very easy to landslide down with the first, loudest, or strongest opinion, and not even notice we're not thinking independently anymore.

The beauty of a writing group is getting multiple opinions at once: keep them multiple.

10 Have multiple feedback sources

Having multiple opinions within a writing group is fantastically helpful. Having multiple groups and writing buddies is also good, not disloyal. We need different people for different stages. The person you've talked out the whole plot with can't tell you if your suspense and reveals are working: they already know everything. The group that helps you hammer and polish your first draft can't read the final draft with fresh eyes: they know every detail of what you're trying to do. This is also where family, friends, and partners come back in.

In my writing, my partner knows every detail of the world. I read aloud the raw first-draft to him in the kitchen in the evenings, at the Plough on weekends, on holiday in Turkey. That's him being my cheerleader and my love: I want to share my world. I thrash out plot problems and pick his brilliant brain: then he's my co-creator. When I turn that raw first-draft into actual story, I write it, type up, print it, add bits, refine it, print a clean copy, and give him that to read: then he's my alpha-reader. He flags up anything that strikes him as odd. Sometimes practical matters: if you saw a barrel lengthways, it'll fall apart. (Doh!) Sometimes story-structure matters: x character seemed completely unsurprised by that news. Sometimes suggestions: he'd like to see that scene in more detail or that part is happening too fast. I make adjustments and then it goes to my writing group.

The writing group are my writing experts: they hammer down into the serious story structure stuff, flag up exposition, comment on prose. I come away with a sheaf of edits and usually some reworking. If I'm heavily rewriting a scene, I'll bring it back to them for a second pass: it's not going to surprise them, at that stage, but they can help me check the language.

When the book is finished and I've edited it, then I need fresh readers. These don't have to be writers, necessarily, just readers, so it can be friends and family. This isn't about looking for expert advice, it's finding beta-readers for a reader-response to the finished book. To make that work for both of us, I need to remember Tip 1 and ask questions. At the end of each chapter: "How is x character coming across? What do you think will happen next? Who do you suspect? What most surprised you?"

That's 6 different roles, some of which need more than one person: cheerleader, co-creator, alpha-reader(s), writing expert(s), beta-readers. Some of them can overlap and be the same person; some absolutely can't, because it needs fresh eyes. It's not "disloyal" to have several writing group / buddy arrangements: it's important. And we absolutely can't be alone, as writers. As I said at the start, we need each other: our creativity flourishes best together.

*

My aim, as a teacher, is always to empower my students: people shouldn't be dependent on me, to write. But we don't have to be independent, either: we're interdependent. Over the last ten years, I've learnt so much more about teaching, thanks to all of you and your feedback, created so many new courses and workshops, thanks to all of you and your input, got to read so much of your lovely writing and share in so many different worlds and stories. The solstice tips today and the year's almost over, so this is the last of the ten-year celebration posts, but the Writers' Greenhouse is going strong, thanks to you. And whatever year it ends up actually happening, we are definitely having that ten-year anniversary party!

Happy writing and may all your feedback be helpful!

 


The Writers' Greenhouse CommunityWant writing feedback or a mentoring chat from me? You can get supportive, constructive feedback for any length of writing from just 2000 words or a single poem through to a complete book.

Or you can book a mentoring hour, to discuss your wider plans (eg how to work towards a poetry collection), to workshop a plot, or to get help with a process (eg how to redraft). Whatever’s useful to you. 

Choose what suits you here, or if you're not sure, email me and we can discuss what'll work best for you.

CELEBRATING 10 years with my 10 best tips for students

Over the last ten years of courses and workshops, I've found that whatever the topic, there are some tips that are useful for every class. And when a student gets back in touch years later, these are the things they say they still hold onto. These aren't the nitty-gritty writing advice on specific topics – rather, they're the simple practical tips and principles that unlock a whole new approach or resolve a problem that felt like an inevitable part of the writing landscape. I rarely teach by standing in front of the class and declaiming, but now I allow a couple extra minutes in each class for a spontaneous Preach on whichever tip will help most right then. So here, in higgledypiggledy order, are my best tips for you.

1 Get a fountain pen

Writing by hand, if that's physically possible for you, is brilliant. There's good evidence that we consistently produce more, of higher quality, writing by hand - and this is from 2009, well after you'd expect most people to be more adapted to devices. Writing by hand quickly becomes tiring though, if you're using a ballpoint. Most pens, ballpoints especially, rely on friction to pull the ink out. That means you have to press down harder and you also have to hold the pen tighter. If you've ever shaken out your hand after writing lots by hand, that's why. Fountain pens, on the other hand, don't rely on friction: you can hold the pen light as a feather, glide it across the page with the nib just touching, and still get a lovely line. Suddenly you can write by hand for hours and never cramp up.

A few tips for fountain pens:

  • You don't need to spend a lot to get a good pen with a good nib. I usually have a £20 Parker fountain pen. At the moment, I have a £10 Helix pen and it's a dream to use. Paying a lot for a fountain pen usually just means you're buying a more expensive case, not a better nib.
  • Choose a pen thickness that suits your hand size. The very narrow pens are too thin for my size-7 hands: I prefer a slightly thicker pen. You do you.
  • Stock up on your pen's ink cartridges and stash them everywhere: handbags, pockets, pencil cases, drawers. Never be without ink.
  • Don't let anyone else use your pen. The nib gradually shapes to your handwriting.
  • Don't drop your pen on its nib. That kills it. (And I'm dyspraxic, so that's why I have a £10 Helix pen these days.)

If you're left-handed, you might find that fountain pens smudge too much for you. In that case, look for a pen that doesn't need any friction - fineliners are a good option and some gel pens. To test a pen, hold it lightly between two fingers and drag it gently across the page. If it leaves a clear line, it's a good 'un.

2 Have a writing bag

This applies even if you're not leaving the house. Your writing needs a safe home to live in. Most people quickly find that they migrate about the place when they write, if not between parks and coffee shops, at least from room to room. I have a big leather satchel I found in a charity shop for £5 and beeswaxed back to loveliness, which trundles around with me – pre-2020, between my parks, pub gardens, and meadows; the last year, from room to room. Having one place where all the current writing lives helps you look after all those handwritten pages, plus any time you scribble a random idea on a receipt or an envelope, you have somewhere to put it.

One important tip: write your name and contact details on a piece of card, along with an urgent plea for the bag's return, and put it in the bag. Even if you're not leaving the house for another three months. Something about writing can turn even the most organised person into a dazy dreamy forgetful ditz, and you really want that note to already be in the bag so that when you're halfway home on the bus and the waitress finds your bag, they can phone you. (Thanks, Agne!)

3 Mess up the blank page

Often, at the start of a writing activity, I'll see half the class frozen, pens poised and unmoving above the endless perfect drifts of white that is the blank page. They're trying to work out the right way to start, the right first sentence. They're probably wording the sentence in their head and then trying to remember how it started when they get to the end. Sometimes an entire class is sitting in suspended animation, pens hovering.

At that point I get everyone's attention back, show them a blank page, and tell them to copy me, and then I scribble all across the top, as messily as possible. I get them to do the same. I usually try not to swear in class, but for this I make an exception: "Right," I'll say. "Now you've already f'ed it up, so you can't f' it up any more than it is already." And all the pens start to move.

You can mess up the blank page however you want. Tear it out and crumple it up then smooth it out again. Scribble all over it. Start with a deliberately rubbish sentence or by describing the weather. It doesn't matter how you mess it up, anything that gets your pen moving and helps you remember that you're writing a draft, not carving words in stone.

4 Stop in the middle of

... a chapter, a scene, a paragraph, even a sentence. Our natural instinct is to reach a logical stopping point (the end of a chapter, scene, paragraph) and then stop there. It feels tidy. But that backfires. The next writing session, you not only need to Start The Doing Of The Writing, but you also have to start a new sentence / paragraph / scene / chapter. These days, when we do writing exercises in class and time is up, I give everyone about a minute's notice and the ritual reminder "If you want to carry on writing this later, remember to leave yourself a half-finished sentence."

Starting The Doing Of The Writing is always a little challenge and that half-finished thing makes it so much easier. I've learnt to not even Start The Doing Of The Writing: I get my writing stuff out, put on my playlist, light my favourite writing candle (fresh grass), make a coffee, and then sit down, not to write, but to read. I reread what I wrote last time and then I come to a half-finished bit and I'm already there, pen in hand, and oh look, I'm carrying on.

Leaving something unfinished has another bonus. Unfinished things take up extra headspace, nagging at our attention, which is why for most things we want to finish the task, close the tab, complete the admin, to save that headspace. For writing, though, we want it to be lurking around in our minds, prodding us with extra ideas, interrupting a box-set binge with an important realisation that the word "brandish" would be just perfect in that scene...

5 Write badly

If you're not prepared to write badly, you're not going to write much of anything. Many people think that early in a writing career, you start off writing badly, and then as you get better, your writing improves. Nope. The finished product may improve, but learning to write badly is an essential, valuable skill that you'll return to throughout your writing life. Any time you're having a difficult word day, any time you're trying something new, any time you're not quite sure how this is going to go, you need to write badly to write anything at all. Again, if you're not prepared to write badly, you're not going to write much. So write it badly. That's fine. You can fix it later.

Many people think they have to write it well the first time, because they haven't yet learnt about or experienced the drafting process. We don't write Alice-in-Wonderland style: "Start at the beginning, carry on until the end, and then stop." That approach might work well for your first few stories or poems, but then the moment they don't just "come out right", or you're having a bad day, you're completely stymied. Your first draft is the beginning of the process: everything can be changed, reshuffled, deleted, enriched, or pruned later. Once you've taken a couple short stories or poems through the process of reworking, editing, and finessing them, you'll discover a whole new freedom in your first drafts: it's fine to write badly, because you know you really will fix it later. And in that freedom, you discover whole new worlds of exciting ways to write.

I write my first drafts a lot more badly now than I did fifteen years ago. And my final drafts are a ton better for it. I tell my students that "Perfect comes last" – not that we're not allowed to be perfectionist, or that perfectionism loses some hare-and-tortoise race, but that it's the last stage of the process.

6 If you can't think of 1, think of 20

A character name. A location. A first line. An object for a character to be holding. An ending. Any time you're struggling to come with one, come up with 20 instead. One has too much pressure: it has to be the right one, each idea gets smacked with different perfectionist criteria every time it pops its head above ground, like an unhappy game of creative whack-a-mole. If you're writing 20, the rubbish ones are free to come parading out and the good ones sneak in alongside them.

7 Creativity loves constraints

Whenever you're struggling, add constraints. We hear a lot about the need for "creative freedom", but creativity responds a lot better to constraints. If I tell you "Write a story now about anything", you'll be stuck. If I tell you, "Write a story of exactly 200 words which includes a mermaid, a bobbin, and church bells," you can get to it pretty quickly. You might be furious that I said mermaid and want to write about a merman or a merperson: great! Rebelling against a constraint is also a shaping factor.

Depending on what you're writing, you can use all sorts of things for constraints. In poetry, we have heaps of forms that act as constraints. In fiction, any of the Story Elements could be a useful constraint: decide it has to be in a weird location, or from an unexpected point of view, or can only be written with dialogue or without dialogue. Give yourself a very specific length it has to be. Try some unusual stylistic choices: all the sentences have to be very short or very long, it has to be super-casual or super-formal, this bit of the story can only be told through documents... Draw blocks on the page and write inside the blocks, draw leaves and write inside the leaves, whatever constraints you can add, do, and the writing kicks back to life.

8 Quantity not quality

Whenever I tell my students "We want quantity, not quality!" I get at least one student saying what everyone's thinking: "Err... don't you mean quality, not quantity?" Nope. The quality will come, but not by sitting there earnestly trying to produce Quality And Only Quality. This harks back both to learning to write badly and to think of 20 when you can't think of 1, but it's worth repeating as its own separate mantra. If you focus on producing quality, you will steadily clam up into increasing rigidity, tension, and inability to produce. If you focus on producing quantity, the quality will come out, along with the rubbish and the unexpected and the silly stuff and the overblown stuff, and new discoveries and better ideas. Creativity doesn't respond well to a gatekeeper standing at the edge of your mind / pen demanding of every word and idea: "IS THIS GOOD ENOUGH?!" You can decide what's good later, once it's there. The good stuff will be there. It may seem a wasteful way to write, but when you see the head of steam you can build up and the speed with which you write when you stop judging and holding yourself back, it turns out it's a lot faster – and produces much better quality.

Another mantra for this is "You're here to do it, not to judge it," which I heard from my art teacher. He followed it up with, "You can judge it in two weeks' time." I still remind myself of that, when I freeze up on a first-draft scene or a new poem. 

This applies to coming up with ideas, to poetry, to fiction, to every aspect of early drafting. You can judge it later, choose it later, and fix it later, but start with freedom, not judgement – and the way to find that freedom is "quantity not quality".

9 Set time, not goals

We're constantly told that to be successful, we should set goals. Goal-setting is an excellent way to... stymie yourself, shrivel up any shred of joy in your writing, and lessen your productivity. Setting goals for your writing is like starting a soil-salination programme for your crops: you won't see full results overnight, but in time you'll have acres of arid, lifeless soil. You might still be able to grow a few things, by hand-watering and hand-composting each one, with back-breaking labour and blood, sweat, and tears, but it won't be fun, and it won't be lush.

This might seem an extreme way to put it, but we're so brainwashed into Goals Goals Goals that it deserves a brutal metaphor. The truth is, goal-setting backfires. A lovely study at the University of Chicago and the Korea Business School explored goal-focus versus process-focus on a wide range of activities, and every single time, the people who focused on goals did worse and less than the people who focused on the process. The real kicker, though, is that the goal-focus people felt really motivated, thought they were doing loads, wanged on about it and bigged it up... The process-focus people just kept on quietly moseying along, doing better and more. Remember that, when someone tells you how awesome goal-setting is and how productive and motivated they feel, having goals: they do believe that, but they're wrong about it working. (I have a separate post on this if you want to delve into it more: The Joy Is In the Doing.) And for the record: the worst kind of writing goal you can set is word count. Lorem Ipsum can generate word count. We're clearly not after just word count.

Without goals, though, how do you protect and prioritise writing, in the face of the rest of life's demands? Set time, not goals. Carve out the time, protect it like an angel with a flaming sword, and within that time, be free. Focus on what you're doing, not what you want to have done. Fiddle about with when the time should be, how long at a time works for you, ways to protect it, but work on setting the time.

10 Join the circle of writers

The archetypal writer, we're taught, is shivering alone in a garret, working independently on their striking original masterpiece. This is nonsense. Yes, many writers are introverts, but introverted or not, we are still social animals and we flourish, our creativity flourishes, in conjunction with others. Reading the acknowledgements pages of any novel is always staggering, when you see just how many people helped, and how. 

Bouncing ideas off other people works better than always working alone. We can see and solve other people's creative dilemmas much more easily than our own – and in return, they can do the same for us. Having readers and feedback is motivating and keeps you going when you hit a hurdle or a dry patch. 

And other people can do the one thing we can never do for ourselves: tell us how our vision is coming across on the page. We always know what's meant to happen, the effect we want to create, but we can't escape our own knowledge: only other people can tell us what is happening, the effect they're experiencing. 

My sister's graphic design blog shared this wonderful quote about finding one's tribe : "I lived outside community, I lived without a tribe. I needed women to listen to my pain and honour my tears. Then I needed women to tell me it was time to dry my tears… and do something. ... The best thing I ever did was tiptoe out of isolation and join the circle of women." It's the same with writing. We need to tiptoe out of our isolation and join the circle of writers.

I have two blogposts on writers' groups, one on running a group and one on giving and receiving feedback. The circle doesn't begin and end with a single writing group, though. That's one part of a larger community. Make friends with other writers. Swap work with them, beta-read for each other, pass on details of journals you've spotted, go to fiction conventions, support other people's readings and book launches. If you're shy and introverted, you're in good company: most writers are! These are your people!

I try to foster what links between writers I can, through the courses, and have gradually learnt to do this more explicitly: by starting an online community group for everyone who's been on the courses and workshops, by encouraging classes to have WhatsApp groups and start writing groups, by including social evenings in the courses, by having Summer Drinks (which will resume when we can do things like that), and, when the world permits, we'll have a fabulous ten-year-anniversary celebration party.

Meanwhile...

Happy writing and thanks for being part of my writing community!

The Writers' Greenhouse CommunityIf you'd like more practical insight into your creative process and a wonderful community of fellow writers, The Writers' Greenhouse Community will help you shape your writing practice and meet new writer friends. 

Plus you'll get expert advice on tap, weekly Writing Skills to develop your writing, and help sending your writing out.

Find out more and join here.  

CELEBRATING 10 years with a behind-the-scenes history

 

2021 is the TEN-YEAR anniversary of The Writers' Greenhouse and I am thrilled. I have all sorts of plans to celebrate, including a party that might have to wait a bit, and to start with, a brief behind-the-scenes history of the last ten years, in numbers...

10 joyous years ago...

I'd started planning to go freelance and teach writing courses back in 2010 and spent a long hot family holiday in Scotland pouring over my ideas for a syllabus, possible games and activities, and lesson designs – but I still ended up jumping in sooner than I'd planned. I wanted to build a buffer fund first, in my EFL teaching job, but as 2010 progressed, my endometriosis worsened. I dropped to teaching half-days, then two-hour days, and then the painkillers couldn't cover even two hours of standing upright every day. I quit my job. And now I had no choice but to make freelancing work.

I put the course outline I'd designed on a web page in my personal website and put a ten-word free ad in the Daily Info. My parents, sister, and brother in law helped Will and I carry all our stuff, and me, into our new rented house in Jericho, which had a big round table: perfect for my new course. People answered my ad, booked on the course, paid deposits. And now I really had no choice! The course was happening and I was working six-day weeks to create it alongside my editing work. The first deposits paid for the first four colours of paper. My sister bought me a laminator for my birthday (it's still going strong). I cut everything by hand until the first course fees came in and then gleefully bought a guillotine. My students asked in week 2 if they'd get feedback on their writing and I said, "Err – yes! Your first piece for feedback will be in... week 4." And so it began, on a wing and a prayer and a single web-page and a free ad for an incredibly badly named course: "The 12-week course". Because... it was 12 weeks long!

The editing was my earnings. The writing course was my passion. I knew I couldn't possibly work from home without regularly seeing people and I couldn't bear not to be teaching. It was my joy, my delight on the side, and every penny went straight back into building the business. I didn't imagine it could possibly be my sole business, so to be sitting here, 10 years later, is mind-boggling. But more on that later. First...

9 types of tea

The coffee on my courses is terrible. I admit it. It's instant, because I can't figure out an environmentally friendly, non-wasteful way to make good coffee for as many as want coffee in a short break. But hospitality is wildly important to me: I'm welcoming people into my home and I want everyone to feel at home, taken care of, treated. Hence the grapes to snack on, biscuits in breaks, arrays of condiments at lunchtime in the summer workshops, jugs full of iced mint and lemon water in the summer, chocolate stash for anyone having a hard day...

To make up for the coffee, in the first course, I proudly laid out an array of 3 teas: Yorkshire, rooibos, and peppermint. Someone asked if I had Earl Grey, so I bought that. Someone asked if I had ginger tea, so I bought that. Then came the Lapsang Souchong, the green tea, the green Rooibos tea, the decaff... actually I think there are more than that now, but those are the 9 I can name off the top of my head, and if there's anything missing that you want, just ask!

With the online courses, I do miss being able to offer those tangible treats, the chance to make someone a cuppa if they're stressed or offer a chocolate, but I make up for it as much as I can with sending candles and essential oils. And in the cupboard, there are (at least) 9 types of tea, eagerly awaiting my students' return.

8 years of the Summer of Writing

I ran a few trial one-day workshops in 2010, before I launched properly in 2011, and after that I ditched the one-day workshops and just kept on with the 12-week course. At first, that was just about my energy and stress levels. All that marketing, just for one day, and all that stress, waiting to see if I had the numbers for the workshop to run... I couldn't face it. Later, when we moved to Wolvercote, it was a practical issue. The classes are in a south-facing glass-roofed conservatory. For evenings, that's perfect, but daytimes? Even on a winter's day, one wink of sunshine and half the class would be blinded. In summer, we'd all pass out from the heat.

My partner Will, ever the creative problem-solver, came up with a plan. What if I put a bunch of weekly workshops in a row, so I was advertising all of them at once, instead of one a month, and people could do more than one? And what if we swapped the living room and the conservatory for the summer, and I could teach in the cool airy front room, and we'd spend summer evenings on the sofa in the conservatory? I wasn't sure: would my students want one-day workshops in summer? Or maybe half-days, or full weekends, or nothing? "Ask them!" he said. So I threw a form up on the website to ask, people very helpfully responded, and suddenly I was going to run 4 workshops in the summer of 2013.

Those ideas from Will shaped everything about the Summer of Writing, but most specifically the central element: Ask them. The Summer of Writing workshops gradually evolved into a full collaboration with my students: a wish-list for people to say what workshops they'd like me to create, a voting-list for which 5 workshops run each year, a times-and-dates option to see what suits people best. When the pandemic hit and I didn't know how people would want online workshops to run, the solution was easy: just ask!

7 students round a table

The courses started with 7 students around a big round table in our rented house in Jericho, plus me. When we moved, my sister gave us square table that pulled out to seat three down each side and one at each end, so again I had 7 students max. The everyone-round-a-table set-up felt warm and collaborative, at times, but had its issues. If a student regularly sat at the far end of the table from me (I wasn't yet telling people where to sit!), I couldn't offer as much one-to-one help easily. It wasn't easy to change seats, so groupings were limited to who was sitting next to each other. 8 people is too many for conversation to flow back and forth naturally and so the louder people can end up dominating, while the quieter ones don't get to speak. Four is the ideal number for a cohesive conversation, but "grouping" people who're working at the same table doesn't work so well. I got adept at discreetly rearranging seating to match personalities for different types of exercises, always making sure it looked like I was just saying numbers in order and then grouping those numbers together, but that was working around a problem, not solving it.

7 students posed another problem, too: a very strict limit on how much I could earn from the courses. It was getting exhausting running two businesses, the editing / bookcoaching and the teaching, with two sets of marketing, two sets of websites, two sets of social media profiles. As The Writers' Greenhouse grew, I wanted to spend more time on that and create a new course, but I couldn't justify it financially: it just didn't pay enough. I'd raised my course fees a little, but not too much, and baulked at raising them further. So many writing courses are wildly expensive, which rules out so many people. I wanted to keep the courses as accessible as possible, while still supporting myself, but the courses couldn't support me. It was a catch-22 I spent hour after hour, brainstorm after brainstorm, list after list, and pages of scribbled calculations on, for years.

Will the brilliant problem-solver fixed this one too. He asked how many students I'd like to teach. From teaching EFL for years, and classes of all different sizes, I knew my ideal size: 12. Big enough for a roar of energy, small enough that I can focus on everyone, and very factorisable for grouping students in multiple different ways. "But the problem is the table," I began, but Will was already wandering around the conservatory with a tape measure and a calculating look.
   "I can get 12 students in here," he said. "It would have to be three tables of four and you'd have to stand. Would that work?"
   That would be bloody ideal! We carried out half the furniture, found some folding tables to buy, he built new tops for them, and finally I could group students ideally, walk around the room to make sure everyone had equal attention, and earn enough to free up some time from editing and create a new course: Imaginary Worlds.

6 workshops from the wishlist

Once the workshops were also 12 students, I could afford to spend more time creating new workshops as well. After the first "12-week course" (Story Elements) in 2011, I ran "the follow-on course" for 5 years. (Yes, I'm incredibly bad at naming things.) This was fortnightly in three-month terms with rolling enrolment, for people who wanted support with ongoing writing projects, so I was constantly creating new materials for it every two weeks. I stopped it in 2016, when my health took a real nose-dive, but that wealth of materials and constantly discussing with my students what they wanted to cover was incredibly useful. For the first few years of the Summer of Writing, the workshops came out of those lessons, collated into themes.

With no follow-on course and more time to create materials, I started the summer wishlist: tell me what workshops you want and I'll see if I can make them. My students came up with brilliant ideas! So far, 6 workshops have come directly from the wish list: A Sense of  Place, Writing in Scenes, Hone Your Style, Beyond First Draft, Page Turners, and Publication. I can only make two new workshops a year (as a rule, it's 5 hours of creation time for 1 hour of teaching) so I'm hoping this year to make some of the other wishlist suggestions which didn't quite make the top five last year – especially Tropes and Archetypes!

5 new courses

For several years, I only ran one course: "the 12-week course" – which, after years of explaining on email that it covered "the key elements of stories", I renamed Story Elements. Once I raised the class size to 12, though, in 2017 I could create Imaginary Worlds. Creating new courses is a massive time investment but also a total joy: I love designing the syllabus and structure, researching the topics more, inventing activities and games. I couldn't wait to do it again and was hankering for something that would welcome everyone into this wonderful world of writing. So at the end of 2017, I created Starting Points, as a gleeful whistlestop tour of creative writing and creativity. I even snuck two lessons about poetry into it, Mary-Poppins style, because I know that once people have a go at poetry, they end up loving it. And when I saw how much they really did, in 2018 I set about scheming a new course.

By now, you see, I'd discovered several wonderful things. Because I was teaching different courses, the same students came back. The first lesson of each course was no longer a room full of total strangers: there were always some familiar faces. And surprisingly often, people would come to a course even if it wasn't their thing, because they wanted to do another course with me. People with no pre-existing interest in fantasy or sci-fi came on Imaginary Worlds, and ended up loving it. People who felt familiar with all kinds of creative writing came on Starting Points, and got a massive creative boost. For years, I'd been putting "poetry" on the workshop voting list and it never made the top 5. So I thought: sod it. If you won't vote for the workshop, how about a whole course on poetry?! Forget all the fear of elitism and snobbery, we are going to charge around this playground having fun with it! So in 2018 I started planning and working and advertising, and in 2019 launched Meddling with Poetry. (In case you can't tell, I was getting help with naming things by now. Mum named Starting Points and Will named Meddling with Poetry.)

For the fifth course, I wasn't sure whether to do something on fantastical fiction (magical realism, tall tales, etc) or on style, so, as usual, "Ask them!" I wrote up both descriptions, put it to the vote, and the majority voted for Writing in Style. (I named that one.) To be honest, I was disappointed. I had a lot of ideas of what to cover, but I wasn't sure it was going to be so much fun. And then suddenly I had to make it in a pandemic as well, with brain fog. I nearly cancelled it. I figured I could just refund the deposits, run one of the others, apologise; no-one would blame me, under the circumstances. But I know very well that every novel, every course, every workshop, every creative project, has that moment: "I can't do it and it can't be done." I girded my loins (that's fancy for got dressed), started creating it, the ideas started catching fire... and now, like every course I've just created, it's my favourite!

4 different painkillers

Throughout all this, the endometriosis that had booted me so brutally and abruptly into freelancing at the start hadn't gone away. My health was up and down like a yo-yo. Sometimes I'd be fine for a year, even a year and a half once. Other times, for months or even years I'd be too weak to sit at my desk and be working on a laptray on the sofa. The whole of Imaginary Worlds was designed from the sofa. At that point, I needed a wheelchair for any outing. (Wheelchairs are awesome, by the way, and all sorts of places have them just there for you to use: museums, art galleries, garden centres, IKEA, supermarkets. If you ever need a wheelchair, use one!) Anyone who's seen me teaching in person knows that I teach barefoot or in tights. I've always been more comfortable without shoes, I blame my barefoot South African upbringing, but I only got the courage to go shoeless in class when my endo was really bad. Any jolt hurt; I needed to step so lightly on the ground that eggshells wouldn't crack under me; I couldn't do that in shoes. The shoes went. Before teaching, I'd stay resting all day, doing as little as possible that might flare up the inflammation and pain, and carefully map out a painkiller schedule to cover the evening's teaching. My record was being on 4 different painkillers simultaneously.

The most extraodinary thing, though, is something that will sound very twee but any fellow teacher will recognise: the best painkiller is students. From the moment the first student walks in the door, the pain vanishes. Before, I could barely shuffle to the kitchen. Suddenly I'm gliding around the classroom. The pain had held my face pinched all day. Suddenly all my muscles have relaxed into joy. And when class is over and the sudents leave, the moment the door closes behind the final student... wham. I'm doubled over. I can no longer even stand.

For teachers who love teaching, as I do, there's a magic in it. I call it a "teaching high". It's this rush of joy, focus, laughter, peace – and, it would seem, analgesics. Happily, I haven't needed the other kind of analgesics in a while, because I've had...

3 years of perfect health

Three years! Three years of not needing painkillers, of going on walks, of cooking whenever I want, of cleaning the house, of sitting up writing in parks and pub gardens for hours on end, of lifting and carrying things, of working at a desk, of seeing something on the floor and just bending to pick it up...! Bit of a shame that one of those years I've been trapped indoors by a pandemic, but on the bright side, I'm extremely good at being stuck at home and at letting all plans be provisional, floating in the ether of possibility, and at least this time I'm well. I haven't been this well in decades! It's no coincidence that three of the five courses and all six of the new wish-list workshops were created in just three years of the ten years I've been running The Writers' Greenhouse: I've been well! And long may it last!

2 houses, 2 names

The courses started, as I said, in our rented house in Jericho, around that huge round polished table. At the end of 2012, we were lucky enough to be able to buy our first house, in Wolvercote, a hop and a skip from the green and the common, with enough little woods and canal paths and weirs to bring a heart peace. 

When I started teaching, I called my wee business "The Writers' Circle", based on that original round table, in the first house. When I realised it needed a more distinctive name, easier to Google, we'd already moved and I spent hours brainstorming, despairing, trying to dream up something that said how I wanted to teach, what I believed teaching creative writing was: a place to nurture and protect things so they could grow, but not a hot-house with its implications of hasty forcing; a warm inviting place; a peaceful place full of greenery; something practical and sensible, not elitist or esoteric... It was only after a year and a half of growing things on the conservatory windowsills, winding climbers along strings, washing terracotta pots to set out, that it finally clocked: a greenhouse. A safe place to grow, so that later you're strong enough to thrive in the outside elements. That's what I wanted to give my students. And it became The Writers' Greenhouse.

1 estatic grateful teacher

Four years ago, my brother bought us both lottery tickets with the same numbers, for a massive rollover week. He asked what I'd do if I won. I started talking about paying off mortgages, and family who needed houses, and educational trusts for cousins' children, and he cut me off.
   "Megan, not that stuff. There's so much money that you could do all of that and still have enough left to live on for the rest of your life. So after you'd done all that stuff, what would you do? How would you live?"
   I thought. Most of the stuff I want isn't things you can exactly buy. "Well, I'd write," I said.
   "You do that already."
   "Yeah, but I'd write more. I'd knock the editing stuff on the head, and have more writing time."
   "And the teaching?"
   "Oh god no, I'd keep the teaching! I love teaching! Besides, I need people!"
   After that, every writing day, I'd remind myself that I'm living my millionnaire lifestyle. This is me, as a millionnaire: bent over a sheet of fullscap, scribbling. And over the past two years, thanks to my students' support, enthusiastic recommendations, and collaboration in creating new courses and workshops, I could finally start to push the editing / book-coaching to one side. Last month, I officially took down that site and replaced it with an announcement that I was now working full-time as The Writers' Greenhouse. I am, officially, living my millionnaire dream.

At the end of each workshop and course, I send out an email with any links or info people needed, and my very effusive thanks for being such wonderful students. I do it every time and it is always, always one hundred percent sincere. Sometimes the wording is similar, because there are only so many ways one can say "thank you" without launching into poetry. (I do write effusive poems about my students as well, mind! But I don't email those out.) So much of the last ten years has been collaborative, with people generously putting forward their preferences, suggestions, and ideas, but actually every class and workshop is a collaborative experience: that group of people, those interactions, and those insights, are unique. So to everyone I've had the privilege to teach over the last ten years: a very heartfelt, actually even quite soppy,

THANK YOU!


Coming Next:

Summer Workshops
AUGUST 2026
OXFORD, UK

Lively one-day creative writing workshops for adults on Saturdays in August.

READ MORE AND BOOK

Meddling with Poetry
OCT–NOV 2026
Online | In person

Explore a variety of poetry possibilities in lively workshop-style classes.

BOOKINGS NOW OPEN