a berlin summer night

I think I'd almost forgotten what summer felt like.  Summer in Edinburgh has been, well, damp.  Tonight I'm writing from the balcony of a Berlin friend.  The sky is dark and it's still balmy.  Quiet chatter and the sound of footsteps on cobbles and passing bicycles are drifting up from the street below.  My friend has filled my wine glass.  The small one is snoozing in borrowed pyjamas.  There is sand between my toes still from the spielplatz where I sat earlier reading a proof copy of Sarah Hall's brilliant new collection of stories The Beautiful Indifference while my little girl pottered and sifted sand and occasionally came up to present me with long-legged spiders she'd caught between her tiny fingers.  

It's been a day of bright sun and sudden flashing rain storms.  I had lunch in a Japanese deli in the company of three Berlin food bloggers (thewednesdaychef, berlinreified, and foodieinberlin, in case you want to look them up).  It was interesting, a bit like encountering a new species, a) because I've not previously had much acquaintance with people in the habit of blogging and b) because it's intriguing to meet the face behind a blog (even, that is, when the blog is not one you are terribly familiar with, because of course you know that while the meeting might be somewhat superficial you can later go online and read this person's intimate thoughts and escapades...culinary escapades, in this case). 

My friend's flat is on Pappelallee.  A wide, tree-lined street in Prenzlauer Berg, on the eastern side of Berlin.  Opposite are tall turn-of-the-century tenement buildings.  I can't help looking up now and again to the windows opposite.  It reminds me of a piece I recorded for NPR radio a couple of years back.  You can still listen to it here, if you like.  I was asked to write a short piece about my experience of Berlin and wrote about the strange phenomenon of Berliners leaving their curtains undrawn at night.  I'm happy to report that nothing has changed.  As I type this, I can glance directly in on a number of apartments opposite.  I like it.  There seems to me a sort of parallel between the transparency of leaving your curtains open and writing a blog.

But anyway, enough of this musing, what I wanted to post today was a short announcement about two intensive short story writing workshops I'll be teaching shortly.  The first is an Arvon course at the end of this month.  I don't know what you know about the Arvon Foundation, but they've been running residential writing courses since 1968 and now run four centres.  The one I'll be teaching at, Lumb Bank, was formerly the West Yorkshire home of Ted Hughes.  Each course has two tutors (my co-tutor is Courttia Newland) and a visiting guest reader (Nicholas Royle, in our case), who live with you for the extent of the course, run workshops, share their work, and give one-on-one tutorials.  If you found yourself envying my Cove Park residency, Arvon offers a similar opportunity to cut yourself off from the real world and lose yourself in your writing for a few days. 

I took an Arvon course many years ago when I was a school student and I still remember it as being one of the first moments when I really took myself seriously as a writer.  This was largely thanks to the support of the tutor, Moy McCrory.  In our one-on-one tutorial I was reading to her a piece I'd been working on during the week when she suddenly reached across and touched my arm to stop me.  I can remember even now the seriousness with which she looked me in the eyes and said, 'Clare, you know this is good, don't you?'  I can't recall how I answered her, I probably fumbled an embarrassed reply, but the truth is my answer to that question would have been no.  I was only sixteen and while I already harboured a secret ambition to be a writer I honestly didn't have any idea if I had any talent.  Her words gave me a confidence that I'm still grateful for to this day.

So, even if you don't come on Courttia and my course (see here), do take a look at the Arvon programme, you might find something that will inspire you.

Alternatively, if you're really keen to immerse yourself in the short story, I strongly urge you to consider a trip this September to the Frank O'Connor Short Story Festival in Cork, Ireland.  This time I can't offer a residential course, but find yourself a bed and breakfast and a cheap Aer Lingus flight and you'll be in for an incredible week.  My workshop series will run over the course of four mornings, which will leave you with your afternoons and evenings free to get on with your writing or to go along to the festival events to hear some of the very best of short story writers, including Colm Toibin, Yiyun Li, and Edna O'Brien.  Take this as a head's up because the programme isn't yet live on the festival website so there should still be places available.  The course will run from September 14th to 17th, with four three-hour sessions and costs 120 euro.  If you're interested in a place, contact munsterlit(at)eircom(dot)net

Announcements over.  I'm going to post this up, finish my wine, and get to bed.  Tomorrow I fly back to Edinburgh and I'll find a city embroiled in festival madness - I can't wait!  I hope the sun is shining.  Happy summer, everyone.