A fine meeting of minds - a look at graduate writing weekends by Daniel Luxton

The writing bug is an infectious one. Allowed to spread in a breeding ground of creative minds feeding and bouncing and sparking off one another (say, the hallowed, sunlit spires of the University of Winchester), it can go viral. Fellow writers sharing thoughts, ideas, characters, plots; driving each other to their notebooks in an epidemic of inspiration.

Then comes the quarantine of graduation. Thrust into sudden isolation, the creative virus may not flourish as it used to. Finding the time, energy and wit to put pen to paper can be difficult. Writing in a vacuum, without a gauntlet of critically-minded peers to run ideas past, can dishearten the most prolific of us.

Which is where the Writing Weekend comes in.

Dreamt up in the halcyon days of the early 2010s, the original set of Writing Weekends drew together Creative Writing alumni from across the generations. Twice a year, graduates gathered in ramshackle caravans to share stories, ideas, memories, and alcohol. Old friendships were brought up to date. New friendships were founded. And through mutual encouragement, writers found time to pull their proverbial fingers out and get down to some non-proverbial work. The joy of our Winchester days flowed through those weekends like the waters of the Itchen.

This summer saw the return of the Writing Weekend after a hiatus of almost five years, and I am pleased to report that flow is as powerful as ever. Organised as always by much-respected bastion of the Creative Writing staff Glenn Fosbraey, a hazy June weekend saw thirteen graduates and their aforementioned lecturer converge on a Dorset holiday park for rest, relaxation and writing.

It was a diverse group that squeezed itself into a pair of static caravans for the weekend. The passage of time naturally means that more years of graduates are represented, but also that fewer faces from each year can actually make it. I, for example, was the sole representative of the class of 2013 this time around. But this, I think, is no bad thing. Thrusting together writers from the class of 2011 right up to that of 2018 creates a melting pot of personalities, ideas and experiences. The energy in those caravans felt fresher, more full of possibilities. Late drafts of novels rubbed shoulders with first pages of scripts.

On a personal level, it was an absolute delight to meet the graduates of more recent years, my successors in keeping the cobbles of Winchester safe from the forces of boredom and bad dialogue. Every one of them proved to be a delight to spend the weekend with. I would hope they briefly considered me to be pleasant company… for the short time until my chances of making a good impression were wrecked by my abysmal performance at lawn bowls, crazy golf, and indeed anything requiring a level of physical coordination.

Because it’s not all caravans and notebooks. It wouldn’t be a Writing Weekend if we missed an opportunity to muck about. The holiday parks we stay at are usually well furnished with diversions. As well as golf and bowls, there’s a swimming pool, football courts, even a beach. The nearby town (in this instance Poole, but previous weekends have taken place in Weymouth and Hastings) will always contain something of interest, not least a well-stocked pub.

This was my fourth Writing Weekend, and it’s probably because I’m older, wiser, and capable of appreciating life’s pattern of curiosities more, but this was my favourite yet. Regardless of how I began this blog, it’s never really about the writing itself. Nobody’s standing over your shoulder counting your words. No, the pleasure of a Writing Weekend is in the people, and the atmosphere; to share a couple of days with fellow travellers who understand the idiosyncrasies, frustrations and joys of being a Winchester writer.

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