I'm alternately thrilled and bored off my tits with this writing class I'm taking. I signed up because I just wanted to be around real people that were besotted with writing as I am and to force myself to actually get some work done instead of dreaming about it.

(Or perhaps I signed up because it was on Tuesday's and that meant I'd miss six weeks of French. Surely I wasn't that stupid?)

Anyway. It's an odd class. Only five of us. An old dame who works at the Senate writing speeches, a girl from Trinidad who works at Grace Bros, a lady who just moved here from South Africa (she writes beautifully and gets all glassy-eyed when she's really into it), and a wee girl who's just finished high school, (she was born in 1983!! Who the hell is born in 1983? I'm getting old) and of course, me.

holy handwriting sample batman!

This weeks class was a bit of a snooze. Too much talk, not enough write. The way the teacher scrawls on the blackboard really bugs me. She's left handed and just pummels her hand at the board like a machine gun with a horrid screeching sound.

But the first week was fantastic, we did a bazillion writing exercises and ended up with some really great stuff. We had to write a little short story at the end and I just churned it out and I felt like "woohooing" as I wrote because it just felt so damn good.

Finally we had to read our stories out loud. At first I was so nervous I thought I'd throw up (an old habit from my uni days) but once I got up there and started reading I got the most incredible rush. I sucked them right in with my words and when I finished they were dead silent before someone said "wow". I felt like I was doing something right, something that made me feel good and satisfied and so alive… I felt like me again, and work was a million miles away.

About Shauna Reid

Ahoy there! I’m Shauna, an author, copywriter and content mentor. I love telling stories about life and helping others to tell theirs.

Find out more about me and how we can work together – I’m now booking for June 2021.