When I first arrived at the screenwriting course at Lumb Bank last Monday, I was impossibly nervous. I thought everyone else would be young and hip and that I’d be the left–out, past-it, fuddy-duddy. (Oooh, hyphen overload.) I need not have worried. Yes there were a lot of young people there, but they were friendly, and there was no hint in their hello’s of “What the hell are you doing here?”
The place we stayed – Ted Hughes’ old house - was an old and comfortable country house half way down a hill, facing south, with views of woodland and hills.
The sitting room…
I slept badly, but there were huge compensations - lovely walks, good food, and a hilarious last-night game of charades. Oh yes, and the point of it all – excellent workshops and time to write on our own.
I got home at lunchtime on Saturday in a zombie-like state of exhaustion, but at the same time so wound-up that all I could do was lie flat on my bed for several hours in a semi-conscious torpor, neither awake nor asleep. I didn’t recover enough to talk to Dave in any meaningful way until Sunday.
Now I am enthused. I’m no longer working on a film version of BUT I TOLD YOU LAST YEAR THAT I LOVED YOU. It’s going to be a television serial, and the first task is to examine the structure of the story and work out how many one hour episodes I need. It’s so exciting that I’m no longer dreading the winter.