After the six-week Getting Started course (see previous post), I joined some writing groups, one run by Tina Baker, my tutor, called The Half Finished Book Club. In this group, participants share their writing, give critique and feedback, and encourage each other.
So, I critiqued other people’s work while struggling to remember all the rules and techniques I had been learning. Noticing what was done well and why, and providing constructive feedback, pushed me out of my comfort zone, but it is a great way to develop writing skills.
These days, I regularly participate in critique swaps for chapters, short stories and whole books. This is a common request through author Facebook groups, and there are other platforms, such as Scribophile, where you can submit and critique work. I love getting feedback on my writing more than I like giving it.
I am part of the Central Coast Creative Writers group, who meet face-to-face once a month and participate in a simple workshop. We have also written and published two anthologies. Our most recent anthology is being launched at the upcoming 2026 Words on the Waves Festival. We are all very chuffed to be able to call ourselves published authors.
I was so excited when I heard about the Words on the Waves Writers Festival on the NSW Central Coast. Every year they fill a program with author talks, writing workshops, book launches and other fun and interesting events, most within walking distance of where I live. This year I am attending three workshops — Publishing, Writing About Family and Editing — as well as a few author talks.
Author talks — who knew they were a thing? If you want to be captivated, entranced and inspired, go to an author talk.
I joined a book club called Central Coast Reads, which is an initiative of the Words on the Waves Writers Festival. Each book we read and discuss is followed by a visit from the author. How cool is that? I get to listen to people who have done what I am trying to do.
This has been my life for the past twelve months: gathering information, surrounding myself with other writers, having a go at writing short stories, swapping chapters with people across the world, reading, listening to audiobooks, working and writing.
When I felt I had all the information I could handle, I got serious about getting the story down on paper. As soon as I got home from work, I was on the computer writing. When I wasn’t writing, I was thinking about the story. At times it was like reading a good novel — when you have to put it down, you can’t stop wondering what is going to happen next, so you pick the book up again as soon as you get home to find out. That’s how it was when I was writing the first draft.
I would think the scenes through, something like this:
OMG . What if Anna and Cathy come face to face. Then she could finally tell her what she thinks of her. Yes, Anna would love that. Would they have a punch up? How would Cathy react. What would Jack be feeling in this scene? Whose side would he take? Can’t wait to hear what Anna says…
By the time I was back in front of the computor I couldn’t wait to write the scene.
Cathy headed for the kitchen, head down, eyes fixed on a message on her phone. At the same moment, Anna was coming out, her attention on the two full coffee cups balanced on the tray in her hands. When the tray clipped Cathy’s phone, both women looked up and let out startled cries.
“Holy fuck. You scared the living daylights out of me,” Anna snarled., coffee running in all directions across the tray.
“I scared you?” “How was I supposed to know you were in here?” Cathy hissed, a tremor running through her body.
“Well, I am and I don’t give a shit whether you knew it or not. It is my family home, you know.” Here we go.
Anna took a step back, drew herself up and puffed out her chest, cups and plates recoiling to the back on the tray. Their eyes locked in a silent stand-off, tension crackling between them.
“I want you to know, my mother was not having an affair with that photographer. Far from it, actually.” Anna’s voice rose sharply. “I can’t understand why you would start such a vicious rumour about anyone, let alone someone who can’t stand up for themselves. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“Is that what you think, Anna? Or is this a case of the pot calling the kettle black? I can’t remember ever saying your mother was having an affair. I told you she had been meeting with Doug and that I found a bag with a personal item belonging to her at Doug’s house. That’s all. Facts, Anna, facts.”
“You wouldn’t know facts if you tripped over them. You’re nothing but a meddling bitch.”
“You are the one who poisoned your family, your poor father, with the assumption Heidi was having an affair. You didn’t get the facts first, did you, Anna?”
The angry voices filled the house. When Cathy turned around, she saw Jack standing in the doorway watching them. Cathy ran to him sobbing and wrapped her arms around him.
“Why is she doing this, Jack? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
My life is different than it was a year ago. My days are full, I attend regular groups, I go to events with new friends, I go to the library, I escape into stories and I write.
I am diiferent than I was a year ago. I am content, stimulated, engaged, challenged and energised.