Last night (Monday night) was the last meeting in the six-week creative writing course I've been attending. I think on the whole it's been a worthwhile experience. In a way it was discouraging, as I realised just how bumbling my writing is, but on the other hand it's made me think about myself, made me think about writing, inspired me to write more.

There is one more session scheduled for next week in which we are going to be getting together for a light supper and readings with the other group (who met on Wednesdays). Each person in the group is to read one of the pieces they wrote while on the course. I'm not sure I'm quite looking forward to this. I've got used to our group now, and I've grown accustomed to reading out my feeble little story attempts. Reading to a bunch of strangers is going to be quite different.

However, our group has decided to try to continue meeting, every 6 weeks or so, in the form of a support group, taking it in turns to meet at different people's houses. We have set ourselves an assignment for the first meeting which will be towards the end of November - we're going to write a story, any theme, but in the form of a dialogue.

After the session this Monday, instead of our usual coffee a deux, Rosanne from the long-ago bookclub also came with us. We went to a very noisy place (the table of women next to us had been there 8 hours) and drank a jug of Sangria. It was fun. There's nothing quite like a girls' night out. We reminisced about the book club, and the mix of people who were there and the Very Deep books that were chosen by some. The main thing I remember about the meeting at Rosanne's house was the amazing phallic candle.