Learning to write (again)

Writing has always been one of my favourite parts of my job. I love the feeling when a note I've ghost-written sounds so much like a senior leader I can hear them speaking when I read it.  Or when I've pulled together a story that makes such common sense, the messages flow together like perfectly-fitting parts of a jigsaw puzzle.

But despite 16 years spent honing my corporate writing skills, for the second time in recent years I feel as if I'm back at primary school because I'm trying something a bit different.

The first time was when I did a feature writing course. Two days. Me and a room full of journalists. I loved it, but I sat practically quaking every time I had to read out yet another standfirst or introductory paragraph that sounded clunky and clumsy next to everyone else's. Afterwards, I wrote a series of one page interviews for a local magazine. I can't tell you how much I agonised over 750 words and what a fraud I felt when I had to call the BBC to get a photograph of one of the sports personalities I was writing about. "Are you a journalist?" asked the nice switchboard lady. "No!" I said instinctively. "Er, I mean yes." ("But not a REAL one", the voice in my head was shouting.)

Now, I'm learning to write again for a different reason. Some of you will know it's my dream to write books. Well, I've finally got my act in order and last week I started seeing a publishing coach. We talked a lot about my ideas, angles, what a publisher might and might not buy, and then she said "And how do you feel about the writing?"

At which point I realised I'm actually quite nervous about it. I've spent so many years writing for other people, I've forgotten what it feels like to write for myself.

So my homework is to write a piece about anything, of any length, just for myself. No brief whatsoever. I am NOT to think about objectives, structures, audiences, etc. I am not to finesse what I've written. Most importantly, I am not to worry about whether it's any good. (Gulp. I'm worrying about how not to worry.) The worst of it is, I don't have to hand it in. So I won't even know if I've done it right. Except there IS no right - that's the point. It's about remembering what it feels like to enjoy the experience of writing just for me.

This probably sounds very easy, but I'm a perfectionist (which is like a dead weight sometimes) and I work by planning, structure, going over and over things until I'm happy with them and asking for feedback at any possible opportunity. So it actually feels quite alien and daunting to me.

Which is a good sign that I'm about to learn something ...

Sue