Telling our own stories

As I mentioned a little while ago, I’m not very keen on biographies, or autobiographies but I read one recently which was absolutely excellent. Well written, interesting, gripping. a compulsive read – ‘This Boy’ by the trade unionist and politician, Alan Johnson MP. I contrasted that with a biography which I didn’t enjoy as much even though it was about my favourite poet, John Masefield, which I have to admit I struggled to read and really had to soldier on to actually finish.

I had my creative writing class today and I suggested to them that they might like to think about their own lives, or family stories and I challenged them to do some biographical/autobiographical writing, but bring their stories to life as Alan Johnson did in his book. The ‘homework’ I suggest is only ever a suggestion, the ‘students’ can write whatever they like, the important thing is to write!

Coincidentally one of the group had brought a piece he had written which actually was autobiographical. He is a great writer, and a great story-teller, whether it is fiction, or in this case, a glimpse into his life, which in another coincidence was set in post-war London, just as Alan Johnson’s was. He brought his childhood vividly to life, with stories of himself as a young boy playing among the ruins and desolation of the blitz, bomb sites which were an adventure playground for children then – I’m not so sure what their parents might have thought! There were lovely little details included, an adventure in a ruined house looking for pigeon eggs, a hair-raising ride in an upturned Anderson shelter down a steep hill and across tram-lines as a tram approached, and subtle mentions of wildlife such as foxes who were reclaiming the city.

He had a very appreciative audience – I hope he will write some more!