Writing in San Francisco

Fort Mason Centre

Cyclamens and Begonias fill the planter boxes at this time of year. That is practically all I notice as I walk around the city in a daze, trying to recover from the intellectual exhaustion of the Tom Jenks writing course. The course ran from Thursday until Sunday night. Practically 12 hour days. Maybe because the cost of the course was so dear, or maybe his passion is just that intense, but Tom just socks it to you; creating an idea of literature that is practically an animate creature. And with his subtle ministrations you feel you can create and appreciate all this animal has to offer. Under his tutelage Mrs Dalloway could become a months study in itself. I believe him. And I also believe that it would not be boring but almost too exhilarating. He said that when we were finished that we should not go right back to our writing work; we should just let it infiltrate our subconscious. I think it is because it was an intellectual boot camp and we have been indoctrinated and need to come out the other side seeing the world anew. I am grateful for all I learned. His passion is infectious. I had a difficult time getting a read from him about my novel. He seemed very engaged by the story that I told him and said that I am one of only a few people that actually tell the story instead of talking about the novel. He said that I can't end it where I want to - it is not enough to have the main character believe that she is changed - I actually have to demonstrate it. When I quizzed him as to whether I was conveying the story well in the first 20 pages all he said is - it needs some work but you'll do it, you're smart. Not so comforting compared to the great details he went into with the other students. So I'm not sure how to take it.

View from the Wharf

Class of Diligent Exhausted Writers and Tom Jenks

View from my terrace

Since the course I have been hunkered down in my Fairmont suite - only occasionally emerging to walk the streets of downtown - agonizing about the down part and loving the uphill. The course was held in a converted military base in the Marina district right beside Fisherman's Wharf. I took a cab there every morning and loved the intense steep walk back up in the evening. Usually it was raining hard and my umbrella kept inverting in the winds off the bay but it was cathartic to pound up the steep inclines - felt good because my knee was painless in the uphill portions but over night swelled to nasty proportions and difficulty navigating until the nighttime climb again. I had to relent and take the elevator to class because I just couldn't do the stairs and hold my 2 teas. I wasn't able to stay at the Fairmont the first night and stayed at the Sheraton Fisherman's Wharf. It was ok but the relief I felt upon getting to the Fairmont was unparalleled. I felt that I finally could relax. The Sheraton was massive and all the patrons had that anxious air of being in transit - like the airport waiting areas. Whereas at the Fairmont it feels like people stay put. The staff are engaging. One bus boy in the lounge is particularly pleased to see me every evening, or at least he seems that way. I was really punished in my last relationship about my love for the Fairmont. I was made to feel like it was a blight on my character, even to the degree that his relatives in Holland took me aside to ask about my love for the hotel chain - as if he had told them it was a fatal flaw and they were desperate to understand it. Away from that condemnation, I can say that for someone like me who has a lot of anxiety and a desperate need for home comforts, it has proved to be a wonderful balm. I know that if I am travelling, especially on my own, I will have a warm comfortable place to retreat to where I feel safe and cosseted.

Bombay Suite Terrace