Michaelmas Term Ends. Assessment Writing Begins

Where did the first term go? They say that time flies when you’re having fun, but I wasn’t expecting it to zip past so quickly. 

It’s been a busy term. Nine lectures, packed with tips, tools, tasks and trials. Every single one has taught me something new and each time I have sat at my computer for a while afterwards, tapping away and tinkering with words, desperate to use what I’ve learned. Alongside this were two workshops. I had never done a creative writing workshop before this. If I’m honest, I had no idea what they were! For those as in the dark as I was, a workshop involves submitting a piece of your writing for everyone in your workshop group to read through and critique. This means they (hopefully) tell you what went right, and more importantly, they also tell you the bits that didn’t work. Writing is a lonely process. It’s very easy to get sucked in to loving your work so much that you can’t see the problems - things that a second pair of eyes (or more if you’re lucky) will pick up right away and ask ‘is that what you were really trying to do?’ Even better than getting feedback yourself is the chance to read other people’s work. Not the published, edited and polished book on a shelf stuff - the real stuff. The sticky drafts, the ‘I’m not sure about this bit’s, the wonky plots, the stonkingly brilliant one-liners and the magical ideas that emerge onto the page in those early tentative steps forward. It’s a privilege to read those early drafts. I’m reminded of visiting the Fantasy exhibition at the British Library last year and seeing an early draft of Lilith by George Macdonald. There wasn’t a single line on the page that hadn’t been crossed out, annotated, scraped through, or underlined. Those early drafts are vulnerable. They’re the first point at which a writer begins to drip their soul onto paper. Not all of it will be good, but without that first trembling, tentative page, the novels you sit down to read would never exist. Best of all, tucked into these first drafts, you see the gems that will form the glittering final novel after they have been cut and polished to a shine. My writing is already improving as a result, though the main challenge still lies ahead. 

What challenge is this? 

Yes, you guessed it. 

Finish the damn book, Nadia. Finish the damn book. 

I’m seven chapters and 15,000 words in to my new fantasy novel. This one has given me quite a bit of trouble, mainly because I tried and fumble my way through the draft to ‘see where it went’ rather than sit down and properly plot things out. It turns out that as much as I would like to think I’m a ‘pantser,’ I am most definitely a ‘plotter.’ Cue my office door being covered in colour coded index cards (now affectionately known as The Plot Door), random internet searches for things like ‘Where can I read a copy of Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle?’ and I’m finally looking like I’ve got something resembling a plot. I’m excited, which, for someone who gets as despondent as I often do, is a big deal.

The book split in half and became two books. The characters changed names and revealed backstories I wasn’t expecting. It’s all been happening in there. Sometimes I feel like I’m riding a very stubborn horse that is determined to go, at speed, in the direction it wants to go, with very little regard for me clinging on for dear life and trying to steer. Regardless of the hideous and piecemeal process, the work is underway and writing is happening when I’m able to focus my ever-distracted mind, soothe my chronically ill body, and nail my ass to my chair. 

Looming like a friendly spectre over ‘Writing The Damn Book’ is the need to write my end of term assessments. We have to submit a piece of our writing that’s about 3000 words long. It sounds like a lot, but it really isn’t. Word counts will always be my personal nemesis, but they are a necessary tool. If you can’t say what you need to say in fewer words, then you’re probably picking the wrong words. I’ve killed two ravens with one stone and submit the first chapter-and-a-bit of my work in progress for this part of the assessment. I need all the feedback I can get. I’ve changed and tested a lot of new things - for both my writing and myself - in this new book, so getting extra critical eyes on it is essential.

The second part of the assessment, is doing my head in this week. Assessment two requires us to write a ‘Critical Commentary’ about the piece of fiction we submitted for assessment one. What the heck does that even mean? Well, it’s a (shorter) essay that asks me to explain why I wrote what I did in the way that I did. It’s about lifting the lid on your own creative process, looking at all the loose gears, broken cogs and chaotic association wiring, having a little bit of a scream at the horror of your own mind, then trying to put down what a user manual for that chaos would look like. 

It’s not going well. I spent seven hours trying to put together an initial draft or series of ideas yesterday, amid multiple cups of tea that went cold and, frankly, a small pool of tears. Perhaps that’s the point? Maybe I need to realise that my process comprises caffeine, wishy thinking and a hefty dose of madness? Yet, in trying to make this vaguely academic, I’m pretty sure I’ve got nowhere near the point. It will need a lot of work - so naturally, I’m procrastinating by writing this website post! 

It’s been a great term. I’ve got work to do. I’ve got a damn book to finish. However, before I go, I want to share a summary of all I have learned this term. When trying to reflect on the past nine weeks, it surprised me to see my thoughts emerge as a poem. I’ve never felt entirely comfortable with poetry. It’s the module I scored the lowest on during the English Literature part of my undergraduate degree all those years ago. It’s always felt like it belongs to people far cleverer than me. Yet a poem did emerge, rough around the edges, but I’m actually rather proud of it. 

Enjoy my “Ode to Michaelmas Term” and have a wonderful holiday! See you in 2026.

Setting and Place; Time and Space,

All things to consider when setting the pace.

They act as the concrete to steady your plot,

and are vital when point of view ties you in knots.

But don’t forget pacing - that rhythmic devil.

Too slow and you’re boring, a sage, or a vessel

for pensive reflections, emotion, or flaws.

Too fast and your reader may beg for a pause.

But maybe you want them to scream and to plead,

as you balance your characters’ wants and needs?

“And don’t forget dialogue!” I hear someone yell.

“The words that are spoken should cast their own spell.”

Yet, that only matters if there’s reason to speak.

Conflict is vital, without it, plot’s weak.

Perhaps polysyndeton? Perhaps some anaphora?

Literary techniques guide your mental parabola

of new possibilities; things to try out.

That’s if you can face down your crippling doubt,

if you think that you really can do this at all?

Who called you a writer? “I did,” your heart calls. 

Sharing your work takes some iron-clad balls.

Your workshops can haul you through abject despair,

yet the good bits can feel like you’re walking on air.

And with each week you learn, and you test, and you grow.

Am I a writer? I could be, you know?