We arrived in Bath in plenty of time for the short story workshop. Sun washed through the trees, and an excited buzz filled the air. This was the last day of the Bath Literary Festival, and the first time I had been to an event for six months.
My friend, Jools, bought me a ticket for a short story workshop with the award-winning writer, Huma Qureshi.
Persephone Books
We stepped through the entrance to Persephone Books and climbed the stairs emerging into a bright, white room. A squishy sofa sat in one corner and a stack of books jostled for space on a series of long tables. Excited chatter murmured through the group, and then Huma was introduced. Effortlessly attired in a prairie dress, she settled on the sofa and gave us an easy smile.
Huma Qureshi
A circle of chairs faced one another. Women outnumbered men fifteen to two. The atmosphere was inclusive and curious. Huma began to guide us with the eloquence and candour of a close friend.
The workshop
She put everyone at their ease immediately. In an hour and a half, she covered the most common issues of writing short stories.
Finding your voice
Finding your voice is a problem many emergent writers face. So far, I’ve tried (and failed) to write as Maggie O’ Farrell, Catriona Ward, and Marian Keyes. At university, I attempted a Virginia-Woolf-as-Mrs-Dalloway voice which ended in a reproachful tut from my tutor. Huma clarified finding your voice is about writing honestly. Many of us tend to overwrite and then edit. Another major issue is not being in the writing habit and writing every day.
Writing dialogue
I have a tin ear and cannot write dialogue which is ironic as I cannot stop talking: mine tends to be writerly which is not good. As Huma confirmed, “Speech that sounds like writing isn’t great dialogue.” Her advice? Sit in a cafe and observe strangers. Obviously, not in a creepy-stalkerish way. You need to listen and watch how someone’s words match how they move. Our bodies betray our true emotions even as our words deceive us.
Huma explained how a short story differs from the novel in the way they do not need to follow a narrative but are more like a glimpse through a window. Immediately, my mind was flickering through moments I could try to capture like fragments of a half-remembered dream.
Things We Do Not Tell The People We Love
I bought her collection of short stories: Things We Do Not Tell The People We Love, and I was thrilled with the inscription. The cover teases delicious intimacy. I read the first two stories as soon as I got home. This collection is personal, sensual, and devastating. All the pain of misunderstanding, the thrill of love in all its forms, and the restrictions our families place on us deliver in every word. Huma is an acute observer of the human condition and cares deeply. It shows.