Raw Material
Atlantic, The, April, 2002 by A. S. Byatt
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He always told them the same thing to begin with: "Try to avoid falseness and strain. Write what you really know about. Make it new. Don't invent melodrama for the sake of it. Don't try to run, let alone fly, before you can walk with ease." Every year he glared amiably at them. Every year they wrote melodrama.
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They clearly needed to write melodrama. He had given up telling them that creative writing was not a form of psychotherapy. In ways both sublime and ridiculous it clearly was precisely that. The class had been meeting for fifteen years. It had moved from a schoolroom to a disused Victorian church. The village was called Sufferacre, which was thought to be a corruption of Sulfuris Aquae . It was a failed Derbyshire spa. It was his home town. In the 1960s he had written a successfully angry, iconoclastic, and shocking novel called ...
