When a journalist attends a creative-writing workshop

The otherwise spacious room was brimming with budding writers, young and old, when the journalist had walked in.

KARACHI: The seat appeared, out of nowhere, much like a bolt from the blue - and the journalist pounced, swallowing it, greedily, finding it difficult to contain his guiltless ecstasy in front of fellow seat-hungry carnivores, who, by the looks of it, were quite disgusted by the brashness of the advance.

The otherwise spacious room was filled, brimming with budding writers, young and old, when the journalist had walked in. And there was nary a place to stand.

Small wonder, as such an event is difficult to come by in Karachi. Zulfikar Ghouse, the renowned writer and poet, who was born in Sialkot (then in united India) and moved to England before Partition, was holding a creative writing workshop, artistically named “Sharpening Your Quill.”

By the time the journalist had found a seat, Ghouse was already talking about Chekov and stressing that a writer practices “audacity” in his work. He spoke about the importance of portraying “reality as objectively received”. Keep it simple, he said, almost as if he had read the journalist’s mind, which was thinking, mischievously, of novel ways to write his report on the event.

I will ignore that advice, the journalist plotted.

“Stay with objective description; the rest will take care of itself,” said Ghouse.

Explaining his point to many in the audience who seemed to be protesting, moving uncomfortably in their seats with this remark, believing, perhaps, that it is a writer’s right to present his views even in fiction, Ghose said that, “we are all a collection of prejudices”. We view reality with a certain bias and simply describing the scene before us, without commentary, will make apparent these biases, he added, driving home his point emphatically.

Also, said Ghose, description should be part of a natural action. The reader should not feel the writer is trying to describe a scene, because it breaks concentration. It should just happen “smoothly.” He gave the example of films made by Alfred Hitchcock, who has mastered the art of “continuous action” yet setting up a detailed scene.

Using sound, smell and taste subtly can help a writer do this, he said. The journalist thought of these elements. Of the seemingly constant sound of that asphyxiating Nokia tune that had already blared at least half a dozen times during the workshop. Of the smell of Lifebuoy from the fellow who was squeezed against him for a disconcerting long period of time in the cramped room. And, finally, of the taste in the journalist’s mouth from that unwise ‘last’ cigarette he thought he’d have before entering the workshop - which cost him a decent seat and reliance on a bolt from the blue to begin with.

Avoid statements, Ghouse advised the budding writers, some as old as 60, and others no older than 12.

He went on to read a passage from A Good Man is Hard to Find, a 1953 short story by Flannery O’Connor, to cite examples of his advice.

Meanwhile, a young writer in the audience, who had submitted a short story for evaluation, had the pleasure of having it read out and critiqued by Ghose.

Taimur had his very first sentence summarily shredded. “Long gone are the days that deserts used to be secluded,” Ghose read out the sentence, with a blank look on his face. And then he read it out again, this time in a voice that seemed to be mimicking James Earl Jones. Ouch, thought the journalist, but quickly resolved that someone should do the same with Kamlia Shamsie, and Mohsin Hamid, as they were the ones who truly deserved it.

“Have you been to all the deserts in the world?” Ghose asked Taimur in a matter-of-fact way, his British-ish accent making the critique sound even more biting - as British accents have a tendency to do with almost anything.

But Ghose, who teaches at the University of Texas at Austin, later also praised some parts of the work - stressing that it is important for a writer to bear criticism, as praise for no reason can actually be damaging.

But, at the end of the day, the veteran writer, a prolific writer with a number of short stories, novels, non-fiction books, said that he would never “prescribe” a way of writing. That is for the writer to discover for himself. “There are no rules.”

All in all it was a good experience for the audience, despite the lack of room, and of etiquette on the part of some. It was most uneasy for those sitting at the back of the room - which is where the journalist was. Grabbing that seat wasn’t quite the victory he thought it would be.

Bolts from the blue are overrated. But the session, despite it all, was not.

Published in The Express Tribune, February 6^th, 2011.