The act of writing is by nature a solitary one. It’s also – and here I must ask for your forgiveness for what follows – an endeavour all too ripe for metaphor. In many ways, the writer is a perennial single parent.  

The practice of literary birthing (the agony and ecstasy) seldom takes place in company, and the nurturing of a vulnerable creative spark often occurs unsupported, behind closed doors. Only when it is fully formed and safely grown does a writer dare to let their offspring go, watching with a mixture of longing, pride and regret as the story takes wing, flying the nest for a wider, judgemental world. From there, it’s on its own. 

Too much? Then perhaps we cast the writer as an erstwhile horticulturalist, cradling the oh-so-valuable seeds of imagination in reverent hands, gently patting the soil lest they spoil, nourishing the ground with patience as an idea germinates, blinking, into the light, while they tend, prune, fuss and cosset, sometimes repotting the whole damn thing if needed, and finally watch as the fledging vine blossoms and blooms in the most unexpected of ways. 

As a practice, it is mostly solitary, often lonely, and by turns inspiring, frustrating, invigorating and downright depressing. For the longest time, it could be argued that London has also appeared to bear creativity in isolation. On one level, this is understandable. The capital has long been a beacon of writing prowess. The first printing press in England was in London, established in 1476 at Westminster Abbey. The periodical works flourishing in the city in the 17th century were so prolific that they prompted the inception of a dedicated copyright act – The Statute of Anne – to protect publishers and writers. 

Mancunium

Fast forward a few hundred years and research by Adobe Express has named Manchester as the ‘creative capital of the UK’, highlighting its 111 notable creatives per 100,000 people, ‘composed of musicians, painters and writers, and an overall creativity score of 8.7 out of 10’. 

We’ll take that. A wealth of new investment in culture and creativity is taking place. The newly-minted Aviva Studios boasts a 5,000-capacity central space which hosts blockbuster world premieres of works like Free Your Mind. Manchester Literature Festival is striding into its 17th year and has been central to the designation of Manchester as a UNESCO City of Literature. By all accounts, the city hosts a thriving £5 billion digital ecosystem, showcasing the economic – as well as the wider ranging – significance of its creative industries. 

So, were you to happen to leave the comforts of the South and risk the M1 northbound (no small undertaking in itself, and we wholeheartedly recommend turning off on to the A50 at the earliest opportunity), you’ll find there’s a lot on offer. If you also happened to come on a Monday evening, perhaps deciding to frequent one of the many watering holes gracing the city, you might spot a group of focused individuals cloistered around tables in an upstairs room – laptop screens shining, keyboards softly click-clacking, and pencils whispering over notebook pages.  

Welcome to the Monday Night Group, Manchester’s longest-running writing collective.  

For more than 60 years, the group has provided – in the words of member Alex Lovesey – “a creative space for writers of all levels to share their work, receive constructive feedback, and connect with a supportive community of fellow writers”.

The format is simple. For two hours each week, writers and poets gather, and six individuals have the chance to read their work aloud and receive group feedback.  

On any given week, you might hear an excerpt from the final draft of a tale of demonic possession and ghostly hauntings, a poem about the tragic end of one of Old MacDonald’s cows, an eclectic tale of the assorted oddball inhabitants of a robot theme park planet floating somewhere in the cosmos, or a million other settings or scenarios.  

There are no limits on style, genre, level of completion or polish, no pre-requisites except the willingness to hear open and honest feedback, and to offer constructive feedback in return. In a tranche of creativity so often completed out of the sight and mind of others, such focused interaction is a boon for any aspiring writer. It is also, in truth, immensely challenging, not least because of the crucible-like nature of the process.

Monday, Monday

The Monday Night Group sits on a huge repository of work – peer-reviewed and battle-tested – and the vaults have recently been opened to offer outside readers a chance to experience the wealth of emerging talent in the North West. 

The group’s second anthology, Ink Spill, was released earlier this month. Aiming to showcase the specific literary talent resident in the local area, the book offers a cornucopia of differing styles and genres. Jak Stocker, one of the anthology’s writers, says: “There’s a world of literary talent out there, and I’m so proud to be part of a Mancunian corner of it. This anthology really brings together a range of local voices, each offering something unique and special.” 

So, if you have an interest in little lies, last lives, confused captains and creeping creatures, bunkers, beasts, spaceships and santas, monks, mancs, gangsters, ghosts, cults, covid and cows – then this anthology, a collection of some of the best work of the members of the group, is guaranteed to take your fancy. 

Perhaps it will inspire you to grab your own pen and continue the piece you started long ago. Many of us have been there, but life always gets in the way. The beauty of a supportive weekly organisation like the Monday Night Group is showing up and getting started.  

In the words of Louis L’Amour: “Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”

Come on in, the water’s lovely. 

By Tom Crook

 

Main image by Jack Stocker

 

Ink Spill is available now from Amazon. Click here for more information.