Eight hand-picked writers of some renown undergo an advanced instruction in the art with a view to mainstream publication of the results.
It is an exclusive and brutal club which will run for the next 16 weeks. It’s custom designed to hone the writing, editing and critiquing skills of these eight until they are wickedly sharp and disarmingly eloquent.
The product of the exercise–other than the rapid advancement of skills? Eight polished short stories of publishable quality for each of the eight participants.
Write Club will consume the next four months of their lives. Hell, it may well change their lives forever.
The Writers’ Block is determined to see these eight, or those that survive this gruelling challenge, break into mainstream publishing and they are throwing their not-inconsiderable resources behind it.
They sent me an invite.
Write Club called me out.
I looked at the writers they had assembled and wondered if I could compete.
Then I saw the names of the people backing this project and I dared to dream.
The Writers’ Block has the highest calibre of editors I’ve ever seen on any pro-bono writing platform anywhere and they are ensconced within the finest writers’ incubator on the planet. For an emerging author, that is an invaluable pull.
In the background, I watched construction start on their brand-new publishing house and I experienced a vision of where they were going.
These people are not mucking about. They are on a mission to uncover and nurture Steemit’s talent and they have the backing of over 500 members. Writers all.
I looked at the invite and I felt humbled and small in the shadows that some of these writers cast.
They say that, on your death-bed, it is not the things you did wrong that form your last regrets. It is the things you never did at all. The what-ifs, the opportunities you walked away from, the open doors you closed.
There is every possibility any or all of the Eight will burn out, drop out, fall out or get kicked out of Write Club in the next 16 weeks. There is no give in it, the environment is pressurised. Failure is anticipated, expected even.
My last seconds will not be full of regret at missed opportunity. I’ll meet this head on.
Today is my first day in Write Club.
