Juliet England: Writing wrongs? Deafness in a group of wordsmiths

For the last seven or eight years, I’ve belonged to a merry band of wordsmiths called Reading Writers, the first word referring to the Berkshire town rather than the activity.

(Though, of course, everyone who puts finger to keyboard or pen to paper should also be a reading writer. And John Betjeman famously once went to a lecture on the ‘joys of reading’ wrongly expecting to hear about the delights of the metropolis with the RG postcode, so any confusion is understandable.)

I like to describe myself as the only non-fiction writer in the village, and am fond of saying that, while birthday cards were once my genre of choice, I now feel shopping lists are where I can best express myself through the power of the written word.

We once had an email from a would-be member who explained that their hearing was a bit dodgy. How would he fare as a member of the group, he wondered? The message was forwarded on to me to see if I had any thoughts on the matter, or any advice to offer.

This was an interesting one. Indeed, it wasn’t something I’d previously given much thought. After all, it would never have occurred to me to not join a writing group just because of my pesky cloth ears.

Nor did I consider myself to be in need or deserving of any special treatment because of it, and the work I submit as part of our regular manuscript evenings has certainly never assessed in any way differently. Why on earth should it be?

That’s not to say that I don’t get some additional support. I’m allowed to sit wherever I want, and that’s usually close to whoever’s leading the session that night, or close to the guest speaker and their invariably unfamiliar voice.

Instructions sometimes need to be repeated when we have exercises to do during our sessions, but most people are used to this by now.

Equally, admittedly, there are challenges in that we sit round a large table in quite an elongated room. I do miss things, and I confess that I have drifted off into my own little world on more than one occasion. (While remaining, I must stress, fully awake at all times.)

I do sometimes struggle when my own work is being discussed, the time you most want to catch everything. One friend, who sadly no longer attends meetings, was very diligent in writing down people’s comments on my submissions for me.

Many do now write down their comments, and will gladly run off an extra copy of their pieces for me when pieces are being read aloud.

The tea break, an important part of every gathering, when people are chattering away, and multiple voices rise in the pleasure of being together, some words get lost. But, of course, that would be true of any social situation.

I will admit to sometimes playing to the gallery – I have form when it comes to asking for a repeat when something nice has been said about a piece I’ve written (on the grounds that I “haven’t heard”); or saying (innocent face) “Oh, you should have said,” when a point has already been patiently repeated seven times.

When someone once mentioned, for some reason and so long ago I can’t even remember why, a “radio programme for deaf people”, I milked it for all it was worth.

So, all in all, it was hard to know what to tell the would-be group member, other than to urge him to join anyway. I know my life has been enriched by being part of this community, and that I have gained far more from it than I have ever lost by not being able to hear everything perfectly.

After all, I do little enough of my own creative writing as it is. Without the group, I wonder if I’d do anything at all.

Read more of Juliet’s articles for us here. Juliet England does freelance social media and PR work for cSeeker.