Although the film-funding campaign for The Dancing Floor has not officially started yet, our first contribution arrived yesterday, unexpectedly, in the post. It was from my friend, Lynn Trowbridge, author of this book:
It tells of her life growing up in Wales in the thirties, trying to protect her little sister in the grim orphanage where they were sent after her parents died, then fighting out of the box they tried to put her into by becoming first a WAAF and then a successful businesswoman. It comes from a generation now in their nineties, who survived the war, who don’t do self-pity, who have a toughness which my generation, born after the war, do not possess. It’s a great read and you can get it through Amazon.
Anyway, Lynn said she wanted to contribute to the fund because her book sales were going well and she felt I had been the one, to give her the confidence to write it. Flashback to the time Lynn appeared at the writing class I was running at Hay Library, a trim, determined figure who did not mince words. ‘I am in charge of the Hay Writers Group,’ she said, ‘and I have come to see what exercises and ideas you have so that I can use them there. If they are any good.’ I was taken aback and annoyed. I was not sure I wanted this assertive person to steal my techniques. I smelt trouble!
The next week I set them to write about their childhood and Lynn stood up and read a piece about arriving at the orphanage with her sister. It was briskly and elegantly worded, with piquant, truthful dialogue, and vivid characters. It was funny and poignant. The class was moved and impressed, and from that day on, my view of Lynn changed and we became friends. Now she is one of my heroines, a shining example of ‘stop moaning and get on with it!’ school. And a good writer.
Thanks, Lynn, and may your brilliant book spread round the world.