By Scott Forster, flatmate friend and Co-founder of the Edinburgh All Comers Writers Club.
The recording of history is a vital act and a more complete history remains to be written.
Edinburgh All Comers writers Club was founded as a split away from another writing group which a number of us found to be intellectually stifling since it was run by a group of 3 rich men and was artistically and politically conservative and very unwelcoming not to mention discouraging and increasingly capitalist as we were demanded to pay funds while many of us were disabled unemployed. It provided an example of what not to do as a creative writing group and was seared into our memories as a negative experience.
Edinburgh All Comers Club ( which moved from Jeremiahs Taproom in Elm Row, Edinburgh to meeting every Tuesday at 7pm at Sofia's bar, Henderson Street in Leith ) was intended to be a polar opposite to the previous group- free to attend, democratic, inclusive and encouraging. It shaped everything we did. We lasted 3-4 years.
I(Scott) was pushy in urging the group to adopt a code of conduct which was eventually adopted even if it occasionally attracted its detractors. The intention was to avoid a repeat of the sexism, ableism, racism etc of the previous group. I think largely we managed to escape those problems.
In it's best days the group ,while small, was a hotbed of creative experimentation, deep discussions on politics, religion, literature, art and philosophy providing a stimulating space for the exchange of texts and ideas, providing a temporary escape from the travails of life. There was humour, agony aunt sharing of personal lives and we all challenged each other.
But the group eventually fell apart as egos and personality clashes dwindled down the membership until only a core including the founders were left attending. Writers group tend to not always attract the best people.
Negatively for myself this discouraged me from writing groups and even writing itself for some time , something I'm only just returning to since 2023.
However the experience was not wholly negative. Out of it a number of members had success such as publications or featured on radio stations. We would like to think we played a small part in that.
This is the old website for the club which can be accessed using the wayback machine https://web.archive.org/web/20160402102448/http://edinburgh.writersclub.org.uk/
The description we gave was,
The Edinburgh All-Comers Writers Club is a democratically-organised and convivial group which meets every Tuesday evening for the purpose of encouraging creative writers and poets of all abilities, including beginners and accomplished authors.
Participants are welcome to bring along a short sample of whatever they’re working on to read to the group – though there is no pressure if you don’t fancy reading anything out, you don’t have to. Just come along and join us for what will surely be the most intellectually-stimulating and enjoyable thing you will do on a Tuesday evening!
If you are reading, try and bring around 8 copies of your work, so everyone can read along. All types of creative work are accepted. Each reading will be followed by a constructive discussion and general writing-related banter.
The group meets from 7-10pm every Tuesday in the back room at Sofi’s Bar, 63-65 Henderson Street. It really is a lovely venue for the group!
Here's a poem Tom wrote in 2019 to our friend and fellow Edinburgh All Comers Writers Club member the great Scottish Poet Lindsay Oliver,
TO LINDSAY AND THE SPIRIT OF THE PALESTINIAN BOY by Tom Leonard
TO LINDSAY AND THE SPIRIT OF THE PALESTINIAN BOY
by Tom Leonard
I met her in the All Comers Writers Club,
That Scott created fair space for,
Before the dog chased us out of Jeremiah's Taproom.
Then in Sofi's we prospered,
All in all a motley crew
That splintered as if in a bizarre novel
Leaving only the steadfast well bonded.
And now all those hipster lunches in the Roseleaf,
Trips around the Lothians and the Tweed,
And festive times happily spent,
Are good memories soon to be resumed.
Freya and Hera entwined,
She writes of
Fairies who become children
Children who become birds
That between the Bass Rock and Tantallon fly
Birds who become fairies
And fight with the pixies
That from Trimontium scamper.
She composed Wake up my Son
Mind searingly about the Palestinian boy,
And wrote poems about the black victims of the rabid police,
And about all souls who are slain in vain
By the evil ripples that shuffle above.
Lindsay likes Kath and they both like cats;
She is the spirit of the short story in the Spiegeltent
And its time so well spent.
She lives with MS
While I wither and dither
From maladies man-made
She lives in her daughters, acrobatic and wild
And in her grandson, who is such a smart child.
Retired lecturer from Heriot-Watt.
She worked in Michigan when I haunted Wisconsin
Applied psychologist and mathematician too
She lives in Number One One One Cornhill Terrace
A haven for the spirit people and the ravens in the trees
She's taught me perceptions which I never knew.
My wife and my Polish girl were the loves of my life,
Not to forget the Mayflower Rose,
But Lindsay stands tall
As the soundest woman I have known
As she stands on her pedestal and reclines on her throne.
MCGINTY'S CAT
