I am a professional writer, a qualified writing and confidence coach, and an absolute beginner guitarist. The guitar and I have shared a stop-start relationship (almost exclusively stop) since I was about seven. This year is the first time in my life I understood why.
With my new teacher, I’ve started having fun.
There’s a lot of reasons for that, the main ones being that he recognises and articulates what I find hard, notices and acknowledges big and small improvements alike, praises both, and praises effort when achievement (small or big) isn’t there yet. He knows, and as a result I know, it being hard is absolutely okay. That there’s nothing more honourable about finding something easy all the time than there is about daring to keep showing up and working for it. I feel seen, I feel valued. I love the lessons and I love how proud of myself I feel. How powerful. And, as a result, learning gets easier and faster.
Don’t get me wrong, the feelings of frustration – Other people are so much better at this – Why does this have to be so hard? – What’s wrong with me? – haven’t gone away. But I love the environment. It feels safe. And celebratory. And I love the reason I’m doing it. I love the songs we’re sharing; both the ones I can (slightly, gradually, nearly) play and the ones I might one day but can’t right now. I love talking about music and celebrating music. I love realising that just as I’d put music on my own pedestal, other people might put the kind of writing and speaking that’s my ‘normal’ on theirs.
I thought about this yesterday during a chance conversation with a very lovely person I met at Olympic Studios where I’m coaching Powerful Fiction and Memoir on Saturday afternoons. When that person heard I coached public speaking, and that speaking in public is an enjoyable part of my job, they asked – in a manner equally impressed and horrified – HOW?
Longtime readers – and everyone having confidence coaching with me – will know when I was in my early twenties I had to go onstage at a primary school to talk about the drama club I was starting. A sea of identical tiny, poker-faced children stared unblinking (okay, okay, some of them probably blinked but I swear that was the extent of the humanity I saw in that moment) up at me as I walked onstage, announced by the headteacher but feeling less like one of the adults dotted around the edges of the ocean of expressionless faces and more like the child I’d been last time I was in such a hall. But in the few steps from the side of the hall to the centre of the stage, here is the thought that landed in my head at the centre of all the imposter syndrome: ‘Just because I feel like this, doesn’t mean that’s what they see.’ Indeed, just because it was how I felt about my own inadequacy, didn’t mean I was right.
Welcome the audience to your space
I made eye contact with every face I possibly could. I thought about everything I’d ever loved about drama, every mental and emotional (as well as vocational) door it had ever opened for me. I felt the smile that rose to my face as a result of the thoughts inside my head, and I didn’t get in its way. And then I said, to every one of those faces, ‘Who knows what drama is?’
Not the most original line in the world. But a true one. An honest question. And my face showed I meant it. And every hand went up as every face lit with understanding and interest. And my talk to that audience became a talk, in the true sense. An offering and a receiving. We connected. I ran the drama club in that school for about a decade before I moved on to what I’m doing now.
Talking to our audience needs one thing and one thing only. It’s not perfect scripting. It’s not perfect confidence. It’s the knowledge everyone out there is as scared as we could possibly be on one of our worst days. Everyone else out might look perfectly confident, a proper adult etc, but if we’re looking at the world like that there’s a damn good chance they are too. And our opportunity is to welcome that audience into our physical and mental space. Just as we’d offer them a cup of tea in our living room, it’s not about the exact word or gesture we choose. It’s deeper and truer than that. It’s the message that comes through us, not ourselves as the messenger. So all we need is to connect, and that takes six words: welcome the audience to your space.
‘Love is the answer,’ said John Lennon (who I’ve been playing recently, and recognisably). ‘All you need is love,’ said the Beatles (ditto). Like anything short (and I speak as a five footer), it’s easier to overlook or oversimplify how simple the truth sometimes is. If you want to do something well, if you want it to feel natural and easy, find a place of truth and start from that truth. I love drama and I wanted drama club to do for those children what drama had done for me. I love music and I’m prepared to keep showing up for it. If you’re speaking to an audience, then either they themselves, or your subject, or probably both, are there because of a shared love: shared experience, shared values, or other shared intention. Be there for that love. The more you accept that, the more calmly and involvedly you’ll move through the material. Like asking friends or family who wants tea and who wants coffee, it’s not about the exact words. It’s about what’s underneath them. We don’t need you to be perfect. We want you to be you. Welcome the audience to your space, as only you can.
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In-person this week…
Fiction and Memoir Writing | Riverside Studios | 6.30-8pm, Tuesday 24 June
All the inspiration, support and techniques you need to weave initial ideas into fully realised stories. Click here.
Write, Sip, Connect | Century Club | 7pm-8.30pm, Friday 27 June
An evening workshop with cocktails, where creativity meets confidence in a unique blend of writing exercises, discussion, and networking. Whether you’re an experienced writer, just starting out, or simply curious about the craft, this event is designed to boost your word count, confidence, and connections—all in a relaxed and welcoming space. Book here.
Powerful Fiction and Memoir (Week 2 of 4) | Olympic Studios | 28 June
Truthful, powerful writing goes so much deeper than whether or not a story ‘really happened’. My four sessions at the legendary Olympic Studios explore the tools and techniques of powerful prose. Writers of all levels of experience will build creative confidence, explore and express their unique memory and imagination and create truthful, compelling memoir and fiction. If you are a member of Olympic Studios or the Writers’ Gym and do not have your discount code, please email info@rachelknightley.comBook here.
Online this week…
Coffee & Creativity | 1-2.30pm, Wednesday 2 July
Grab a coffee and have a mid-week chat, a write and then another chat with your fellow creatives. Free for members: type your discount code where indicated. Click here.
Writing Workout and Feedback | 6-7.30pm, Tuesday 15 July
This friendly group workshop is the perfect place to hone your writing – and how to get the best out of feedback. Click here.
The Writers’ Gym is part of Rachel Knightley Coaching: creative confidence for life, work and art: www.rachelknightley.com
You don’t have to be a member to join a Writers’ Gym session: visit here. But if you’d like to access our weekly programme for free, and receive 30% off all our other events, ask about membership: thewritersgym@rachelknightley.com