We’re All Mad Here: Week 3 of the CPC at Oxford

September 17 to September 25

The second week of my time at Exeter rolled into week three after the reveal of our book workshop project at the end of week two. The Columbia Publishing Course (CPC) is famous for its intensive book workshop week. Post pandemic, the assignment has evolved but the vigor and the deep-dive into all aspects of publishing has not. The days were long at times, but for me at least, it was a reassuring exercise that proved yes, I really do want to work in publishing.

After two weeks of lecture, I was ready for a change of pace. Even if there is a deliberate veil of secrecy shrouded over the assignment, I was excited. We worked for seven days straight on the assignment which means my third weekend in Oxford was spent in the tent meeting with my mentors and group members under the drafty plastic ceiling of the marquee. 

It didn’t take me long to buy a reusable mug so I could sip tea as I worked, cursing at the lack of wifi connectivity. The first few days were spent with our heads down focusing on our individual work before later in the week we started to collaborate a bit more and bounce ideas off of one another.

Unlike other CPC classes, we had a small break in our book workshop week for the Queen’s funeral. We didn’t get a full bank holiday, but Monday we had the morning off to observe the funeral. So with less pressure on our Monday morning, a couple of us went out for a pint on Sunday night. 

Some of us went to the Head of the River Pub along the Thames. We had passed it on on our bus back from Bath the weekend before and had been meaning to check it out. I finally had my first Pimm’s. Even though I’ve been to England before, I had never heard of the cocktail (shame on Tom, apparently.) It’s a sweet gin cocktail and it tasted like a fruity, less bitter Aperol Spritz. It was a delight. The bartender garnished it with a slice of cucumber and I ventured out by the water to sip it, bundled in my coat. 

We drank in the cool night air and chatted about life and anything other than book workshop. At 8 o’clock the pub (and all of England) had a minute of silence for the queen. We did a cheers to her honor and got ourselves another drink. Before long, two drinks turned into three and we ambled back to Exeter with warmth in our bellies.

As we tapped our key cards and went through the door within the gate, the quad under dusty stars greeted us. The chapel blushed from within, lights twinkling through stained glass. We snuck through the chapel door and were greeted with the smell of roses. White flowers lined the aisles and two half arcs of orchids and dahlias framed the altar, set up for a wedding.

Sasha started singing the song Jenny of Oldstones. There’s a line that goes, “and she never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave.” I couldn’t help but join in. As our voices echoed in the two hundred year old chapel, the shivers that traveled down my spine had nothing to do with the cold. The words rang true and it became one of my favorite memories of Oxford. Pure, simple, human magic.

Life and Death

We’ve been no stranger to weddings during our stay in the college. The chapel, dining hall, and tent have been used for ceremonies, reception, and parties every weekend we’ve been here. All of us did our best to keep away during the afternoon and evenings for those weekend weddings but it was hard to not walk through the party when it’s the only way to our rooms. 

What takes the cake (pun intended) for weirdest wedding, occurred the Monday of the queen’s funeral. Yes, there was a wedding in Exeter the day of the funeral, hours before the funeral. I have no idea why there was a wedding at nine in the morning on a Monday during a bank holiday no less. But there was. It made since why the chapel was resplendent in white flowers the evening prior.

All of us continuously crossed paths with the bride. They set up the projector in the tent the students to watch the coverage. (Why we couldn’t watch the coverage on the TV in the JCR is a story for another time.) As I sat in the marquee watching the coverage before the funeral, the bride exited the chapel with her new husband on her arm. 

I was glued to the coverage of Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral service. I find it so fascinating to witness a sliver of history unfolding, watching all the crowds gathered on The Mall. But before I knew it, the procession was over and students starting filling into the tent to work on the book workshop.

The next day, I went out to get stationary so I could write thank you cards for my mentors and peaked into an antique shop down the way on Turl Street. I had been telling myself that I would buy myself a ring when I finished writing my current novel and I had been browsing pearl rings for months now. I even saw a beautiful pearl ring at the Jane Austen Centre in Bath. 

And then I saw it. A beautiful silver ring within my price range. Two black stones framed a gorgeous fresh water pearl. Three parts for three parts of my novel. Black and white. The night and day. It’s slightly art-deco in design and I knew I couldn’t pass on getting it. I’ve loved being able to collect rings in countries I’ve lived. I have one from Spain and now one from England. Places that became home to me, if briefly. Walking their footpaths and watching their sunsets. 

In the middle of such a grueling time, Lee sent me flowers. They made my little convent room smell pleasantly of roses. He called me late at night to tell me to get something that should have been delivered. Already in my pajamas, I slipped on my new Oxford sweatshirt and went down the winding stairs and across the quad to the porter’s lodge. 

I was still on the phone with Lee and I tried—unsuccessfully—to sneak the flowers back to my room without anyone noticing. My neighbor Peyton squealed when she saw me carrying them up the stairs, her bubbles of delight resounding and making me blush.

Wednesday was a busy day as our group prepared our presentation for the mock sales conference happening the next day. We wrote and practiced our 30 second pitches and put together our slides. This is the point where our projects were almost complete and the most nerve wracking part of the book workshop week. In celebration of our mentors and their hard work, they joined us at the King’s Arms for drinks with the rest of my group. It was lovely to get to know our mentors in a more intimate setting without talking nonstop about workshop week.

On Thursday morning, we presented our books and finally got to learn what the other groups had created and hear a pitch of their ideas. This was the perfect climax to a week of tedious editing and constant reworking of titles. I absolutely loved hearing what everyone created. The sheer range of ideas and brilliance among my classmates was exciting to witness. 

A resolution in the story arc of this week was handing in our projects on Friday before noon. In a week’s time, we had created a 143 page PDF with all of our books. After four days of lecture and then seven and a half days of workshop with only one morning off (for the funeral), after lunch on Friday I crashed. Weeks two and three of the course blended together and I needed a nap. Even more so because of what was planned for the night—a secret sherry hour in the fellow’s garden.

Before the party, Brittney and I went to Christ Church meadow to read but ended up just talking about the books we created and the presentations. My copy of Babel sat on our picnic blanket enjoying the scenery along with us. Then we went to the store to grab wine and snacks before getting ready.

We celebrated our twelve days of class with a party, the Radcliffe Camera as our only spectator. I walked down the concrete path with a bottle of red wine in hand and emerged to a seance of celebration. A hundred tea lights doted the picnic tables while a bluetooth speaker played music.

Brittney had a fabulous idea (credit where credit is due) to have everyone sign a copy of a book as a sort of CPC class year book. I brought my copy of Babel, of course. People signed my copy as the night went on and bottles were finished. There is still wax dripped onto the pages of the end paper and it is my favorite souvenir. I’m sure you can predict how the rest of the night unfolded. Let’s just say that I paid for my sins in my convent room the following day.

On Sunday, I spent the day on my own doing all of the Oxford things that I hadn’t managed to do yet. Mainly the Ashmolean Museum. How I hadn’t managed to go there already was quite the miracle. I rather enjoy going to museums alone (which would become the theme for my last week in England). Their collection of artifacts and artwork was astounding and I enjoyed taking a break by going to the museum cafe for a cuppa.

Then I went to Oxford’s largest college, Magdalen. The day was overcast and chilly but the rain never came. I spent hours walking around the college and taking pictures of the breathtaking medieval buildings. There is a whole ass deer park in the middle of the college too of which I had no idea. I walked the grounds next to the River Cherwell where people can rent boats to go punting.

Brittney and I meet for high tea afterwards. I was the curmudgeon who didn’t want to go punting, who would rather eat scones and have an early night in. Which is what I did, picking up some soup to take back to my room for dinner. It was a peaceful day, a peaceful final weekend in Oxford.

It was hard to believe there were only a couple of more days in the course. The workshop challenged me but assured me that I am on the right path. And maybe we are all a bit mad—singing in empty chapels late at night, creating an entire book project in a week, and drinking into the late hours in one of Oxford’s oldest colleges. Mad with creativity and hope for the future. Thank you for reading my very belated diary, and until next week.

Happy Day-