I remember  walking up St Mary Street in Sliema that sticky evening in June six years ago.  Past the spreading tree and the red  phone box and into Dingli Street. I let myself into the office I’d hired from the English Speaking Union.

Today it’s a Gentlemen’s Barbers shop.  Then, it was a large L-shaped room, with a boardroom desk, 10 chairs, air con and somewhere to make coffee.   I sat down and shuffled my notes.

Was this a good idea? What should I expect from my students at my first ever writing workshop in Malta?  Who were they? What did they expect? Suddenly I was worried.

True – I’d edited UK Cosmopolitan and taught at City University in London for many years. But those English postgraduates were about 22 and immersed in full-time student life. In Malta, one of my students-to-be had worked for four years for a cab company. Another said in his email he was a proud grandfather. Everyone had sent their first assignments to me.

At 6pm they filed in. The youngest, a round-faced boy of about 19; the oldest a woman, possibly in her 60s.

There was an Englishwoman with high cheekbones, a smiley German woman of 20 something, two affable Maltese men who sat near me, a tall Maltese woman, and two cheery older Englishmen in shorts.

Nine people with little in common.  Only three with English as a first language. I remember hoping – as I launched into my Masterclass on Good Writing –  that I’d make sense to everyone, young and not so young, Maltese and not so Maltese.

If you love reading and writing, you have something in common with everyone in the room

I hoped they’d try to understand each other’s lives and writing.  They sat silently for a minute and then took frantic notes.  They were interested, engaged. I felt a surge of silly relief.  At coffee-break there were loads of questions.  They read their work out loud – hesitantly at first.  The others listened with rapt attention.

Comments came – hesitantly. That part is always the same. Students have to ease their way into writing workshops.  They become chattier, more confident and animated each week as they learn about the craft of writing and they see their work improve.

I’d discovered, while a student in New York, that attending  writing workshops (if you’ve ever wanted to learn to write) is a wonderful way to pass the time. You feel so engaged, inspired, happy.  Years later I found that teaching a writing course feels just as good.

The next week – they were clustering outside the door in the sunshine   waiting for me.  All their work was better than the first attempt.  Except for well-read Joanne, who attended just for the pleasure of being there.  She only wrote once – a charming anecdote about being on a Malta bus. But her critiques were bulls- eye accurate.  From wobbly beginnings came very good writing and hold-your-breath writing. This last from Theo, the 19-year-old.

Students wrote love stories to make you sigh, painful and funny dating scenarios, tender scenes from family life. They wrote of death, dogs, sibling rivalry, life in Australia, mothers, drowning, shopping hell and one of the most powerful scenes of domestic violence I’ve ever read.  Five weeks later it was hard for all of us to say goodbye.

The group showed me what should have been obvious.  A writing group is always a writing group – age and background don’t matter.  If you love reading and writing, you have something in common with everyone in the room. Everyone is welcomed, accepted.  Everyone has stories to tell.

Many workshops later, it’s still hard to say goodbye. I’ve met such gifted writers, many of whom have become good friends.  Not that writing talent is always evident from the beginning. It takes time, thought, practice.

But it feels good to help a writer to develop and gain confidence. Often people come back to workshops to continue writing.  Often, they get published.

Once I thought it was fun to be the editor of a successful magazine.  The truth is – I love teaching more.

Last spring , Tania, Audrey and Maria  (who work for a large, traditional  company) came in bringing  an oversized carrot cake decorated with marzipan carrots. Together with Rebecca, an architect/writer, we sipped Prosecco, ate cake and toasted each other at our final class.   It was a happy moment.

I remembered their first rather tricky workshop.

“All very interesting,” Maria, had said when I’d finished my masterclass. “But what on earth has this got to do with what we have to write every day.” You’ve got to admire a blunt-talking Maltese woman.

“You’ll see” I said. I hoped they would, and they did. They went on to produce fine, clear, good writing.  They began to think like writers. However busy they were, they did their assignments.  They changed their company’s writing style.  I was so proud of them.

Stay in touch?  Absolutely.  We’re having lunch this autumn. I wouldn’t miss it.

Structure & Style workshops take place between September 25 and October 23 every Monday at 6pm in Sliema. For more information e-mail marcelle@dargysmith.com.

Marcelle d’Argy Smith is former editor of Cosmopolitan UK.