What is it with us strange writer people? We'll spread our hopes and dreams and, some of us, will even spread the darkest secrets of our past out on the page for everyone to experience, but try and get us to a cocktail party where we know but few and we will often find something better to do that night, even if it is watching paint dry (because it is inspiring God Damn-it!).
Ok, so we aren't all that bad. (Some are worse.) Trying to characterize authors is just like trying to characterize anything else. However, there does seem to be this strange kind of link between us all, if nothing else, in the absurdity of what we do.
Or let me try to explain it another way.
The Workshop. Writing Programs. Things that some authors and "authors" will occasionally scorn (you can't teach talent!), and yet it is one of the most useful tools out there. Even the authors who do not seek the advice from other authors seek it from their friends and acquaintances or anonymous online someones. We crave feedback be it real or imaginary. And feedback is a wonderful tool. (Not to jump into the whole question of whether or not you can teach writing. I could write a blog on that, but let's assume that I see a middle ground– you can give a kid a piano and teach him the keys, but it is no teacher that will turn him into Beethoven, yet without the proper tools, the proper start, maybe the encouragement, he would cease to be.)
Some will claim that the most beneficial part of workshop is the accountability. A deadline. Something is due. They expect something from you. No excuses therefore. You must write now. (It would seem we are procrastinators even in what we love.) This is true. It is there.
But I would argue even more so that it is the inspiration. That special kind that you can only get from reading, from listening to others' work, from discussing something with someone, who on some level, understands why you do the crazy ass things that you do (whether you agree with them or not). This is an inspiration to be treasured. One to be sought. One to be grasped at any opportunity.
I have confirmed this utterly last night. Honestly, three years ago I would not have perhaps made the venture, even with a friend. Up until the last 20 minutes, when I knew she was on her way to pick me up, I had my second thoughts. Oh well... maybe I shouldn't. It would be easier to stay home. Keep reading (Junot Dias is good company). Even when we got there I showed a crack in my resolve. "Will you be reading" the man asked. I fumbled over about 4 ways of saying maybe with a positive inflection, until he asked again and I had no choice but to clearly answer yes or no. (Of course I wanted to read, I purposely picked an open mic for that very reason and yet, as long as there was still a chance to back out...).
I have the capability to meet strangers. To be social. To put myself out there. To go all crazy in front of a crowd. But I am tired of having to be persuaded to do so. My MFA has taught me lots of things– beyond the simple acts of binding books and making my words run more smoothly to the heart– (besides making a proper M dash), but one of the invaluable things it has confirmed is my need to be immersed in that other world, that writing world.
That is why (well being out of excuses time wise certainly factored in) after being on their mailing list for just over a year, I finally made it to the ____ meeting. I went with a friend. She was my ride. There was no backing out. I went. I read. I mingled. And as homely as it may have seen to the outside eye, it was spectacular.
The most interesting accomplishment: When I got up and read my story (chosen almost at the last minute, one I had never read aloud before to an audience), as I read the words, I became calm, my thoughts on my character. I could hear my voice was smoother than normal. I probably could have looked at the crowd more, but it was as calm as I ever was in such circumstances.
One day. One day I will be able to do this without so much planning and persistence. Without a hem or a haw. (At least that is the plan.) It was the knowledge of the benefits (Thanks to the MFA, which by the way, I also had to be poked and prodded into chasing) that got me to the meeting (somehow) and it was what I experienced there that will keep me going, keep me looking, keep me trying to stay there– and from this I will grow. Both as a person and (most hopefully) as a writer.
While at the meeting another attendee (in casual conversation mind you, need I say no more) quoted, "Happiness is not real unless shared." I would take that a step further and say it is not at its fullest potential unless shared by those who understand the root of it.
Ok, so we aren't all that bad. (Some are worse.) Trying to characterize authors is just like trying to characterize anything else. However, there does seem to be this strange kind of link between us all, if nothing else, in the absurdity of what we do.
Or let me try to explain it another way.
The Workshop. Writing Programs. Things that some authors and "authors" will occasionally scorn (you can't teach talent!), and yet it is one of the most useful tools out there. Even the authors who do not seek the advice from other authors seek it from their friends and acquaintances or anonymous online someones. We crave feedback be it real or imaginary. And feedback is a wonderful tool. (Not to jump into the whole question of whether or not you can teach writing. I could write a blog on that, but let's assume that I see a middle ground– you can give a kid a piano and teach him the keys, but it is no teacher that will turn him into Beethoven, yet without the proper tools, the proper start, maybe the encouragement, he would cease to be.)
Some will claim that the most beneficial part of workshop is the accountability. A deadline. Something is due. They expect something from you. No excuses therefore. You must write now. (It would seem we are procrastinators even in what we love.) This is true. It is there.
But I would argue even more so that it is the inspiration. That special kind that you can only get from reading, from listening to others' work, from discussing something with someone, who on some level, understands why you do the crazy ass things that you do (whether you agree with them or not). This is an inspiration to be treasured. One to be sought. One to be grasped at any opportunity.
I have confirmed this utterly last night. Honestly, three years ago I would not have perhaps made the venture, even with a friend. Up until the last 20 minutes, when I knew she was on her way to pick me up, I had my second thoughts. Oh well... maybe I shouldn't. It would be easier to stay home. Keep reading (Junot Dias is good company). Even when we got there I showed a crack in my resolve. "Will you be reading" the man asked. I fumbled over about 4 ways of saying maybe with a positive inflection, until he asked again and I had no choice but to clearly answer yes or no. (Of course I wanted to read, I purposely picked an open mic for that very reason and yet, as long as there was still a chance to back out...).
I have the capability to meet strangers. To be social. To put myself out there. To go all crazy in front of a crowd. But I am tired of having to be persuaded to do so. My MFA has taught me lots of things– beyond the simple acts of binding books and making my words run more smoothly to the heart– (besides making a proper M dash), but one of the invaluable things it has confirmed is my need to be immersed in that other world, that writing world.
That is why (well being out of excuses time wise certainly factored in) after being on their mailing list for just over a year, I finally made it to the ____ meeting. I went with a friend. She was my ride. There was no backing out. I went. I read. I mingled. And as homely as it may have seen to the outside eye, it was spectacular.
The most interesting accomplishment: When I got up and read my story (chosen almost at the last minute, one I had never read aloud before to an audience), as I read the words, I became calm, my thoughts on my character. I could hear my voice was smoother than normal. I probably could have looked at the crowd more, but it was as calm as I ever was in such circumstances.
One day. One day I will be able to do this without so much planning and persistence. Without a hem or a haw. (At least that is the plan.) It was the knowledge of the benefits (Thanks to the MFA, which by the way, I also had to be poked and prodded into chasing) that got me to the meeting (somehow) and it was what I experienced there that will keep me going, keep me looking, keep me trying to stay there– and from this I will grow. Both as a person and (most hopefully) as a writer.
While at the meeting another attendee (in casual conversation mind you, need I say no more) quoted, "Happiness is not real unless shared." I would take that a step further and say it is not at its fullest potential unless shared by those who understand the root of it.
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