The first rule of workshop is, do not cry at workshop.
I ran that tape in my mind over and over again this afternoon while the instructor for my writing workshop carefully, politely explained why my essay didn’t work.
I knew it didn’t work; that’s why I brought it to workshop. It has beautiful language and interesting ideas and absolutely no forward motion of its own; it was a leaf shuddering in the vortex of a stream. This essay and others with its problems explain why I was so eager to spend the first day of my vacation with a dunce cap perched on my head.
I got what I came for — I got exactly what I wanted: a clear map of where I went wrong. It was useful. It was good. It was probably the best explanation of structure I have ever heard. It was also the best feedback I’ve had on my writing since I left the dear Jesuits at University of San Francisco back in Ought-Six.
So you’ll have to forgive me for being a bit numb. I was a brave little writer, but I sleptwalked out of class and to another event and then to another event, dimly aware of speakers and music and wine and conversation, my skin on fire with the humiliating knowledge that I can profoundly suck in ways I hadn’t even realized.
Someone in class rolled out that over-plucked canard, “You must kill your darlings.” I kept my mouth shut (because the second rule of workshop is, one stays silent while being workshopped), but those who know me are familiar with how ruthless I am in my writing mantra, “Reduce, reuse, recycle.” I don’t have sentimental attachment to the word ingredients in my writing; if it’s good stuff, it will resurface in some other piece, and if it doesn’t, then let it stay moldering in the literary compost pile.
I just wish I could always see where I screw up.
Posted on this day, other years:
- Meatless Days - 2006
- Button of the Year Idea - 2005
- Gorman, On Reflection - 2005
I love constructive criticism; I need constructive criticism. Yet I fear it; it is my worst nightmare.
You’re waaaay too hard on yourself, my dear, but then the truly great always are. It’s those of us who are mediocre or worse who think we have little to learn. If someone criticizes us, we think they clearly didn’t get what we were trying to do. I can see wanting to see where you went wrong before it happened, but that’s a little like envisioning a car wreck before it happens. You’ve got the wind in your hair, you’re having a good time, then WHAM. Sometimes I wonder how many car wrecks our favorite authors have survived — my guess is more than we think.
The Beginner’s Mind. Hard to cultivate, harder to maintain.
The writers’ program I was in back in college emphasized an almost complete subjugation of ego to “the work.” What it amounted to, in practice, was getting beaten up so regularly, and so ferociously, that you *had* to separate your ego from your writing… or go bonkers.
It is hard. But what the Beginner’s Mind reminds us is that hard is good. As one of my professors put it, “If you want ‘easy,’ go die. Easiest thing in the world, being dead.”
Ah, the joys of writing! My husband and I had a fight because he insisted I read his novel and then sulked when I dared to offer some feedback–not the OMG, how brilliant, it’ll sell in a minute–he was hoping for. That’s why he’s now involved in a writing workshop. Much easier on our marriage. The great thing about writers workshop is that everyone there is going to have to face the same ordeal so they tend to be helpful but diplomatic. Or, they get theirs when their novel is read! Think of it as putting peroxide on a wound–it hurts but you know you’ll be better for it in the end. Keep on writing though!
Oh, I’m so sorry. I hope that they said good things as well, or it wasn’t much of a critique–just a criticism. I’m sure that your writing is very strong, and I hope that this makes it even stronger. Writing is so difficult; we need outside influence because we are too close to our work to always be objective, but because we are so close to that work, any criticism, no matter how minor, can sting.
No, no, no, I deserved it. I *sought* that input. I guess it’s hard to explain how I could ask for what I need, be stung by it, cry myself to sleep, wake up at 3 a.m. and pour my angst into a long email to a writing friend, fall asleep again sniffling into my pillow — then wake up feeling calm and anticipatory, even a little eager to go back to essays that don’t work (or don’t work well enough) and see what I can do to recover the story that drove me to write that piece in the first place.
I’m still glad today is a warm, cuddly preconference where we’re doing some tiny in-class writes.
But y’all are sweet…
I completely understand. I love to go to workshop with a piece I am overly fond of but know needs work…and I utterly appreciate the constructive criticism that breaks my heart.
When it gets to the point where I’ve worked on something so long I don’t even know how to fix it – or can’t recall why it needed fixing in the first place – I send it out.
You don’t go to workshop to have people fawn over your work. (At least, *I* don’t. I have a mom for that.) You go to get the kick in the pants you need to point out flaws you can’t see anymore, and ask for spackle to help fix them.
You *are* ahead fo the game if you don’t have sentimental attachments to you word ingredients, though – I’m still working on distancing myself from that, and have just begun cannibalizing the good parts of bad pieces so they can shine. Sounds like you don’t have that pitfall, and that’s rare indeed. Good for you!
Karen-
I agree with Roy you are way too hard on yourself, you must be good or you would not ask any questions. I contend if we could see where we went wrong by ourselves we would neither learn anything nor would we have the need therapists, chocolate or drinks. Keep the faith. Your friends have faith in you. Yup, my first post ever!
Colleen, you’ve nailed it!
Yes, I actually left that workshop thinking that there’s this essay — good but not great — and if I take my machete to one section, it will be a lot better. I’m not attached to that stuff… I just don’t always know when it’s an artful digression or just wandering blather!