What was the first thing you ever wrote?
Isn’t it lovely when you find loose sheets of paper with your words written all over it? Words you’ve written a long time ago when your thoughts wandered off, had left reality, and ventured out into an imaginary world. Your words sometimes amaze you, other times intrigue you, maybe even baffle you. But they’re perfect nonetheless. You wrote them down because at that moment in time, you were inspired and driven to express how you felt, what you thought, and it meant something to you. You had to do it, or else you would forget. And so you did, and now that you’ve found them again—days later, weeks later, or years later—you’re glad you had written them down.
Most of the time they are dialogues, or descriptions of places, or people, or feelings. Sometimes all you’ll find is a scribble of a word, or a phrase, or a sentence, or a paragraph. Whatever they may be, they make up an incomplete story. A story that reminds you that this was something you once wanted to write, and said you would write, and possibly will write someday.
If picked up by a stranger, these sheets of paper would mean nothing at all. But to you, they are precious little things.
They are your treasures.
By the way, excuse the chicken scratches on the image above. Thanks to the computer, my penmanship has suffered through the years. 😉
Hi writers. It’s been a while since I’ve had a Guest Blogger, so I thought I’d ask a new friend and fellow-blogger who I met at the Paris Writers Workshop, to do me the favor of writing a guest post. I immediately thought of the wonderful, Kristen Coros.
Our topic for this guest post will be: Writers Workshops.
Ladies and gentlemen, here is, Kristen Coros…
Three Arguments for the Writers Workshop
by Kristen Coros (milchtoast.wordpress.com)
Intro: I am a Canadian blogger and aspiring fiction writer currently living in Zürich, Switzerland. I met Corey at the Paris Writers Workshop in June, and I’m honoured that she asked me to provide a guest post for her blog. Below, I’ll give my take on why writing workshops are worth attending.
Writing fiction is a funny thing. It requires you to sit alone in front of your computer for hours on end, inventing people, events, and conversations. There comes a time when you say to yourself, “Well, it all seems clear to me, but will a reader understand it the way I want them to? Do my characters behave/seem like real people? Will someone reading this find it plausible that they would say this or do that?”
This is when you need to get feedback on your writing. You might find, however, that if you offer your writing to your friends and relatives, you’ll receive comments that are either a) unfailingly supportive, along the lines of “I just think this is the best thing I’ve ever read, honey!” (note: spouses are especially prone to this type of feedback); or b) critical but not constructive (“I didn’t like this part, but I can’t really say why.”)
You need other writers to read your work, writers who have struggled with and thought about the same issues of narration, plot, dialogue, and characterization with which you are now grappling. And while you might be able to find fellow solitary key-peckers in your area who are willing to meet and swap work on a regular basis, I would argue that additional benefits are accrued from attending a writer’s workshop. As a three-time veteran of Zürich Writers Workshop weekend events and a recent attendee at the weeklong Paris Writers Workshop, I’ve observed the following three benefits of these organized events.
The presence of a leader. Critique groups can sometimes be overly informal, devolving into too much chatting, joking, or complaining, and not enough productive discussion. In a workshop setting, a leader – typically a writer who has been published to some acclaim – acts as a facilitator to keep things focused and to ensure that there is equal time for everyone’s work to be discussed. They can also help to interpret the feedback being given. While my piece was being discussed at the first workshop I attended, a fellow participant looked at me and said, “Your underwear is showing in this piece.” It was an essentially useless (and potentially hurtful) remark before our leader was able to draw out and rephrase its meaning.
Equal footing for the participants. In a workshop, it’s typically the case that every attendee must submit the same amount of writing beforehand (at events I’ve attended, the amount has ranged from two to twenty pages). The leader does not submit anything, but their work is available for scrutiny at your local bookstore. It helps to have everyone in the same boat, as opposed to informal groups where some people may be frequently submitting and others hardly ever. When everyone is equally invested and vulnerable, each member of the group will be more likely to deliver what they themselves are seeking – honest, helpful feedback delivered in as kind a manner as possible.
Chances to meet people you wouldn’t otherwise. The workshops I’ve attended have introduced me to a wonderful and geographically diverse set of like-minded writerly people (such as the lovely Corey!), many of whom I’ve kept in touch with afterwards. As noted above, being a writer can feel very isolating, so workshops can offer a great sense of your community and networks growing.
After having sung these praises of the workshop, I will note, in closing, that there is a time to workshop, and a time to head back to your desk alone. To paraphrase Stephen King, whose memoir/instructional book On Writing I love abidingly, writing itself needs to be done in solitude, with the “door closed” and only your own voice in mind. So after our wonderful week in Paris, it’s time for me to cloister away again.
Thank you so much, Kristen. 🙂
To check out Kristen’s blog, please go to: milchtoast.wordpress.com