On the Workshop Method and Trusting Myself

There is a myth in the writing world that strong writers welcome continual feedback on their work. It's a testament of character, people argue. It's the fastest way to learn. My response? Bah, humbug. All writers are different. I would argue that many writers write as a result of feeling wounded and alienated at an early age, causing them to retreat to their own private worlds. Do you seriously think that this kind of a temperament is amenable to a critique group? Yes, I am intense on this subject. Here's why.

I am the product of a graduate school creative writing program. The first class I signed up for was Novel Writing 1. I had this childhood dream of writing novels. Here was my chance to learn. But early on in that class, I decided it was too overwhelming to do. Why? Because there was no teaching of craft. The entire class was workshop. Students handed in their work, and class time was taken up by student critique with the occasional comment thrown in by the professor.

So I decided to focus on the short story, which involved more classes that had to do with the workshop method and still no formal teaching of craft, but at least short stories were manageable. By the time I finished school, I was so dispirited that I turned to creative nonfiction. It seemed easier to write about my life and make the prose as pretty as I could. When that was not satisfying, I began writing more analytically, creating a blog where I wrote reviews of things that I read and watched, eventually focusing on The Good Wife, until the writers in that show took leave of their senses and treated their characters horribly, and I could no longer in good conscience write about it any more.

I eventually ended up in a guided-prompt writing group, where people wrote about their private lives in a confidential forum, and there was no feedback. It started me back on the road to where I wanted to go. One day in the group, the leader asked us to write about a moment that had truly affected us. After we did that, she asked us to write about again and change it. That's when I remembered that fiction could be really fun.

It was a bumpy road. Writing for fifteen minutes on my own at home felt like forever. I had to rebuild muscle. I had to learn to trust myself. I remember one time talking to another novelist, and she told me that she loved walking outside, looking around, and making up stories. It jogged a memory. I used to love to do that as a child. I had forgotten all about it.

I made mistakes. I went to a fancy writers' retreat and got my sensibilities clobbered. I was treated like I did not know what I was doing. There was a small voice in my head that said, “Maybe you're right. But even though they didn't teach me much craft at all, I am a graduate of a creative writing program, and they thought enough of me to hire me as a lecturer.” I thought, “Why am I getting so upset by this attitude when this person has never written a novel? Why did I spend so much money on someone who hasn't done what I'm trying to do?” I cried more there than I've ever cried anywhere at any time. I was told that I should put aside my book and go into therapy for at least a year. I could feel my book dangling inside me by a very thin thread. I ended up cutting ties with this teacher and set about to write my book.

Luckily, when I got home, I found The Plot Whisperer, and in that book, Martha Alderson said that I didn't have to show anyone my first draft. That made sense to me. I held that idea close to my heart. I did try seeing a therapist, but in mid-session, I knew I would never go back. I had  a history with therapy. I had been with one therapist for many years. I learned my issues. In the end, I had to get out because I was giving too much power to my therapist. This has been an issue for me all my life, thinking more of others than of myself. At that time, I vowed to continue checking inside, to trust my assessments. I wasn't going to go back.

But I did end up going on medication. I was still crying way too much. So I gave it a try, and it has really helped. I had previously thought that using medication was a sign of weakness. I thought it would turn me into a robot. It has helped me function in life, and I wish I had starting using it a long time ago.

I actually intended today to write about beta readers. That's where I am in my process right now with my current project. I didn't think I would write any of the above, but that's what came out today. Next week, I plan to share about that point in my process where I do need to receive feedback, and how that works for me.

Word Lab

For the past year, I have volunteered at the Young Writers Program in Santa Cruz. It is one of the best decision I've ever made. I find it incredibly rewarding to spend time supporting and encouraging young writers in their work.

I volunteer at their after-school program, Word Lab. Students from various schools attend once a week for two hours for a nine-week session. Their goal is to write a 650-word piece that will be included in an anthology published in the summer. Students can write fiction, nonfiction, whatever they want. At each class, they learn about a concept of how to tell a story.

This past week, I was honored to speak to all three classes about being a writer and how to find ideas for fiction. I shared with them my persistent desire to write novels, an urge that began the moment I picked up a book as a child. I told them that, when I was growing up, we didn't have anything like Word Lab. There weren't programs for creative writing through the schools. I shared my experience after college, when the woman who drove me to one of my early jobs emphatically warned me that no one could make any money writing novels, that it was just an impossible thing to do, and I foolishly believed her. I expressed the other myths that I held in my head, the idea that writers suffered, that they were penniless and came down with tuberculosis, and that a novel would take twelve years of blood, sweat, and tears before you could ever finish it. I said that there came a day when I realized that if I ever wanted to make my dream come true, that I had better get started because the novels weren't getting to write themselves. I said I was determined and scared, and I studied and worked and had fun and figured it out.

I told these groups, that when I imagined my first book, I decided to write about music because it was something that I always loved. But what about music? I said that, as a child, I had studied piano, and I remembered sitting at the bench and feeling like I was the captain of a spaceship that I could travel to faraway lands and explore a range of emotions, that I could create true beauty just by placing my hands on the keys. I expressed that when I thought about that time, I remembered that wonder and then I felt sadness because, when my family moved to California, I stopped playing the piano. Then I shared with them that one of the powerful things about writing is that it can change your insides. When I was done writing the book, where the girl, despite everything, continues to play, I no longer felt sad that I didn't. I will always love music, but my real home is as a writer, and I will live in this house and work and play at my craft for the rest of my life, and that is one heck of a happy ending.

Noel Streatfeild and the Shoes Books

When I was growing up, I loved our library. I had a dream of reading every book in "my section," middle grade and Young Adult. (I often read beyond my years.) However, I soon abandoned this goal because there were certain books that I wanted to read again and again. Noel Streatfeild was one of my favorite authors. Recently I decided to revisit these books and see if they still held up.

Before I dived into the books again, I read a little bit about the author. To my surprise, Noel Streatfeild was a woman. I always had imagined her as a kind, yet dashing man. She had worked as an actress for ten years before writing her books. She hated her first book, Ballet Shoes, written in 1936, because she thought it came too easily to her. She imagined that something that effortless could not be valuable. (Ha!) And it wasn't always the Shoes series. When Random House bought some of Streatfeild's books, they renamed her books.

I was able to check out three of Streatfeild's books from my library, Ballet Shoes, Theatre Shoes, and Dancing Shoes. To my wonder and great relief, I still think these books are terrific, although my analytical brain does keep saying to me, “But they're all basically the same story.” Orphans are taken in. They begin attending a school for theatre and dance. In these books, children discover and strengthen their creative gifts. But I ultimately don't care that the books cover similar terrain. If my library had all of her books, I would read every single one of them again. At some point, I will probably have to buy the rest of them.

In these stories, the children encounter obstacles. What if you have to go to this school and it doesn't suit you? Do you have the strength and perseverance to figure out how to make this time enjoyable? What if you're a spoiled child, always told that you deserved everything, and the orphan who lives in your home turns out to be more talented and popular than you? What if you land the dream job, and you almost throw it away by letting success go to your head?

These children grow up quickly. At the age of twelve, they can obtain a license and start working as actors and dancers in the Christmas season and during summer. Oftentimes, in these books, they need to get these jobs, not only to satisfy their creative aspirations, but to help keep the household afloat. At sixteen, the children graduate from school. They can study in another field or devote themselves completely to a profession in the arts. They are self-possessed and caring in a world where the stakes are high. I love these books.

Second Draft

I'm in the midst of my second draft. Some writers, when working on revision, will approach it by dealing with a particular issue—plot, characters, settings–and go through the entire draft, focusing on this one thing. That's not me. Here's what I do with my friend, Scrivener.

My first draft is now compiled in one document. At that point, I create a new digital index card for the beginning, the prologue. I copy and paste that part of the story in a document attached to that card. For me, it seems important to separate the pieces again to focus on the work. Then I read and revise, knowing that I can be ruthless because the original is still in the first draft copy of my manuscript. I work on it until it feels that it's time to move on to the next chapter. Oftentimes, right after I make the index card for the next chapter and move that material over, I think of something that I want to change in the preceding chapter. Then I assess the importance of the change. Do I need to work it out before I can move on? Most of the time, that answer is no. Instead I create a digital index card that follows the chapter that I want to change, and I title it, “Add to Chapter ___” and write down the notes I have or a question I need to work out. Sometimes the question will reveal a tweak that needs to occur earlier. I will then create a digital card for that chapter as well. In this way, when I start the third draft, I already have notes about things that I want to do.

I find this process to be a roller-coaster. There are days when I look at things, and I'm pleased. But there are days when I very much feel my limitations as a writer. It feels so clumsy and awkward, and it gives me another opportunity to try to be forgiving with myself, to work it to the best I can at that moment, and to know that I will other opportunities to return, but right now, it's time to move forward. Working on drafts is a great way to grapple with issues of perfectionism. (I have them. Do you?)

It also feels important to me to work on the draft each day and to listen even when I'm not sitting down to write. The other day, when I was folding clothes, I thought, “The ending isn't right.” This is the second time I've thought that. I had come up with a solution, but it turned out not to be the right one after all. But at the moment, T-shirt in hand, I dreamed up what it should be, and when I get to the ending, that's what I'm going to write (unless more is revealed). I have created my digital index card on my board, spelling it out. I wrote that card right then because you can always go back to folding clothes, and I've learned that I need to jot down these thoughts as soon as I can.

The ending has felt slippery to me this time. I'm planning this as a series of books, three, I think, and so it's that matter of knowing where one story should end and the next begin. It's a process, sometimes frustrating, sometimes really fun. The challenge for me is to approach it with curiosity and interest and wonder, to be patient, to listen, to show up.

Greetings from the Other Side

Happy New Year!

I thought I would first write about taking breaks, since that is what I just did. I took time off from the blog over the holidays in order to conquer a mountain of work. (In addition to writing, I run my own business, VoType Editorial and Transcription Services. This year, many of my clients had projects they needed me to finish by the end of the year.)

I also finished a first draft of a manuscript the Saturday after Thanksgiving. In On Writing, Stephen King recommends setting aside first drafts for several months before picking them up again. I couldn't bear to wait that long. Two weeks is my limit.

During that time, I still worked on my writing. I spent at least fifteen minutes a day brainstorming on other projects. I read books and watched films that I thought would inspire me in my work ahead on my draft. At the end of the fourteen days, I printed my draft and read it. My first conclusion? The conclusion does not work.

Do you know those lines that you fall in love with and then you realize later that it's perhaps flip, perhaps private humor that others might not find so hilarious? The end of my first draft left the reader hanging. Sure, I plan to write a sequel. However, I do not possess the patience where I could wait until both books were done before I released them out to the world. So I needed to dream up a new ending.

It seemed clear to me what it should be. I had tackled enough of my mountain of work that I felt comfortable working on my writing every day again, for fifteen minutes to an hour. So I set to work. It was extremely painful. Fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity. I knew exactly what I wanted to write. It just seemed very difficult to put it on a page. I told myself that I was rusty. After I would wrote for a few days in a row, I would loosen up again. But that didn't happen.

Then one day I sat down to write, and I realized what now seems obvious. What I thought was the ending was actually the beginning of the second book. Once I realized that, the true ending presented itself in my head, and this time, it was easy to write down.

In the days that followed, I started again from the beginning of the manuscript, reimagining and revising as I go. I am still in that process. How long will I be here? I think I will finish this iteration some time in February, and then I will have to set it aside once again. Will it then be time for readers? Will I need to go through it again? Right now I'm not sure. It's not time to know.

This week, I also returned to the blog. I expected to post something earlier in the week. I tried. For one post, I couldn't make the technology work. I wanted to attach a video to accompany what I wrote, and the file was too big to post, and the text really needed the video. So that had to be scrapped. Everything else I wrote I didn't like. My voice didn't sound right. Perhaps my blog muse is ticked off. I really can't blame her. I did abandon her over the holidays. I understood why I did. When I'm in a place with much work and tight deadlines, I have to stay in a very focused “get it done” mode which is at complete odds the “I want to explore some ideas, and I have no idea how long it will take” journey of writing blog posts. Now, things remain busy with my day job. I'm back, but I'm going to just post once a week this year instead of my original intent of twice-a-week postings. It has felt rough to return, but I'm glad to be here. I will try to stay true.