The Writers Workshop participants all went home yesterday. It’s Sunday, and I am ‘melancholy writer’ today, the weather mirroring my mood–heavy bursts of rain interspersed with bright sun. I’ve had time to relax in an Adirondack chair and to reflect upon the second half of my week-long ‘boot camp for writers.’ I marvel at how hard we all worked and how much we all wrote in such a short period of time. Here’s a look back:
Day 4, Wednesday
The days are starting to run together, but they all begin and end the same: me in the computer lab with a bunch of other writers, all of us typing away and making a line while we wait for our sheets to print off, the paper still warm when it hits our hands. I continue to be amazed at each evening’s readings–at the quality of work shared by my fellow writers.
Brad said today that “in fiction, there’s no reason to be coy.” We talked about the importance of setting up place so that it resonates with the reader deeper than just as an element of plot.
Day 5, Thursday
One of my fellow workshop participants points out the painting in our library workshop room. It is of a Kenyon benefactor and his pet. She laughs while we’re at break, says “that cat looks how I feel… ‘still two more days?!'” We can’t believe how much we’ve done already in the 4 short days we’ve been here.
We’re all exhausted, but it’s so good to be in a room with so much history–in a place with such a deep literary tradition–where so many writers who came before us did the same thing we’re doing right now: sitting in the chair and getting the work done.
We were given photographs to inspire our stories, and I found it interesting that the same photograph produced a story about a Haitian baseball player and a story about a Tanzanian missionary. We all have different perspectives on everything, and there are so many ways to write an idea. The prompts have been tools to get the ideas out–and I find myself excited at the prospect of revising when the workshop is completed. I make a pact with a fellow writer in the group who’s become a friend: we will send our stories to one another for feedback after the workshop is over–a snail-mail writing exchange.
Day 6, Friday
We continued a talk about “top story” and “bottom story,” and discussed how point of view and gesture can get us there. We were given poems and asked to look at them for punctuation and prosody. Several workshop participants said they feel an “intense vulnerability” in workshop settings elsewhere. Brad talked about the importance of coming to workshops like this one, and the importance of developing relationships that invite criticism of your work.
He said:
“The thing about this workshop and the feedback is that it’s the best place to get it. Your work is going to get criticized [once you put it out there] sometimes in a devastating way, so this is good for you.”
I know this is true, and it’s so important to just keep writing, no matter what–to keep working the story until it’s complete.
We all got a bit punchy later today–the lack of sleep, the reading and re-reading of our stories, the intensity of our workshop sessions. One of the exchanges in workshop today went like this:
Brad: Lets talk about the opening here.
[silence]
Brad: Does everyone think there’s a specific setting in place?
[silence]
Brad (to the writer): Where’s your story taking place?
Writer: In my head.
[laughter from all]
Writer: Okay, yes, I know. I need a setting. But I wrote it overnight!
It feels like we’re all a solid community now, sharing our work like pros.
(Above: David Lynn, Editor, Kenyon Review; Workshop instructor Linda Gregerson)
After the participant reading this afternoon, Brad closed it by sharing his version of a prompt he’d had us do this week–an homage to Nancy Zafris. The shared respect and camaraderie among the instructors is surprising and wonderful. I like knowing that they talk with one another, share ideas, respect the process together. After the reading we had a catered meal on the lawn of David Lynn’s home. It was an opportunity to celebrate each other before our final workshop the next morning. We drank, we ate, congratulated one another,
(Above, Center, Kenyon Review Fiction Editor Geeta Kothari and workshop participants)
and continued conversations we’d started earlier in the week–then most of us headed back to our rooms or the computer labs to finish our work.
(Above, Rebecca McClanahan with a workshop participant.)
I took the opportunity to lay out on the grass later that evening–as cliche as it sounds–and listen to music while watching the sky change from day to night. I actually stayed there until the stars came out. It was wonderful to be at such peace, in such a beautiful place, while reworking a story in my head. I kept thinking about what Brad said that first day: there are so many other things for people to do, so why would anyone would want to stop and read a short-story?
I’ve got to make sure that when I write it, I keep them reading.
Day 7, Saturday
We got right to work. I don’t know why this surprised me. It was the last day, and we were all exhausted, but we worked right up until the last minute. Today’s discussion was about punctuation in prose, and the importance of understanding the why’s of our usage of punctuation in the work. We looked at poems and prose passages and talked about the punctuation choices, the use of each point of punctuation, and discussed how we might rethink our own work through this lens.
We shared a few pieces and critiqued, we took some photos, we gave out some hugs, and then we all applauded Brad, and each other. We exited our workshop room and stepped out of the building onto famed ‘middle path’ and we each headed off to our dorms and hotel rooms, our cars, and our airport shuttles for the long ride home.
What I’ll Remember:
These are some of the things our instructor shared with us in the final few days of the workshop:
“[Forget] the forms determined by publishing. Just write the thing. Virginia Woolf would’ve never published what she did, had she not [self-published], and look at what she produced. When you’re writing, you can’t be playing the game. You can play the game in the afternoon, later, but in the morning, write.”
“Distance [from your work] is really good. It’s really good to develop the mind of a writer on one hand, and an editor on the other hand.”
“You’re never going to lose anything–it’s always coming back; that’s the virtue of karmic creativity. So never feel bad about the novel that was never published because it leads to the next thing.”
“Everyone is trying to finish their damn story so they can send it off to get published, but what’s the rush? [You could] take a few months, maybe a couple of years to really write something good, or you could finish it fast and get it published–and it’s like, OK. –But make it good.”
In the time it’s taken me to write this Blog, the sun has set. It’s cool out, and the sky is navy blue and full of stars and clouds. I’ve got a journal full of beginnings, and I’ve got the first drafts and half-drafts of 6 stories. My Adirondack chair has long been empty–[skipping the shoe-leather here]–I’m already in my room and typing on the computer–I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow and get to work again.
Thank you to Brad Kessler, Sharon Rab, and my fellow Kesslerites from Kenyon 2008. See you next summer!