I went to the San Francisco Writer’s Workshop again tonight. I went last Tuesday. It was my first time at a critique group. I’ve been hesitant to do something like this for fear it would cut into my writing time, but the truth is that from 7-9 p.m. on a Tuesday night I’d likely be eating a burrito and watching Parks and Rec. So really, no downside.
I don’t know many writers in my “normal” life, so I felt like a bear cub that had been raised by a human family and is now being reintroduced back into the wild. I looked at the people surrounding me in the chair circle and thought, ah…real live writers. Do I look like you? Do I smell right? Will you accept me into the pack or maul me?
Everyone was very well-behaved and I felt very comfortable. Many others were there for the first or second time. Writing skills vary wildly, but everyone’s work was treated with respect. I’m not sure whether or not the short critiques will help me improve my work, but I spent tonight trying to be a better listener and to organize my thoughts. Why should I expect to get a good critique if I can’t give one? It’s really tough to hear a piece for the first time and then offer comments immediately. What frustrated me the most was being unable to articulate why I liked a piece. God, I knew some poor author agonized over a short story and all I could say was, “That was great!” Useless, totally useless. I’ve got to get better at this.
Afterwards, about half the group went out for drinks. I only got to chat with a few people (the bar was noisy) but I realized, wow, we have a lot in common, and also…wow…there are aspects of writing that are very seductive. Drug-like.
I’ve done many different creative things in my life (painting, drawing, photography) so I’m familiar with the magic that happens when everything is flowing and things are going right and you’ve tapped into something beyond yourself. I’ve felt that in writing, but I’ve also had the “building a bookshelf” feeling. I’ve got this wood and this saw and these screws and I’ve got to put it all together and it has to function.
Now that I’m meeting other writing “addicts,” I realized the dangers of this vocation. How tempting it is to talk about writing and read about writing and take another webinar and write a little bit of this and that and never finish anything because that isn’t the fun part. I’m not saying anyone I chatted with was in this situation, I just saw the light in everyone’s eyes and thought how hard it is to move this from indulgent hobby to a profession.
Yeah I get the irony, I’m writing about writing now, and I go to conferences and author readings, but this blog is exists so I DON’T go on and on about all this at a party or when I meet you for lunch. Because, note to self, talking about writing isn’t that interesting. I’ll get the fuel I need for my new profession by listening.