Workshopping

Work•shop•ping
-noun
The act of looking for a workshop.

As much as writers like to think of themselves as solitary creatures, they need interaction. Let’s face it, we are whores for feedback. We need people to tell us that what we’ve put on paper has some value, that we should keep at it, put off that plan of leaping off a building in despair over a character’s failed arc (or whatever). Hence, writer workshops.

They sound good in theory. A group of writers get together, trade pages, provide constructive criticism, shed much-needed light. There are epiphanies and momentous ah-ha moments. The problem is that this never actually happens, at least in my experience.

I’ve sought out workshops on a number of occasions. Intentions are good, but something always goes awry. The host of the workshop (that friend of a friend of a friend who claims to be dedicating his or her life to the next great American novel) gets hors d’oeuvres from Costco and some lemon bars or lemon cookies (for some reason, they’re always lemon). Maybe there is wine. Things seem promising.

Then it all unravels.

It usually starts with the guy who has the really weird fantasy story about elves with magical powers. Nobody wants to read this. But, you have to read it because you are a member of this group and all of you are of the “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” mindset. It sucks.

It’s also likely that there is the middle-aged woman writing her memoir and the college student trying to be the next Kafka. It’s a real hoot when you throw in a Danielle Steele type romance. At this point, you better hope there’s wine. It’s no longer about what they’ll think of your pages; it’s about not jamming your pen into your thigh.

When they do get to your pages, they will be vague. Nobody wants to hurt feelings, after all. We all know we’re sensitive, prone to depression, blah blah blah. So, they will say, gently, after much prefacing, “I don’t know, this just doesn’t really work for me.” They will roll their eyes up to the right, in thought, but they won’t say more. They will pretend to care, deeply, about your characters, even though they just want to pass time and get to their own pages.

When they do have nice things to say, the praise will still be vague and too-glowing. They’ll compare you to John Irving, even though you’re quite sure you are not John Irving-esque at all. When this occurs, it’s a sure sign that they are looking for you to reciprocate, no matter how crappy their story is. It’s an obligation. Really, this is all about boosting egos.

I’ve come to see that it’s most productive to work one-on-one with someone (or with a couple people if you are so lucky). Of course, selecting this reader is not to be taken lightly…

Keep an eye out for my next post: “Choosing your readers.”